Istanbul Affair Page 12

  Since there didn't seem to be anything else they could do, they made their way slowly back to the hotel. Amy collected the key to her room—her new room that she wouldn't be sharing with anyone, and especially not with Benedict—and then trailed after him as he walked towards the lift.

  Her room was actually quite close to his—just a couple of doors along the same corridor. She wasn't sure if she was pleased about that, or not. Part of her didn't want to be near him, and part of her couldn't bear to be too far away.

  You're very mixed up, she warned herself shakily. And you had better sort yourself out before it's time to leave Istanbul. When Angeline's finally free, he'll be going back to England with her, not you.

  It was amazing how even the thought of it caused her to flinch, as if she were in some kind of physical pain. She was just glad that Benedict was walking in front of her, so that he couldn't see her involuntary reaction.

  When he reached his room—the room that they had shared until now—he stopped.

  'The hotel porter should have moved your things,' he told her. 'But perhaps you'd better just check, to make sure he hasn't left anything behind.'

  Amy didn't want to go in that room again, but she couldn't think of any plausible excuse for not checking that all of her things had been moved out. Benedict unlocked the door, opened it, and then stood aside so that she could go in.

  Rather hurriedly, she looked through the cupboards and drawers.

  'Yes, they've moved everything,' she said at last, a little breathlessly. 'I'd better go and get settled into my new room.'

  She didn't move, though, and Benedict didn't step away from the doorway.

  They stood there, just staring at each other, for what seemed to be a very long time. Then Benedict moved aside and Amy took advantage of the escape route that had been offered to her. She rushed past him to the safety of her own room, flopped down on to the bed, and silently prayed for enough strength to get through the next couple of days.

  Somehow, she struggled through what was left of the day, and then tossed and turned through a long, sleepless night. It felt funny, being in a room on her own. That rather horrified her. Only a couple of nights sleeping in the same room as Benedict, and already she was used to it!

  In the morning she felt tired and listless, and there were dark shadows around her eyes. Benedict took one look at her, and asked if she wanted him to go on his own to deliver the five thousand pounds. That was exactly what Amy wanted, but she was never going to admit it. Anyway, she owed it to Angeline to see this through to the very end.

  It all went surprisingly smoothly. They reached the gardens of the Topkapi Palace exactly on time, and left the money under the seat in the north corner. There were a lot of people around, and Amy kept glancing at their faces nervously. Any one of them could be one of the kidnappers. They must be around here somewhere, waiting to pick up the money.

  The letter had told them to leave the money, and then walk away without looking back. It was very hard to do that. Amy didn't think that she could have resisted the temptation to glance round if it hadn't been for the hard pressure of Benedict's fingers on her arm.

  They went straight back to the hotel. Without thinking, she followed him into his room.

  'What do we do now?' she asked edgily. 'Just sit here and wait for another phone-call?'

  'There's not much else we can do,' Benedict replied briefly. For once, he seemed almost as nervous as she was.

  'I hate all this waiting,' she muttered. 'But I hate it even more when something finally happens. I suppose that sounds a little crazy.'

  'This whole affair is beginning to seem rather crazy.'

  Amy went to flick a silver-gold strand of her hair back from her face, and discovered that her fingers were trembling.

  'I didn't realise I was that nervous,' she said with a rather strained laugh.

  'Perhaps you'd better sit down for a couple of minutes,' Benedict suggested. 'I'll ring down for a brandy, if you like.'

  'No,' she said, her voice almost as shaky as her hands, 'I'm fine.'

  He moved a little closer. 'You're not fine at all.'

  She stared down at her fingers again. 'I suppose I'm not. But I will be in a few minutes. I just need a little time to get myself together.'

  'Is that really all you need?' he asked softly.

  The abrupt change in his tone made her swiftly look up at him.

  'What do you mean?' she asked guardedly.

  'Sometimes I get the impression that it isn't just this business with Angeline that's making you so nervous. I think that it's also got something to do with me.'

  Her heart and stomach jumped in unison—a fairly unpleasant sensation.

  'You?' she repeated, with as much incredulity as she could manage—which wasn't much. 'Why on earth should you make me feel nervous?'

  'That's what I'd rather like to know,' Benedict replied, his dark eyes fixing on her in a way that made her pulses thump faster with fresh anxiety. 'I'm beginning to come up with one or two theories, but I think that I need to test them before I reach any definite conclusion.'

  'T-test them?' Her voice came out as a tense squeak this time, which rather frightened her. It was always dangerous to lose control when Benedict was around.

  He moved still nearer. Amy jumped nervously to her feet, but then realised that that had been a wrong move. It brought her almost face to face with him.

  'You're still shaking,' Benedict observed.

  'That's hardly surprising, after the stresses and strains of the last couple of days,' she retorted. 'Anyone would shake, under those sort of circumstances.'

  'Perhaps I can do something about it,' he offered.

  'There's no need for you to do anything,' Amy shot back at once. 'I'll be all right in a minute. All I need to do is calm down a little.'

  Which was almost impossible with him standing there, only inches away! She had to get out of here— and fairly quickly.

  But he was blocking her escape route. She couldn't get past him without some rather awkward manoeuvring, which would make it very obvious that she was trying to run away from him.

  I'll shift to one side, and then sidle out of the door, she decided, her breathing coming a little quicker. But slowly, even nonchalantly—if I can manage it! I won't run.

  She had only taken one step, though, when Benedict's hand descended lightly on her arm.

  'I think you should sit down again.'

  'Why?' she shot back nervously.

  'Your neck and shoulder muscles are knotted up with tension. I can do something about that.'

  'I'm perfectly all right,' Amy insisted.

  He didn't take any notice of her reply. Instead, his other hand gripped her shoulder; then, with one easy shove, he pushed her into the chair. He moved behind her, flicked her hair away from her neck, and then let his fingers begin to dig lightly into her clenched muscles.

  The whole sequence of movements had been executed so quickly, so smoothly, that there didn't seem any point at which Amy could have stopped him. When he began to massage the tension away with expert hands, she opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it again. This was nice. Her muscles already felt as if they were melting into a state of relaxation. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let him carry on for just a couple more minutes.

  'Close your eyes,' Benedict instructed softly.

  Without thinking, she obeyed. His fingers slid smoothly over the line of her shoulders, tangled themselves briefly in the silk of her hair, as if they liked the soft touch of the silver-gold strands, and then rested for a few moments on the nape of her neck.

  Amy's eyes began to flicker open again. Rather too late, she was realising that this wasn't a good idea. In fact, she must have been mad—or even more shaken and upset than she had realised—to let him get this close to her.

  She began to get up, but his hands immediately tightened their grip on her shoulders and gently pressed down, keeping her exactly where she was.

  'Don't
move,' he said.

  'But I want to,' Amy insisted.

  'No, you don't.'

  It annoyed her that he had said it with such certainty. Arrogant man! she thought, giving him a dark scowl. He's so certain that he knows what's going on inside my head. The really scary part, though, was that he did seem to know.

  His hands remained where they were, and just his thumbs gently moved, lightly caressing the soft, vulnerable skin around her hairline. Amy had to work very hard to suppress an involuntary shiver. This was getting dangerous, she warned herself. Time to get out of here!

  'I want you to let go of me,' she said in a very firm, clear voice.

  To her astonishment, he instantly released her. For a couple of moments she just sat there, too surprised to move. Then she realised that she had better take advantage of her freedom, and hurriedly got to her feet.

  As soon as she stood up, however, Benedict moved round so that he was facing her.

  'This is better,' he said a little huskily. 'I can touch a great deal more of you now.'

  Amy's nervous system gave a gigantic twitch of alarm. He had never had any intention of letting her get away. He had simply wanted her out of that chair so that he could—could— Could do what? she wondered with a fresh flash of apprehension.

  So that he could kiss her, she discovered an instant later, as his mouth smoothly descended on hers. For a big man, he could move so swiftly. She never seemed to have time to take evasive action. Or perhaps she didn't actually want to take it, because she had already discovered one fairly terrifying fact. She would give ten years of her life for just ten seconds of a kiss like this.

  And it went on for a lot longer than ten seconds. In the end, it finished only because neither of them had any breath left. Benedict briefly raised his head, but she could tell from the dark blaze of his eyes and the flush along the line of his cheekbones that he had no intention of stopping for any longer than it took to draw a quick, deep breath.

  This is the time to tell him that this isn't going any further, Amy told herself shakily. Do it now, before you get dragged any deeper into this.

  But it was already too late. She had the feeling that it had been too late from the very moment when she had first set eyes on him.

  He didn't—couldn't—feel the same way, of course. This was just a diversion for him—the release of all the built-up tension and frustration. That ought to be important; ought to be enough to make her turn and walk away, because it was humiliating only to be wanted as a substitute for someone else. And especially when that someone was your own cousin.

  Then the next kiss began, and Amy knew that she was quite incapable of walking anywhere. If this was humiliation, then she was going to have to learn how to live with it. Right now she wanted, needed, craved this closeness.

  His kisses became a fraction gentler, as if he sensed that there was very little fight left in her. At the same time he pulled her closer, coiled her round him, so that hot body pressed against hot body, skin softly rubbed against skin, and small flash-points of a very physical desire flared into life.

  Benedict's hands slid under the thin material of her T-shirt, touched restlessly and then became still again, pausing just beneath the aching swell of her breasts.

  'This isn't the way I thought it would be,' he muttered, and he sounded almost puzzled.

  Amy didn't understand what he was talking about. She did know that his hands seemed to be burning right into her skin, though, and she bit her lip to stop herself begging for more of those destructive caresses.

  Benedict hesitated for a moment longer, as if uncharacteristically uncertain where to go from here. Then he seemed unable to prevent himself from suddenly pulling her still closer, the powerful length of his body imprinting itself against hers, leaving invisible scorch marks that she was certain were going to be there for the rest of her life.

  This time, his kisses were much rougher and more demanding, as if he now knew very well what he wanted from her and was single-mindedly determined to take it. Amy knew that she should be frightened half to death by this new assault, but fear was something that she seemed incapable of feeling any more— especially when he was this close. Instead, her body melted into his, provoking him into more demanding caresses. His mouth bruised her lips, but they were bruises of pleasure, not pain.

  He lifted his head and the brilliant blaze of his eyes held an unspoken question. But Amy never knew what her answer would have been because, at that precise moment, the phone rang.

  Very slowly, Benedict released her. Then, more abruptly, he turned away from her.

  'You'd better answer it,' he said in a rather harsh voice.

  Amy made an effort to control her breathing, and then picked up the receiver with a shaking hand.

  'Hello?' she said in a low tone.

  'Amy? Amy, is that you?'

  In those couple of moments, everything else was forgotten. Amy clutched the receiver more tightly.

  'Angeline?' she said incredulously. 'Is that really you? Are you all right? Are you free?'

  'No,' said her cousin in a small, frightened voice. 'Please, just listen. They'll only let me speak for a few seconds, and they've told me what to say. I'm not hurt, and they've promised to let me go if you give them what they want. You mustn't do anything silly, though. You haven't been to the police, have you?' she went on, not quite able to control the note of panic that broke through.

  'No, of course not,' Amy assured her immediately. 'And we will do whatever they want.'

  She heard her cousin give a very audible sigh of relief. Then Angeline said very quickly, 'They're telling me to put the phone down. Pay them the money, Amy; please pay it. I'm so frightened—'

  Then the phone abruptly went dead. Amy slowly replaced the receiver and knew that her face had gone quite ashen.

  In a shaky voice, she told Benedict what Angeline had said.

  'You're absolutely sure it was Angeline on the other end of the phone?' he asked with a small frown.

  'Of course I'm sure! I know my cousin's voice well enough.'

  'She didn't give any clue as to where she's being held?'

  'How could she? The kidnappers were listening to everything she said, then they cut her off before she had even finished speaking.' She gave a small shiver. 'She sounded so scared,' she added, almost in a whisper.

  'My guess is that the kidnappers will be in touch again fairly soon, with their final demand,' Benedict said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  Amy suddenly rounded on him. 'How can you sound so calm? That was Angeline on the other end of the phone!'

  'I know,' he said. His dark eyes suddenly flickered. 'And I'm not calm at the moment. But the reason I'm not calm has nothing to do with Angeline.'

  Something in his tone of voice made Amy stare at him for an instant. Then she shook her head as a wave of disgust rolled over her.

  'How can you say something like that? All we ought to be thinking about right now is Angeline!'

  'Perhaps we've thought about Angeline quite enough these last few days. Maybe it's time we began to think about ourselves,' Benedict suggested.

  But Amy was too riddled with guilt even to listen to him. 'Angeline is sitting at the other end of that phone, frightened out of her life, and what are we doing?' she demanded. 'We're playing games with each other. For a while, we completely forgot about her! Well, I don't know about you, but that makes me feel pretty sick. I didn't know I could do something like that.'

  'I think there are a lot of things that you don't know about yourself,' Benedict said softly.

  Amy raised her head and her green eyes shone brilliantly as she glanced at him.

  'Perhaps they're the kind of things that I don't want to know about myself. Not if it means that I can forget how to be a decent, caring human being.'

  'Don't become too obsessed with this business with your cousin,' Benedict warned. 'It won't help Angeline, and it isn't healthy.'

  'Then what would you like me to become obsessed
about?' she challenged him angrily. 'You?'

  They stared at each other, her blazing green eyes gazing straight into the dark, turbulent depths of his eyes. Then Amy somehow tore her gaze away again.

  'I'm getting out of here,' she muttered. 'I don't like the kind of person I become when I'm near you!'

  With that, she rushed out of the room, determined to put as much distance as she could between herself and Benedict Kane.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Amy didn't go to her own room. That was still far too near to Benedict. Instead, she ran down the stairs, through the lobby and out of the hotel.

  Once she was out in the crowded streets of Istanbul, she just kept walking blindly. She took no notice of the crowds jostling past her, or the sun beating down hotly on her uncovered head. She just needed to keep moving, to stop thinking, to shut out the sound of Angeline's frightened voice, which kept echoing through her whirling head.

  She had no idea where she was going. She turned corners, cut through alleyways, and rushed across roads, with little regard for the blaring of horns as she stepped out right in front of trucks and cars.

  In the end, it was the heat that finally forced her to slow down. Her skin was moist with sweat, and when she saw a dark archway ahead she instinctively headed towards it.

  Once she was out of the sun, a little common sense slowly began to return. Amy slowed down to a more moderate pace, and she began to take some notice of her surroundings.

  She realised that the archway had led her into a huge building that was divided up into a labyrinth of alleyways and cul-de-sacs. They were dimly lit, crowded, and lined with shops that appeared to sell everything under the sun. After a few minutes, Amy realised that she had wandered into the Covered Bazaar.

  She walked on and on, surrounded by a dazzling mixture of sights and sounds and smells. There were carpets in every conceivable colour and pattern; multicoloured shawls; bolts of cloth in brilliant shades; the glitter of gold and the dull glow of pewter; the smell of vanilla and cloves and perfume; row after row of shoes; and clothes with fake designer-labels.