JENNIE LUCAS - The Spaniard's Defiant Virgin

Tamsin woke up in a very soft bed.

She opened her eyes slowly. Her head pounded. She could hear the lapping of water, the creaking of wood, the caw of seagulls overhead.

And she realized she was naked.

Sitting up straight in bed, she pulled the luxurious cotton sheets away from her body. She was wearing her see-through white lace bra and panties—her wedding-night lingerie—and nothing else.

“I trust you slept well.”

She yanked the sheets up to her chin. A handsome stranger was leaning against the doorway. He was tall, broad-shouldered and olive-skinned, with short, wavy dark hair. He wore a crisp white shirt and dark pants that molded to his muscular body.

She’d never seen him before, but she recognized his voice. That cruel, sensual mouth. Most of all, those dark, cold eyes.

“Where am I?” She had a hazy memory of being on a helicopter and then driven through the streets of Tangiers. “What did you do with Camilla and Hatima?”

He stepped into the cabin, his gray eyes alight with malignant hatred as he looked at her. “You should be worried about what I’m going to do with you.”

That was exactly what she was trying not to think about. If she did, she’d start screaming with terror and fear. Not just for herself but for ten-year-old Nicole, who was still held hostage in Tarfaya, depending on her to get through this.

She had to hold herself together long enough to come up with a plan of escape.

“Did you kidnap them as well?” she asked, despising the involuntary tremble in her voice. “Where have you taken me? Have you sent a ransom note to the Sheikh?”

He folded his arms. “There will be no ransom note.”

“What?”

He took a step closer to the bed. His whole body was muscular and taut beneath his fine clothes, as if only sheer will kept him from grabbing her.

“I left the others in Tarfaya,” he said. “I only need you.”

She swallowed. “Me? Why?”

He just stared down at her, his face a handsome, arrogant mask.

She tried again. “Where are we?”

His full, sensual lip curled into a line of contempt. “My yacht.”

Well, yes, even she could have guessed that much. She glanced through the port window. The sun was just starting to set, trailing a pathway of crimson and orange across the water. She couldn’t see a trace of land. They were out on the open sea, she thought, where no one would hear her scream.

If he hadn’t kidnapped her for ransom, then why? No matter what the tabloids seemed to believe, nothing about her was special. And her family had nothing he could want. Her brother’s company was hanging on by a thread.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“Your captor. That’s all you need to know.”

Tasmin pressed her shaking hands against the sheet to hide their tremor. She couldn’t let him see her fear. Bullies lived to control, to inspire terror. She’d learned that from her father. The only way to survive was to respond with defiance. “What do you want with me?”

He sat on the edge of the bed and reached to caress her cheek. “You are a beautiful woman, señorita, famed for your power over men. Can’t you guess what I want?”

She shivered at his brief touch. Up close, he was even more handsome. Dark and dangerous, he emanated power. If they’d met at a London club, she would have been attracted to him, fascinated even.

Could she really fight a man like this and hope to win?

Her fingers clutched the sheet between them like a shield. Nicole, she thought. Remember Nicole.

She’d found her little sister alone last month in their brother’s cold, darkened Yorkshire mansion, left without food or money while Sheldon and Camilla used her money to support their jet-setting lifestyle. Tamsin still felt a chill of horror when she remembered stepping into the dark house, calling her sister’s name; Nicole had run to her crying and flung her thin, shivering body against her. She’d believed that Tamsin had abandoned her.

She would never forgive their half-brother for that. God, she hated Sheldon, she hated Camilla, she despised everyone who hurt innocent, helpless people in pursuit of their own selfish desires.

Like the man in front of her now. She narrowed her eyes. She wouldn’t let him prevent her marriage to Aziz.

“If you’re going to have me, get it over with,” she said flatly. “And take me back to Morocco so I can be married.”

His eyes widened and she saw that she’d surprised him. But, almost as quickly as the expression had appeared, it was gone. He stood up, looking as cold and unreachable as the stars. “I can see why you’re known as a flirt.”

“Forgive me if I don’t know the proper etiquette when I’m kidnapped on my wedding day and wake up naked on a stranger’s yacht.”

“You’re not naked.”

“How do you know? Are you the one who undressed me?”

He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Alas, I haven’t had that pleasure,” he said but, before she could relax and be grateful for that small blessing, he added darkly, “yet.”

The look he gave her could have melted stone. It was full of hatred, yes, but something more. She felt it simmering through her body, a strange electricity humming through her veins. She found herself staring at his lips. Wondering what he looked like beneath the shirt. Wondering how it would feel to have his body pressed against her own.

She shook the thought away. The only thing that mattered now was finding out what he wanted with her so she could get away. She had to protect Nicole.

Especially since what had happened was Tamsin’s fault. It was true they’d never been close—Tamsin had been sent to an American boarding school when her sister was a baby. Their mother had died when they were young, and their father a few years later. But Tamsin never should have trusted Sheldon to be Nicole’s guardian. Never. And while she’d been in London enjoying her first taste of freedom, Sheldon had been ransacking both sisters’ trust funds. He’d fired Nicole’s nanny, leaving her alone.

Tamsin should have known. She should have protected her…

“We’re almost there.” Her handsome, arrogant captor moved across the cabin towards the window.

“Where?”

“Andalusia. My home.”

Spain! A burst of hope went through Tamsin. Spain meant land beneath her feet, civilization—and freedom! She could catch a high-speed ferry from Algeciras and be back in Morocco by nightfall.

The man turned back abruptly to face her and she lowered her eyes, afraid that he would see her plans written across her face. “Tell me, Señorita Winter, do you speak Spanish?”

“No, I don’t,” she lied, trying to keep all emotion from her voice. “Do you?”

“Of course.” He gave her a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “But my mother was American. I lived in Boston for six years after she died. I will speak English for your sake.”

“Then explain to me, in English, why you’ve kidnapped me.”

“Missing your fiancé already?” he asked coldly.

Caught off guard, she stammered, “No…that is to say, yes.” She took a breath. “Whether I miss him is beside the point. I made a promise to marry him, so I must. Some people,” she said succinctly, “have honor.”

His eyes flashed, but were quickly veiled. “So you admit you do not love him.”

“I never said that.”

“No, you did not, but Aziz al-Maghrib has a reputation for cruelty.” His dark gaze skimmed over her, making her wonder if he could somehow see her naked body beneath the sheet. “Are you so shallow that his uncle’s wealth makes you wish to be his bride?”

She had no intention of discussing her reasons for the marriage. “If you know Aziz’s reputation and you still kidnapped me, you’re a fool. He will kill you for this.”

He sat on the bed. Close. Too close. She wanted to move away, but his weight held down most of the sheet and what was left was barely enough for modesty. She’d never let any man see her in knickers and a bra and she wasn’t going to start now. Especially when just having him close was causing such strange reactions in her own body.

She opened her mouth to demand that he move away. But their eyes met and his gaze was dark, so dark. And full of such emotion that it was an ocean to drown in.

To call him handsome wasn’t nearly enough, she thought. His face was breathtaking in its sinister beauty, with his Roman nose, high cheekbones and sharp jaw line. His dark gray eyes contrasted with olive skin and black wavy hair that was just long enough for her to run her hands through, if she’d dared. He was so tall that, even sitting next to her on the bed, she had to look up; he was so broad-shouldered and muscular that she knew he could easily overpower her. He could do anything he wished with her. The thought frightened her.

He reached his hand towards her. She braced for a hit but, to her surprise, he just stroked her cheek.

“I’ve waited a long time for this.” His touch was possessive, gentle, as if she were a wild horse to be tamed to his command. “A lifetime.”

“For what?” she managed.

“For you.”

“For me?” She almost wished that he would hit her. She would have known how to deal with that. Instead, she was trembling beneath his touch. He didn’t even need brute force. Just the brush of his fingers was enough to make her agree to anything he asked, and he was only touching her cheek. What would happen if he stroked her breast, kissed her mouth, pulled her down beneath him on the bed…?

She wrenched her face away. “Why did you kidnap me? What are you going to do to me?”

“You’re the spoils of war, Tamsin.” He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “And I want to find out if revenge tastes sweet…”

As he spoke, his lips brushed against the sensitive flesh of her ear. His breath was hot against her neck, causing prickles to run the length of her body.

“Please,” she whispered, hardly knowing what she was asking for. Her body felt so strange. Tense and tingly, cold and hot.

He ran his hand down her cheek, past the sensitive flesh of her ear, down her neck. He stroked her hair as he gently pulled back her head, exposing her vulnerable throat, her aching mouth. Involuntarily, she licked her lips. For a suspended instant, his eyes followed the movement of her tongue.

Then his mouth was on hers.

His kiss was hungry, demanding. His tongue stroked inside her mouth, intertwining with hers, teasing her. Longing set her whole body aflame and she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. She ran her hands through his dark hair as he deepened the kiss.

“The pictures didn’t do you justice,” he whispered against her cheek when he drew away. “Men start wars over women like you…”

The hair of his arms brushed against the bare skin of her torso and she looked down with a gasp. The sheet had fallen from her hands and was now crumpled around her waist. His eyes roved over her breasts, her belly, the aroused nipples pushing through the translucent white lace of her bra.

Before she could pull up the sheet, his hands were on her naked skin, grasping her waist as he pulled her roughly against his body.

She didn’t fight him. She couldn’t. He kissed her, his large hands massaging the bare warmth of her back, and all she could think was that she’d never been kissed like this before. She was lost—lost in him—and the whole world seemed to spin around her as if they were at the center of a whirlwind.

Without thinking, she reached beneath his shirt to imitate the way he touched her, caressing his flat belly, moving her fingertips up his muscular chest. A groan escaped him as he touched her bra clasp.