Passionate Protectors? Page 22

  ‘No.’ Chellie shook her head almost violently, her arms crossing over her body in an unconsciously defensive gesture. ‘I can’t. I won’t. And you can’t make me.’

  ‘No?’ The small eyes glared at her with sudden malevolence. Mama Rita brought the flat of her hand down hard on the desk. ‘I patient with you, chica, but no more. You do what you’re told—understand?’ She sat back, breathing heavily. ‘Maybe I give you to Manuel first—let him teach you to be grateful. You want that?’

  ‘No,’ Chellie said, her voice barely audible. ‘I don’t.’

  Mama paused. ‘Or I send you to my friend Consuela.’ She gave a grating laugh. ‘She don’t ask you to sing or dance.’

  Oh, God, Chellie thought, her throat closing in panic as she remembered overheard dressing room gossip. Not that—anything but that.

  She bent her head defeatedly. ‘No,’ she said. Then, with difficulty, ‘Please…’

  ‘Now you begin think sense.’ Mama nodded with satisfaction. ‘Lina will take you to room. Then I send him to you.’

  Lina was waiting in the passage outside. She gave Chellie a contemptuous grin. ‘Joining the real world, honey? After tonight, maybe you won’t be looking down your nose at the rest of us.’

  ‘Is that what I did?’ Chellie asked numbly. ‘I—I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’

  Lina looked at her sharply. ‘Hey, you’re not going to pass out on me, are you? Because Mama would not find that funny.’

  ‘No,’ Chellie said, with an effort. ‘I’ll try and stay conscious.’

  ‘What’s the big problem, anyway?’ Lina threw open a door at the end of the passage. ‘You must’ve known Mama wasn’t running no charity. So, why come here?’

  Chellie looked around her, an icy finger tracing her spine. The room, with its heavily shaded lamps, wasn’t large, and was totally dominated by a wide crimson couch with heaped cushions that stood against one wall. Music with a slow Latin beat was playing softly, and a bottle of champagne on ice with two glasses waited on a small side table.

  She said wearily, ‘It wasn’t exactly my choice. I was robbed, and I went to the police. One of them said he’d find me a safe place to stay while they traced my money. And this was it.’

  ‘That figures.’ Lina shrugged. ‘It’s how Mama gets a lot of her girls—she pays the police to send her the debris that washes up on the beach.’

  Chellie bit her lip. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘De nada.’ Lina walked to the door, then hesitated. ‘Look, honey, it’s no big deal. Just smile and make like you’re enjoying yourself. It’s not your first time—right?’

  ‘No.’ Chellie tried not think about those few humiliating, uncomfortable nights with Ramon. At the time she’d thought nothing worse could happen to her. How wrong could anyone be? she asked herself with bitter irony.

  ‘If things get heavy there’s a panic button under the table,’ Lina added. ‘But don’t press unless you actually need to, or Manuel won’t like it. And you really don’t want to upset him. He’s one of the bad guys.’ She fluttered her fingers in mocking farewell. ‘So—good luck.’

  All the walls were hung with floor-length drapes, so it was impossible to tell where the window was—if it existed at all. And past experience suggested it would be locked and barred even if Chellie could find it—before the client found her.

  But she could really do with some fresh air. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, and thick with some musky scent. She began to walk round the edge of the room, her heels sinking into the soft thick carpet, lifting the curtains and finding only blank wall to her increasing frustration.

  She wasn’t sure of the exact moment when she realised she wasn’t alone any longer.

  She hadn’t heard the door, and the carpet must have muffled the sound of his footsteps. Yet he was there—behind her. Waiting. She knew it as surely as if he’d come across the room and put a hand on her shoulder.

  For a moment she felt the breath catch in her throat, then she allowed the curtain she was holding to drop back into place and turned slowly and reluctantly to face him.

  And paused, her eyes widening in total incredulity as she recognised him. As she registered all over again, but this time at much closer quarters, the cool, uncompromising good looks—the high-bridged nose, the strong lines of jaw and cheekbones. The face of a man who did not take no for an answer.

  He was lounging on the sofa, totally at his ease. There was even a faint smile playing round his firmly sculpted mouth.

  She was more frightened than she’d ever been in her life—her whole body shaking—embarrassed to the point of nausea—yet for one moment her overriding emotion was disappointment.

  She’d thought he’d strayed into the club by mistake, but she was wrong. He was no better than the whooping, slavering crowd bunched round the stage. And regret sliced at her.

  He said softly, ‘Buenas noches, Micaela.’

  Her throat muscles were too taut for words, so she ducked her head in a brief, awkward nod of response.

  Micaela, she thought. That was her name in this place—her identity. And her shield. If she could just hide behind it, she could perhaps make herself believe that none of this was happening to her. That she was someone altogether different, in another place, just as she did when she sang. And somehow she would be able to—endure…

  He was silent for a moment, the cool blue gaze travelling over her so slowly and thoroughly that it made removing her clothes seem almost unnecessary.

  Beneath the fragile covering of the black dress Chellie felt her skin tingle and burn under his absorbed scrutiny. She knew she should begin the pretence. Micaela would force her mouth into a smile, but Chellie found it impossible.

  Although this was not the worst that could happen to her, and she knew it. Outside this room, in the real world, was the threat of Manuel and the woman Consuela, and all the other unnamed horrors they implied.

  She thought, I must do this. I have no choice…

  His own smile widened a little. He said, ‘Aren’t you supposed to offer me a drink?’

  ‘Oh—yes.’ She moved to the table, stumbling a little in her haste. Glad of a momentary reprieve. ‘Would you like some champagne?’

  And in her head she heard the echo of another girl—her father’s hostess, making sure his guests had all they needed. A girl she had wanted to leave behind.

  Beware what you wish for, someone had once told her. Because it might come true.

  ‘Not in the least,’ he said. ‘But don’t let me stop you. You look as if you need it.’

  Chellie paused uncertainly. One of the club rules, she knew, was that the champagne was for the client. The girl did not drink alone, if at all.

  She slid the bottle back into the melting ice. She said huskily, ‘I—I’m not thirsty.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ he said. ‘See how much we have in common already?’ There was faint mockery in his voice. He looked her over again, almost meditatively, his eyes half closed.

  ‘I know you can sing,’ he said. ‘So, shall we discover what other talents you possess?’ He leaned back against the cushions—a man preparing himself for enjoyment. ‘Starting now?’ he added gently.

  It was not a request, but a demand. She bent her head in acquiescence and came to stand in front of him, just out of reach but no more than that. Then, slowly, she began to move to the beat of the music.

  Chapter Two

  SHE had not told Mama Rita the truth when she’d said she couldn’t dance. Because dancing had been one of her passions in that other, seemingly far-off lifetime.

  Then, she’d turned herself deliberately into a party animal, going whenever she could to clubs and discos, losing herself totally in the pounding noise and frenetic rhythms of the music. Using the fevered momentum of her body to exorcise her teeming frustrations over her abortive singing career—as well as all the other limitations that being her father’s daughter had imposed on her life.

  But this was not the sa
me kind of music at all. This was slow and swaying, and deliberately, infinitely seductive. It wasn’t meant to induce forgetfulness. It had the opposite purpose—to entice the man watching her into opening his wallet to pay for each further revelation.

  And that was what she had to do in order to survive.

  She tried desperately to remember what Jacinta had told her. Smile, but don’t look. Raise a mental barricade and keep the greedy, leering eyes at bay. Close yourself off emotionally from all that follows.

  Because this is not you, she reminded herself. This is Micaela, and she does not even exist, so that nothing that happens to her can harm you.

  Not that the client’s meditative blue gaze held any real hint of incipient lust, or even particular interest in her performance so far. He, too, seemed to be thinking about something else.

  He asked for me, Chellie thought, bewildered. So why isn’t he looking at me? Am I boring him? Oh, God, I need—I really need to get this right, or Mama Rita will make me suffer.

  She began to move her hips with deliberate sinuousness, her hand smoothing the brief silky skirt against her slender thighs, even pulling it up slightly, then letting it drift back. And saw his brows lift in almost mocking acknowledgement of the teasing promise that her actions implied.

  ‘Why not come a little closer?’ he invited softly. ‘Or does that cost extra?’

  Chellie shook her head, not trusting her voice.

  ‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ he went on. ‘I don’t bite, unless specifically requested to do so. And, anyway, I believe the rules state that I’m only allowed to watch—not touch.’

  Rules? Chellie thought wildly. In a place like this? What rules could possibly apply? Was he crazy or just naíve?

  ‘Or not without your permission, at least,’ he added almost idly. ‘Which I admit doesn’t seem likely at the moment.’ He took out his billfold. ‘Perhaps this might soften your heart—hmm?’

  He extracted some notes and placed them on the table beside the ice bucket. ‘So, maybe we could—move the performance on a little? Just so that my evening isn’t completely wasted.’

  In other words, he was telling her to take off her dress.

  Chellie’s stomach lurched in swift panic as she remembered how little she was wearing beneath it. She was braless, and the rest of her underwear was little more than a glorified G-string. Which he would undoubtedly want her to remove as well.

  It occurred to her that this stranger would be only the second man to see her naked. The first, of course, had been Ramon, but he’d been in too great a hurry to pay much attention.

  Her whole body shivered as she recalled how he’d pushed her back on the bed, the weight of his body crushing her into the mattress, the painful, grunting thrusts which she’d thought would never end.

  Which she was going to have to endure again…

  He said, ‘I’m waiting for you—Micaela.’

  If he’d seemed uninterested before, he was certainly giving her his undivided attention now, his mouth oddly hard, the blue eyes implacable, almost analytical—as if he was observing her through a microscope and did not much care for what he saw.

  She pivoted slowly in front of him, letting the skirt swing out away from her slim legs. Going blindly, automatically through the motions, while her mind shivered on the edge of chaos.

  Oh, God, she thought imploringly. Let this not be happening to me. Let me wake up soon—please…

  The zip that fastened her dress was at the side, reaching from breast to hip. Once she began to lower it the dress would simply fall away from her body. And after that there could be no retreat.

  Her shaking fingers undid the tiny hook first, then fumbled for the metal tongue of the zip.

  And halted as her entire being froze in outrage and rebellion over what she was being made to do. Her eyes met his in a glance that mingled pleading with outright defiance.

  She said hoarsely, ‘I can’t. I’m sorry, but I just—can’t…’

  She sank down on to the carpet, because her legs would no longer support her, and covered her face with her hands.

  She was expecting an angry reaction and knew that it would be perfectly justified. He might even be violent. Or he could just walk to the door and summon Mama Rita—or even Manuel. Her teeth bruised her lower lip as she recognised the kind of retribution she was inviting.

  Yet, strangely, it made no difference to her decision, she realised with an odd calm. Whatever kind of aftershock it might create, she knew she could not strip in front of this man or any other.

  Nor could she—or would she—allow him any of the intimacies his money gave him the right to demand.

  She thought, I’d rather die…

  Although death might not be the worst thing that could happen to her.

  The silence in the room seemed endless. Perhaps he’d simply walked out already, leaving as quietly as he’d arrived, she thought, venturing to look up. Gone to make his complaint and demand his refund.

  But he was still there, lounging on the sofa, apparently unmoved by her outburst. And if he was furious with disappointment and thwarted desire then he was masking it well.

  When at last he did speak, he had the gall to sound faintly amused.

  ‘Have you ever considered changing your job?’ he asked. ‘Because you seem to lack total commitment to your current career.’

  Somehow she managed to scramble to her feet, glaring at him as she did so.

  She said thickly, ‘Don’t you laugh. Don’t you dare laugh at me—you bastard.’

  He stood too. He was tall. Even in her heels Chellie found she had to look up at him, and resented it.

  He said with sudden harshness, ‘You’re right. This is no laughing matter. And it might be better not to call me names.’ He gestured at the sofa. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘No.’ She took a step backwards, hugging herself defensively.

  ‘Do as you’re told,’ he said curtly. ‘Before you fall down again.’ He reached into a back pocket and produced a slender hip flask. ‘Here.’ He removed the stopper. ‘Drink this.’

  Chellie stayed where she was. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Brandy,’ he said. ‘And a damned sight safer than your boss’s inferior and possibly drugged champagne.’ He paused, surveying her pale face and shocked emerald eyes. ‘Go on—have some. You need it.’

  She shook her head. ‘My troubles are just beginning,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘Brandy won’t cure them.’ She swallowed. ‘I—I’d better go. Do you want me to send you one of the other girls?’

  ‘If so, I’d have asked for them in the first place,’ he returned brusquely. ‘But I picked you.’

  ‘I know.’ Chellie caught her trembling lower lip in her teeth. ‘And I’m sorry. I thought I could do this—I—I really meant to—but…’

  ‘For a moment there, I thought so too.’ He slanted a wry smile. ‘You almost had me fooled. However, I’m trying to live with the disappointment.’

  She stared at him. ‘You’re saying that you knew I wouldn’t go through with it?’ Her voice shook.

  ‘Of course.’ He shrugged. ‘Now, sit down and drink some brandy.’

  Chellie obeyed reluctantly, her gaze mutinous and suspicious. What was going on here? she asked herself. She’d been bought and paid for. Why didn’t he insist that she kept the bargain? And how could be possibly have known that she’d fall at the first hurdle?

  The brandy was powerful stuff, and she nearly choked as she swallowed it, but she felt it warming her, thawing the icy core lodged deep inside her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said stiltedly, as she handed back the flask.

  He shrugged again. ‘De nada.’ He sat down too, but at the opposite end of the sofa, deliberately creating a distance between there. It should have reassured her, but it didn’t—because he was still there in her sightline—in her space.

  ‘Tell me something,’ he said, after a moment, ‘do you suppose this room is bugged in any way?’

&n
bsp; She gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It surely isn’t that hard to comprehend.’ He spoke with an edge. ‘Does Mama Rita use hidden cameras—microphones? Check what’s happening?’

  Slowly, Chellie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. The other girls would have mentioned it, if so.’

  He nodded. ‘Good.’

  Tinglingly aware of his continuing scrutiny, Chellie tugged ineffectually at her skirt, trying to pull it down over her knees.

  She said uncertainly. ‘Why are you staring at me?’

  ‘Because I’ve paid for the privilege,’ he said. ‘So I may as well take advantage of the time I have left.’

  Her lips parted in sheer astonishment. ‘That’s all you want?’ she queried huskily.

  ‘It will do,’ he said. ‘Unless, of course, you’d like to take something off for me?’

  There was a silence, then she said in a small, stifled voice, ‘I should have known that—all this was too good to be true. Was the brandy meant to give me Dutch courage?’

  He said coolly, ‘I was actually hoping that you’d remove that ghastly wig. Or are you going to pretend that it’s your natural hair?’

  She was startled into a faint giggle. ‘No—no, of course it isn’t. But Mama Rita insists I wear it.’ She pulled the wig off and tossed it on to the floor, running awkward fingers through her dark hair.

  ‘Good,’ he approved softly. ‘That’s an amazing improvement.’

  Her face warmed, but she said nothing.

  She still didn’t understand or trust this volte face. And even now her reprieve might only be temporary, she reminded herself. He was only at arm’s length. Perhaps he was just lulling her into a false sense of security. Whatever, she could not afford to relax.

  A fact apparently not lost on him. He said softly, ‘You’re like a wire stretched to snapping point.’

  Chellie sent him a fulminating glance. ‘Does that really surprise you?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘What does puzzle me is how you come to be in this hellhole. I’m sure you’ll tell me it’s none of my business, but, as a life-choice, it seems a seriously bad move.’