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A Royal Bride of Convenience
Rebecca Winters


When ten-year-old Princess Francette met her betrothed, teenage Prince Raimundo, they hated each other and vowed never to marry…But their parents planned to join their two powerful kingdoms. It would be a royal wedding…of convenience!












About the Author


REBECCA WINTERS, whose family of four children has now grown to include five beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wild flowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite vacation spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her Mills & Boon


Romance novels because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.

Rebecca loves to hear from her readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website at www.cleanromances.com



Look for an exciting new novel from

Rebecca Winters,

Miracle for the Girl Next Door,

available from Mills & Boon


Romance in June 2010.


Dear Reader,

I find royal stories irresistible because they represent life in another universe that’s right here on earth. They appeal to my love of fantasy, yet they’re grounded in reality.

I lived with several ‘real’ princesses when I attended boarding school in Lausanne, Switzerland. Like me, they were students there, but I was aware they lived a life of privilege. When the holidays came, their ‘highnesses’ were whisked away from school in limousines with royal crests in order to reach the airport in Geneva where they would fly on their royal planes to reach their royal households.

My own headmistress, good friends with a lady-in-waiting to the Queen of Spain, often went to the apartments of the Queen when she was in residence in Lausanne. That was a long time ago, yet my experiences abroad still creep their way into my romance novels.

A Royal Bride of Convenience, based in Geneva, might be a flight of fantasy to provide reading pleasure, but the fact remains that the fictitious Prince Niccolo and Princess Francette do exist in real life somewhere.

Enjoy!

Rebecca Winters




A Royal Bride of Convenience

Rebecca Winters







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CHAPTER ONE


“I RELINQUISH my time to Prince Raimondo Niccolo Giancarlo di Castellani.”

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary General.”

Nic leaned forward to speak into the microphone so he’d be clearly heard. Though his parents and the majority of people who knew him called him Raimondo, to his closest friends in his military unit he was simply Nic, the name he preferred.

“For three days now, the discussion going on before this council of the United Nations has done little more than incite rancor from every side.

“We’re all assembled seemingly for the same goal—to decide how our world body should act to stop crimes against humanity, prevent genocide and end war crimes. Yet instead of putting our heads together to come up with a plan to enforce this doctrine, there are those among you once again debating the policy’s validity!

“As the chosen delegate from the Enclave of San Ravino, and personal envoy of my father, King Leopoldo, I’m making a formal protest and walking out of this conference until such a time as a majority of you can find the courage to act for the welfare of the oppressed.” His black eyes flashing, he said, “I call on any delegates in this room who feel as I do to walk out with me, as a show of solidarity against this sort of shameful filibustering.”

Before his anger turned to rage, Nic shot to his six-foot-three height and headed down the aisle to the nearest exit, carrying his attaché case. To his satisfaction other members, maybe sixty of them, got up at the same time he did. Not as many as the hundred he would have liked to see, but it proved he wasn’t a lone voice.

More suited to freefall paratrooping than sitting in a chair listening to parsed rhetoric going nowhere, he burst through the doors to his waiting limo. The heat was surprising for early June. His driver maneuvered him through New York’s heavy noon traffic to the airport.

While en route, Nic called his father’s personal secretary on the satellite phone and asked to be put through to him so he could make his report. Knowing the U.N. proceedings were being televised, no doubt someone on the staff had been keeping his father updated. By now King Leopoldo probably knew his hot-headed, thirty-three-year-old son had made an explosive departure from the world stage today, upsetting the entire proceedings.

Never let it be said he hadn’t warned his parent he was a military man, not a diplomat. However, he’d agreed to represent San Ravino at the assembly in order to appease his father, who believed in talk. He was of the old school. Nic, still to be convinced, was a man of action, not words.

For the last nine years Nic had been a part of the Raiders, a secret special operations force working in Africa, the Middle East and elsewhere. He loved what he did. The Spartan lifestyle appealed to him enormously. The only time he took leave from his unit was at the royal request of his father, and couldn’t be disregarded.

Nic wasn’t unaware that the days were ticking away until July, the dreaded time when he’d promised his parents he would get out of the military and take up his duties at home.

He made furrows through his straight black hair, anxious to jettison his suit for his fatigues. Comfort was what he craved on the flight to San Ravino, its own country within the borders of central Italy. With his duty accomplished, he could kick back and relax before he took another flight to rejoin his unit in the Middle East. As soon as he could connect with his father, he was prepared to listen, mostly, while the older man reamed him out for displaying his temper in public. Instead he heard something quite different.

“Raimondo? Where are you, exactly?”

Nic blinked. Not even a greeting? “I’m in the limousine, on my way to the plane.”

“Are you alone?”

He frowned. “Yes?”

“Good. I’ve caught you in time.”

Nic, on the verge of telling his father he wouldn’t go back to the assembly, heard the older man say, “Your superior has been in contact with me. Your orders are to fly to Africa for a dire emergency. Someone will meet you at the plane. Don’t bother to come home first.”

Surprised, Nic gripped the phone tighter. He hadn’t heard his father this intense since he’d told him of his plans to enter the military. “Were you given any details?”

“According to him there’s been another outbreak of violence in northeast Chakul. Some missionaries have already been killed. They need your particular expertise.”

“It’s a hot spot,” Nic muttered. Especially after the floods, when the clans had battled over water points for their livestock. As soon as humanitarian efforts were made to stave off hunger and disease the hostility escalated, and lives were lost. The drill was all too familiar to him.

This was the reason diplomatic chitchat didn’t get the job done—which reminded him of the gridlock he’d just left behind in New York. “Did you happen to see what went on in the general session this morning?” Better get official business out of the way while they were still on the phone.

His father made a strange sound in his throat. “I thought you would have walked out on them yesterday. You showed admirable patience under impossible circumstances.”

“Grazie, Papa.” Nic couldn’t be more pleased at the way this conversation was going.

“I was proud of you.” After a distinct pause, “About your mission—take care, my son. Come home safe.” The entreaty sounded gruff. He hung up before Nic could assure his father he was always careful.

Not only the choice of words, but the tremor in his father’s voice caught him off guard, causing his throat to swell. Normally his parent didn’t reveal his emotions. This was one of those rare moments when guilt caught up to Nic. He clicked off.

Another son might have been all the things his father had dreamed of. Instead, his parents had got Nic, their only offspring, who continually disappointed them with choices that in their mind put him in physical jeopardy on a twenty-four-hour basis. He felt even guiltier that they’d never tried to pressure him into doing his royal duty.

Since his betrothal to the Princess Francette de Norestier of the Principality of Haut-Leman on his fifteenth birthday—a nightmarish memory for him—he’d never seen her again, and his parents had never spoken of her. But as the night followed the day, he realized it was only a matter of another month before her name surfaced.

Not for the first time did a certain thought enter his mind—albeit suggested jokingly by his closest buddy Aldo. “Why not remain hidden in the mountains after one of our raids and not emerge again for years and years?”

After enjoying a round of beers one night while on leave, the idea had sounded good to him. Unfortunately it sounded even better right now, and he was stone-cold sober, but he refused to let it spoil his life while he still had a month of freedom left.

Before long the limo pulled up to the royal jet and Nic got out.

“Buongiorno, Your Highness.”

“It is a good day now that I’ve been liberated,” he said to Bruno, the dark blond steward who came down the steps to greet him. They’d been friends a long time. “Tell Rocco we have a change in plans and will be flying directly to Tangiers.”

“Very good. Will you be wanting lunch?”

“Si. Grazie.” He walked down the passageway to his suite, jerking off his tie and suit jacket. As soon as they gained cruising speed he’d take a shower, then pore over his maps to reacquaint himself with a region that was always volatile.

It didn’t take much for the clans to end up causing chaos that would develop into full-scale warfare. Too many innocents suffered. A burst of adrenaline seized his hard-muscled body as he contemplated his imminent mission.

A baby was crying.

As Lise Belard began to regain consciousness she grew more aware of her surroundings and realized her assailants had dumped her in the Fillouxes’ hut with Celeste. It was pitch-black inside. Her hands and ankles had been bound. The blanket over her head had been removed, but someone had gagged her with a foul-smelling piece of burlap and had thrown her on her side, where pains shot through her arm and hip.

By some miracle the three-month-old infant who’d been sick for the past ten days was still alive, but her pitiful, continuous whimpers wrenched Lise’s heart. Tomorrow Adam Brown, the doctor from Nairobi, was due to be here with his team, to check on the baby and bring medicine.

The village was in short supply of antibiotics and AIDS medication to prevent pregnant mothers from passing the disease on to their children, but Lise feared he and his staff would be ambushed and killed en route, all the fresh supplies confiscated.

Right now she couldn’t help herself, let alone comfort the baby, who had to be in pain from hunger by now. Even if Lise were to inch over to the crib she wouldn’t be able to reach for her. The ropes had been tied too cruelly tight.

Shudder after shudder swept through her body. For the first time in her life she knew true terror. She had the real conviction that before the night was over she and the baby would be dead.

Celeste’s missionary parents, Jean and Marie Filloux, from Neuchatel, Switzerland, had in all likelihood been murdered, and Lise was next. She could taste her fear. The sickening rate of her heartbeat sent the blood in surges against every pulse-point of her body. When she’d started this work five years ago, the risks to her life and health had seemed negligible when compared to the suffering she’d witnessed here. Someone had to try and make a difference, no matter how little.

Most of the first-aid supplies sent to the war-torn borders of Chakul never made it this far north. If it weren’t for the latest on-going bike fundraiser she’d spearheaded at home, she wouldn’t be able to give the amount of help she did.

Purchasing motorbikes for the locals allowed them to penetrate the far reaches of the various settlements with supplies. It was one of the quickest ways to bring immediate relief to the suffering after the spring rains. However, she feared that the arrival of the bikes had enflamed the warring clans and they had a special punishment ready to mete out to her.

Today Lise had made a hazardous bike trip to take the last of her supplies of drugs and food to the makeshift tent town eight miles from the village. The route was almost impassable in spots. She’d been grateful to get back to the safety of the compound by nightfall without a serious problem.

But, except for Celeste’s baby cry coming from the Fillouxes’ hut a hundred yards away, she’d been aware of an eerie silence. Of course everyone was indoors for the night. Still, that kind of quiet had been unnatural. Having shut off the motor that doused the headlight, she’d been shrouded in darkness.

As she’d walked her bike to the side of her hut, the hairs had stood up on the back of her arms and neck. Something had told her not to go inside. She’d immediately turned the bike around and started the motor up again to head for the sentry post.

The next thing she knew something had been thrown over her head, suffocating her. After being knocked down, she’d been bound and dragged for what felt like a long distance before she knew nothing more.

Lise had survived many local uprisings, but this was the first time one of the rebel factions hating foreigners, and missionaries in particular, had ventured this far from the border to slaughter innocent people.

Her family had begged her to find another way to do good. There were thousands of charitable causes that wouldn’t put her life in danger. But on a photo safari to Chakul she’d discovered the people were loving and peaceful, grateful for any kindness from a stranger.

The tour director had told everyone to bring extra paper and pens to give out to the children. Those were treasures to them. When Lise had discovered how delighted they were with the merest trifle, despite their great impoverishment, it had touched her heart and set her on her particular path. At the time it had been an easy choice to make, considering she’d been running away from pain for years.

But as she lay there, trussed up like a prized fowl to be butchered, she was aware the consequences of those choices had caught up to her. Certain death was coming. Her senses could feel it, smell it.

Celeste had finally stopped crying. The poor little thing was too ill. With no mother to hold and kiss her, she’d given up.

The quiet had an unearthly quality now. Her captors were outside, planning something. Lise broke out in a cold sweat. If she’d known how and when she was going to die, would she have still chosen to work in this part of the world?

Of course she already knew the answer to her own question, or she wouldn’t be here, but she could still grieve for certain experiences she would never know—like marriage to a soulmate, like being a mother to her own baby.

Lise had to dig back a long way to understand how she’d come to do her life’s work in Chakul. She supposed it had started as a form of rebellion against the life she’d been born into. Not against her parents, who were wonderful people, but against the royal institution itself, with its archaic betrothals, used as a sole instrument to aggrandize wealth and property.

Her betrothal had been sanctified in the church on her tenth birthday. To this day all she could remember was a fifteen-year-old beanpole, with an evil smile and black coals for eyes. Afterwards in the courtyard she’d heard him call her a royal pudding behind her back—in Italian, no less. She’d swung around and thrown pebbles from the fountain at him, screaming that she would never, ever marry anyone so mean.

That was a lifetime ago. As far as Lise was concerned, marriage was the most individual, sacred matter on earth. To enter into it for any reason but love was anathema to her.

She’d always believed that if she ever met a man she truly loved, she would seek out Prince Raimondo in secret and end their betrothal. It would kill her parents. She would be forever diminished in their eyes for putting love before them and the crown, but she knew herself too well. A marriage based on anything less would never work.

Lise knew her betrothed felt exactly the same way. Not once in eighteen years had he tried to make contact. She suspected he nursed the hope she might even have died by now. He was probably going to get his wish.

As tears trickled across the bridge of her nose, her ears picked up a sound. It wasn’t Celeste. Someone was moving inside the hut with great stealth. Dear God, please help me.




CHAPTER TWO


WITH the aid of night-vision goggles, Nic took in the interior of the last hut to be inspected. Aldo was right behind him. There was a body on the floor, another body in the crib.

While his buddy dealt with the baby, Nic crept over to the mother, who’d been bound and gagged. He knelt down and felt for a pulse at her throat. She was Caucasian. Her dark hair was worn in a braid on top of her head, the typical missionary coiffure.

She was still alive, but unconscious. No sign of her husband. If she’d worn a wedding ring, it was gone now. Thankfully the air assault had scared off the attackers before they could do her any more harm.

He removed the gag, then took out his knife to free her hands and feet. Once that was done, he easily swept up her khaki-clad body from the mat covering the floor, noting she was long-legged. Carrying her in a fireman’s lift, he followed Aldo out the door. They half ran through the compound to the area where an open-air bush vehicle filled with wounded locals was waiting. The other one had already gone.

Time was of the essence to meet the military helicopters at the designated rendezvous. Everything had to be accomplished under the cover of darkness. When the dawn came, there could be no indication that the Raiders had ever been here.

After setting her on a banquette next to a group of women, one of whom reached for the baby, he and Aldo signaled the driver to take off. They, along with others from the unit, stood on the running board, with their assault rifles positioned in case they met with hostile fire.

By the time they reached the clearing, one helicopter had taken off. The other one was waiting for them, its blades rotating. As soon as the vehicle stopped, Nic jumped off and started ushering people toward the opening. When he saw that the missionary had recovered enough to hold the baby, he realized she’d only been pretending to be unconscious. She’d done a good job of it.

Nic helped her into the helicopter. Aldo followed and closed the door for the short flight to El Wak, where the displaced people and missionaries would be given shelter and food. With their mission accomplished, Nic’s unit would board military transport and fly to the Middle East.

Counting the minutes until the helicopter landed, Nic was first out the door, where he was met by the commander of his unit. It came as a big surprise that he was here rather than with the rest of the unit. Something was up for him to be on hand for a one-night maneuver. After they saluted, he took Nic aside, away from everyone getting off the chopper.

“We have a desperate situation here that requires your help. We’ve already obtained your father’s backing, but of course it’s up to you. It’s asking a lot of you, Nic, but because of who you are, and your outstanding record of service, I’m going to ask it.”

“Go ahead.”

“Intelligence indicates that the woman on board with the baby was going to be held hostage and used as a bargaining tool for the enemy, to gain concessions from the Chakul government. You got here before they could kidnap her.”

“Barely in time,” Nic muttered.

“I understand she’s been working in the bush for a number of years, crusading for human rights. They want her silenced.”

“Naturally,” Nic bit out. The missionaries were an amazing group of human beings. “What about her husband?”

He shook his head. “We don’t know anything about him, but we’ll find out soon enough. From all the chatter, it’s the woman they’re after. Since she’s been targeted, and we’ve rescued her, neither she nor the baby will be safe until she’s well out of the country. Unfortunately, we’ve learned through our sources that the government has now decided she has inside information that could be of vital use to them, and won’t grant her permission to leave once they find her. Our night raid has foiled the enemy’s plans, but it has put her in the middle of a sticky political situation unless we get her out. Either way, her life’s in danger.”

The potential to be held as a hostage by any terrorist group put all missionaries’ lives in danger. Nic could only admire them. “What do you want me to do?”

“Your father’s jet is standing by at a nearby town.” Nic sensed where this was going. The nearest town was a couple of hundred miles away. “Officially it landed for emergency repairs before continuing on to South Africa. Unofficially …”

He got it.

“We’ll fly the three of you there in the helicopter. It will land on a deserted road near the airport. A car will be there to drive you to the jet. You’ll shed your uniform and leave it in the helicopter before you change into civilian clothes.”

“Am I to play the Prince on vacation, then?”

“Whatever comes to mind. If the car is stopped, you’ll have to get creative.”

“As long as I have a free hand …”

“Absolutely.”

“Bene.”

“By the time you arrive at the jet let’s hope we’re still one step ahead of the authorities. Your pilot is standing by, ready to assist.”

Rocco had been a fighter pilot at one time. This kind of intrigue would definitely appeal to his love of adventure.

“Once you’re on board, you’ll be cleared for take-off. If the Chakul authorities should get word of this, it will be too late for them to do anything. She’ll have diplomatic immunity because she’ll be under King Leopoldo’s protection, and a major international incident will have been averted.”

It sounded easy enough in theory. “What’s our destination?”

“Word has reached the head of the mission in Geneva. They plan to meet her there and see to her needs until they can get hold of her family. Are you willing to do this? Remember you don’t have to.”

They eyed each other soberly. “Was there ever any doubt?”

“Thank you, Nic. There’s more riding on this than you know.”

He’d already figured that out. To go to these lengths meant this missionary was important for reasons not even his commander knew, or he wasn’t telling him.

“Publicly you’ll never be acknowledged for what you’re doing, but behind the scenes you and your father will have the gratitude of many governments working for peace in this area. From my standpoint, the Raiders won’t be the same once you’re out for good next month.”

“Thank you.” Nic saluted him and headed for the chopper, but his commander’s last comment put him in a dark place where he couldn’t bear to go.

So far no one had spoken to Lise. She was still strapped to the seat of the helicopter with the baby. Everyone else had got out. There was one soldier who stood guard at the entrance.

She had no idea who these men were, or where she was, or what was going to happen to her. It was still the dead of night. All she did know was that she was at their mercy—she and Celeste, who was too sick to cry. She held the baby close to her heart and hummed some little tunes like Marie did to comfort her.

Any second now she expected to be bound, gagged and suffocated by a blanket thrown over her head, before they transferred her to another location to be executed.

While she bent over Celeste’s little body to kiss her cheek and neck, she heard men’s voices outside the helicopter. Until now no words had been spoken, but it didn’t matter. They were too indistinct for her to know what language the men were speaking, let alone what they were saying.

As she lifted her head, she watched the one soldier leave and another one enter. This one closed the helicopter door and made his way toward her, filling her with renewed terror. In the semi-darkness he appeared to be the same soldier who’d carried her from the hut to the bush van.

She held the baby tighter, while her heart hammered with sickening speed. He was tall and powerfully built. In his helmet and uniform, he looked so tough it made the horror of this night all too real.

“What’s your name?” He spoke English to her in a deep masculine voice. It didn’t sound British or American. She pretended not to understand. He switched languages. “Como se llama usted?” When she still did not answer him, he said, “Parli Italiano?”

When she continued to rock the baby, she heard him exhale, and realized her lack of cooperation was angering him. Good! She’d had it with being the helpless victim.

“Eh bien, vous êtes française?”

No, she wasn’t French, but since she was going to her death anyway, she refused to give him any information about herself. When she flew to and from Chakul, she traveled incognito, on commercial flights.

Everyone assumed she was French. The fact that the customs officials saw she was a native of French-speaking Haut-Leman, a principality on the south side of Lake Geneva, didn’t raise any eyebrows. To make it easier for the locals she’d told them to call her Lise, a shortened version of the name of her grandmère, Analise Belard, and it had stuck.

Though Lise might have lost everything else in the raid including her passport, she still had pride. Since her life was about to come to an end anyway, why give him the satisfaction of thinking he could intimidate her further.

“Ecoutez, madame.” He continued in French, which he could have learned in any one of the French-speaking European countries, or the countries of Maghreb in North Africa. It was impossible to tell. “Your husband could be dead or not. For your safety, we’re going to take a small flight and then set down again. When we do, we’ll get into a car that will drive us to an airport where a plane is waiting.”

For what? Was this a group involved in white slave trafficking? She couldn’t bear it.

“You will speak to no one unless I tell you exactly what to say. Vous comprenez?” he demanded, in such a menacing tone she shrank from him. His dark voice added to the layers of fear paralyzing her.

Lise nodded, not willing to enflame him further. He thought she’d been torn from her husband, that she was Celeste’s mother. The probability that the Fillouxes were dead made her want to cry out in agony. Instead, the scream of the rotors pierced the quiet.

Her captor moved to the front of the helicopter. After saying a few unintelligible words to the pilot, he strapped himself in. Before long they were airborne.

Celeste made little cries now and again. The poor darling missed her parents. Lise felt her cheeks and forehead. The baby was running a temperature. She needed to be in a hospital, but that wasn’t going to happen.

Flying to her doom in the darkness, the next hour felt like an eternity. She’d been alone many times in her life, but this was a different kind of alone … All she could do was cling to the baby and absorb her warmth while she prayed for a miracle.

Suddenly the helicopter was dipping. Her heart thundered, sounding out shockwaves through her terrified body. This was it.

Her captor moved like lightning to undo her straps and whisked her to the entrance with Celeste. After opening the door he jumped out, before taking the baby from her.

“Allez, madame. Into the car!”

Lise could see it parked several yards away. Maybe she should just start running in the opposite direction and hope he shot her dead, but she couldn’t leave the baby defenseless.

Everything became a blur as she got in the back of an old, dark, four-door sedan whose engine was running. She didn’t recognize the make. Her captor handed her the baby, then shut the door. The driver turned his head to stare at her. By now her body was soaked in sweat from fear.

She clutched the baby against her shoulder. In a matter of seconds the soldier joined her in the backseat and the car took off. He’d discarded his uniform and was now wearing a T-shirt and khakis. Without his helmet, the transformation was quite startling, but a change in clothes couldn’t disguise the evil in him.

Convinced her life had been preserved for a fate she considered worse than death, she couldn’t forget for a moment her captor had likely been paid a lot of money to carry out orders. He was going to turn her over to some filthy monster living in the darkest reaches of the continent, where she would no doubt be raped before she was exterminated.

Celeste, Celeste. What are we going to do? How can I get us away?

Another long drive in silence with twists and turns made her dizzy. She hadn’t had food or drink since she’d left the tent settlement. Her body had grown weak and was dehydrating. So was Celeste’s. Without nourishment, the baby was going to die.

Maybe it would be better if she died in her arms. At least then Lise would know what had happened to the precious infant before they were brutally torn from each other.

In a few minutes the car started to slow down. The driver spoke to her captor in rapid Swahili, but she followed it. Swahili had been an easy language for her to learn. They’d come to a police checkpoint outside the airport and had to stop while the car was searched.

Her prayers for help had been answered!

But when the car came to a full stop, she almost went into shock when the soldier holding her captive pulled her and the baby into his arms in an unexpected move. She half lay against his chest, imprisoned. As the driver opened the door, the light from outside allowed her the first real glimpse of her captor.

Impressions of a man in his thirties with bronzed, rugged features flew at her like colors through a prism. Beneath straight black hair, eyes blacker than the night stared down into hers, impaling her. Their intensity sent a thrill of alarm through her shivering body.

“Kiss me like you mean it if you want your freedom, madame,” he muttered fiercely, before his hard male mouth covered hers.

Did he really say freedom?

The word caused her heart to slam against her ribs. Maybe this man wasn’t her enemy. She didn’t know anything, but on the slightest chance that he meant it, she cooperated by not fighting him.

Her lukewarm response didn’t appear to be enough. While the police shone a flashlight on them, he urged her lips apart to drink deeply. No one would know the baby was sandwiched between them.

What had started out as a cold and calculated diversion to send the message that nothing of importance was going on in the backseat, became something else. His kiss of refined savagery grew more intimate and prolonged.

With the release of adrenaline, she found herself getting into it—a kind of mindless response, because she’d never known a kiss like this before. Lise had never been made so compellingly aware of her womanhood. There was something primitive about what they were doing. It had to be the fear of losing her life that was causing her to lose her mind and her control right now. His kiss had ratcheted up her pulse-rate till it was off the charts.

Somewhere on the periphery she heard the policeman and the driver passing muffled jokes back and forth before the door closed. As the car moved on, she wrenched her mouth from the soldier’s. Out of breath, she slid across the seat with Celeste.

He’d told her to cooperate if she wanted her freedom. Well, apparently she’d passed the first test, but she still had no idea what was going on. In all likelihood he’d used the age-old ploy to escape the government’s radar because nothing was going to deter him from carrying out his mission.

His kiss should have repulsed her. Instead she was more terrified of him than ever because—because in a purely physical way her body seemed to have recognized a force coming from deep within him. Though her mind had screamed for her to stop, her senses had bent to his will. But how could that be possible, or acceptable? It wasn’t!

This soldier was capable of anything, and thought his sensual mastery had produced the results to silence her. That was what his corrupt male ego got for thinking! The next time the car stopped she would open her door and jump out, screaming for help. They weren’t locked. Airport security would have to hear her and come running.

She gathered Celeste against her shoulder to make it easier to run with her. Her fingers slid to the handle. Even before the car came to a complete stop, she would make a run for it.

It was taking forever to get to this plane. Naturally it belonged to some grotesque junta leader and his henchmen, who committed hideous crimes against women and children.

While she was damning them all, the car slowed down. This was her chance. She flung open the door, but her captor checked her movements. While he pulled her back against his broad chest with one arm, his other snaked around to clamp his hand against her mouth. She couldn’t have made a sound if she’d tried. Lise started to feel sick. There was a ringing in her ears.

With frightening ease he dragged her and the baby from the car. She was so weak she couldn’t fight him. He picked her up like she was a piece of cotton and started running with them toward a gleaming white private jet parked in the distance.





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