Captive Heart Read online

  But there was more to a person than the surface veneer. There was such a thing as character. And what JoNell knew about this man's character—or lack of it!—where women were concerned did make him repugnant to her.

  "This conversation has gone far enough!" JoNell said hotly. "I can't see where it makes any difference whether I find you handsome or not handsome, or distasteful or not distasteful."

  "It makes a difference to me—a great difference!"

  "Well, not to me. I'm here to give you flying lessons. That is my only interest in you."

  "But I wish to have you become more interested in me than if I were just another student, JoNell."

  "What arrogance!"

  "Some women love arrogance," he smiled.

  "Not this woman! You're also conceited."

  "That, too, can make a man attractive."

  "You're impossible!"

  He threw back his head and laughed. His laughter like everything else about him was big—it echoed from the dunes.

  "Please," she said with angry tears. "Leave me alone! Do you have to make a conquest of every woman you meet?"

  His laughter faded and he gazed at her soberly. "Why must you think of it as a 'conquest'? Can you not believe that I find you suddenly so important in my life that I must tell you so?"

  "There you go, talking in Spanish again. Do you do that automatically when you start handing a poor girl your line?"

  "I am sorry," he said with a slight nod of his head. "I do it without thinking. The two languages are so comfortable for me, I switch from one to the other without realizing it. Whatever language I use, I am trying to tell you how compelling you are, how much I find myself wanting you."

  JoNell swallowed hard. She felt a trembling in her knees. She tried to hold onto her anger. "You met me twenty-four hours ago," she choked. "You know nothing about me…"

  "I know everything about you. You are very young, JoNell, but surely you must know that in the important things in life, one must trust the heart, not the mind. Something deep inside gives us the message, sometimes quickly and without warning."

  Fire was raging in his slashing green eyes now. He took a step closer to JoNell. A shiver of fear gripped her. Suddenly she realized how alone they were on this deserted stretch of beach. The size of Del Toro's powerful body made JoNell feel even smaller and weaker than she really was. If he decided to take her by force, she knew she couldn't stop him. What had possessed her to land in this isolated spot with the notorious Del Toro, knowing his unsavory reputation with women as she did?

  Her mouth suddenly dry, she said, "We'd better go. It's getting late."

  She turned to flee to the airplane, but was cut short by a strong hand gripping her upper arm. Powerful fingers bit into her flesh.

  "You're hurting me!" she gasped.

  "Not as much as you are hurting me," Del Toro raged. "You don't give me a chance! Your mind is made up to hate me!"

  He pulled her to him. She felt the steel bands of his arms imprison her. She struggled helplessly as he mashed her to him and pressed his hard manliness against her threateningly. She twisted her shoulders, struggled and started to scream. He held her tight with one strong arm and covered her mouth with the other masterful hand.

  "It won't do you any good to scream," he whispered huskily in her ear. "There is not another living soul within a hundred kilometers."

  In that instant, JoNell was sure she was in the possession of the devil. Demanding green eyes bore into hers with fierce determination. Nostrils flared with passion. She felt the fight drain from her. Almost hypnotized, she became limp and fluid in his arms. Hungry lips pressed on hers. She felt the tingle of thick hair brushing against her upper lip. The half hysterical thought crossed her embattled mind that she had never before been kissed by a man with a mustache.

  She was swept up in a cloud of bewilderment as her body was pulled tighter and tighter into his powerful arms and his lips became more demanding on hers. She felt hard teeth behind his lips bruise her flesh. He loosened his grip and ran his hands slowly down her spine. A tingle raced through her. Then his hands retraced their course, moved back up her spine and stopped on her shoulders. His lips reluctantly parted from hers, and he drew back.

  "Was that so terrible?" he asked in a husky whisper, his eyes searching hers.

  A smoldering deep in her being, in some hidden recess of her emotions, in a place so remote from her usual thoughts that she had never guessed its existence, began to ignite in an indescribable feeling that both terrified and fascinated her. Little bands of steel in all her muscles gave her a sudden strength. Her heart pounded furiously, making her dizzy. Vaguely, she knew she could break his grip and run. But she was trapped now in a snare of her own desire, and she knew, with an intensity she had never before known in her life, that she was being controlled by some inner force that brushed aside rational thought. Only her heart told her what she must do.

  He said, "Destiny brought you to my life, JoNell. That is what I felt soon after I met you…"

  Again, he kissed her. She could feel the hard jolts of Del Toro's pulse pounding through his body. Fire burned her lips. Now she melted against him willingly. She thought she would never get her fill of the delicious nectar of his mouth. All of her senses melted into a large ball of burning desire which begged for the touch and kiss of Jorge Del Toro Never before had she felt so alive, so vibrant, so in need. Her body ached. In her fogged state, she forgot about the many women Del Toro had had before her, and that he would toss her aside as he had them, when his fickle nature tired of her. Tomorrow would never be and yesterday had never been. There was only this place and this moment—this strip of deserted beach and this man holding her. They were man and woman at the dawn of creation.

  She was enveloped in rapturous sensations begging to be fulfilled when the kiss ended. His caressing hands stopped leaving their trail of fire on her body. His breathing that had been quick and unmeasured took on a controlled quality. He loosened his grip on her and drew back. But still his eyes searched her face. "I will have you, when the time is right," he murmured, his voice unsteady. "In your hate for me, I have found a spark of passion—"

  JoNell felt drained and weak. Her arms, an empty ache in them, hung limply at her sides. At first the desire that had raged in her changed into a blank feeling of nothingness, a void sensation of occupying an empty body. Then as her strength and sanity returned, she felt the hot rise of anger. Shame overtook the anger. Humiliation made her cheeks burn. She blinked hard to hold back a flood of tears.

  What a cruel and calculating man he was! Older, experienced with women, he had taken advantage of her youth and innocence.

  With a shocking realization, JoNell saw what a diabolical man Del Toro was, and how exceedingly dangerous he was. He had tricked JoNell in spite of her defenses against him. He had turned on in her a flood of desire so intense she would have willingly given herself to him today, here in this place, and then regretted it the rest of her life. But he had stopped short, perhaps to prove to her just how much power he really had over her. He could toy with her as he pleased because he had her under his spell now. He had proved that he could arouse her. But he was not nearly so weak as she was. While she had been his willing victim, he had been emotionally aloof the whole time, coolly measuring her responses.

  JoNell was frightened. How long would it be before Jorge Del Toro carried out his threat? She loathed him more than ever. In that moment, she vowed to never again allow him to trap her into a situation where they were alone together like this. Her hate for him was her only protection. She would use it like a sword against him until she was safely out of Peru!

  Chapter 4

  JoNell sat alone in the airport office, staring at the flight log. She and Del Toro had flown back in icy silence. As soon as they had landed, he had dashed off to a pressing business appointment.

  Now she looked at the flying time she had recorded—one hour—and could not believe the figure she had written. Sh
e had lived a lifetime this morning. How could she write down only one hour! But that was the actual time in the air not counting the time they had spent on the beach.

  Del Toro's purchase agreement had stipulated ten hours of flying lessons. That meant she had nine more hours in the air with that man, sitting in the cramped quarters of the small plane. That would be painful for her—but safe. He wouldn't dare make any romantic overtures when they were flying.

  Because of Del Toro's busy schedule, it had been necessary to spread the ten hours of flying instructions over a two-week period. JoNell's heart sank at the prospect of spending two weeks in the household of Jorge Del Toro. Her only hope was that Del Toro's demanding business schedule would keep him so occupied she could avoid him at all times except when they were flying.

  Remembering the hypnotic spell Del Toro had cast over her on the beach made a shiver run through her. How glad she would be when she was safely home in Florida, a continent away from seňor Jorge Del Toro!

  JoNell was filing Del Toro's flight log in a cabinet when Miguel bounced into the airport office, his jolly face a circus of grins.

  "Come, seňorita. The seňor tell me to show you some of the city. I take you to the markets and stores. You will like these places very much."

  "Thank you, Miguel. I would enjoy that."

  Yes, she thought, a shopping trip would be good therapy for her jangled nerves.

  Miguel drove her to a section of the city between the Bolivar and Crillon Hotels, where a four block area was filled with shops specializing in Peruvian handcrafts. JoNell spent several pleasant hours browsing among displays of alpaca wool sweaters, llama rugs, Indian masks and reproductions of Inca jewelry in gold and silver. She made a few modest purchases of souvenirs to take home with her.

  Miguel waited patiently in the limousine, reading a magazine. When she finished her shopping tour, he took her on a sightseeing expedition of the impressive churches of Lima. She was certain she would have nightmares after viewing the mummified body of Francisco Pizarro in the cathedral, and the thousands of bones, skulls and skeletons laid out in neat rows in the catacombs of the Church of San Francisco. Miguel was so proud of being her guide that she didn't have the heart to object, but she was enormously relieved when they were back outside in the daylight.

  They were walking to the car when something quite terrifying took place.

  JoNell heard a distant rumble, and the earth quivered under her feet. She uttered a cry of alarm, clutching at Miguel's arm.

  He chuckled. "It is nothing, seňorita. Please do not be frightened. It is just an earthquake."

  "Just an earthquake?" she gasped.

  "Oh, not a real earthquake. Just, how you call it, a tremor. We have them all the time in Peru. Nobody pays any attention."

  But this unsettling experience was the last straw after everything else that had happened to her today, and JoNell felt a distinct need to lie down. "Could you take me home, Miguel? I'm suddenly very tired."

  "Certainly, seňorita." He opened the car door with his usual flourish.

  Miguel's usual breakneck speed on the way home was stifled at several places by crowds gathered around speakers. "Politicos doing much talking," Miguel muttered, steering his way through the throng, his horn blaring impatiently. "It is the presidente election soon to be held."

  JoNell saw giant posters of a gray haired, mustached man glaring from under bushy eyebrows. Gustamente por Presidente was proclaimed in foot high letters.

  Miguel proceeded to give her a discourse on Peruvian politics for the rest of the trip home. It seemed that Jorge Del Toro was bitterly opposed to Gustamente and was throwing his considerable influence behind the opposing candidate, Sergio Mendez de Cardova. Miguel painted a dismal picture of Geraldo Gustamente's qualifications and what would happen to the country if he were elected.

  But the matter was of no importance to JoNell. She tuned out Miguel's running chatter and dozed the rest of the way back to Del Toro's mansion.

  After a four o'clock lunch of delicious hard-crusted bread, butter and tea which was waiting for her in her room, JoNell stretched out on the enormous bed and was asleep in seconds.

  It was dusk when a tapping at her door awakened her.

  "Who is it?" she called sleepily.

  "Miguel."

  "Come in, Miguel," she said, sliding off the bed and heading for the door.

  The door opened and a huge white vase filled with long-stemmed roses bobbed toward her.

  "For you, seňorita," said Miguel's voice from behind the advancing flowers.

  More flowers, and her room already looked like a rose garden in full blossom! The roses were gorgeous. She cupped her hands around a cluster of damp buds and sniffed their rich fragrance. Under any other circumstances, she would have been delighted. She did love the flowers, no matter that they did come from Del Toro. But his card that came with them made her both furious and frightened:

  "A symbol of our first kiss and what is yet to come…"

  "What was yet to come" for reasons JoNell could not fathom did not develop into the problem she anticipated during the next two weeks. She saw practically nothing of Del Toro except for the scheduled flying times, which he kept religiously. But when he did arrive at the airport for the lessons, she could see that he was being pressed for time. He often arrived with an entourage of cars. Business-suited men and secretaries followed him across the airfield to the waiting plane. He discussed business and dictated notes up to the moment that he climbed into the airplane beside JoNell.

  She could tell that he was under a strain. He looked haggard and weary. She assumed it had something to do with the presidential election that Miguel had talked about. But it was none of her business, and she had no intention of inquiring about it. She was just thankful that Del Toro was being kept too busy to follow up on the threat he had made that day on the beach, "I will have you when the time is right. …"

  She had not drawn an easy breath for two weeks, worried about what kind of new trick Del Toro might have up his sleeve to trap her into another dangerous, intimate situation like that day on the beach. But, except for daily bouquets of roses accompanied by notes of apology for not being a better host, he had shown no personal interest in her. He was preoccupied during the flying lessons, and she was cold and professional.

  She had come to the conclusion that love was a game, a pastime to a philanderer like Del Toro. During that first flying lesson, he'd had a little time to spare, and he had been in the company of a young woman. So, he amused himself by seeing how far his charms could get him with her.

  It had meant no more to him than that, and she would be grateful forever that the moment had stopped short of her making a terrible fool of herself.

  The ten hours of flying lessons were completed on schedule. JoNell was packing to leave. And none too soon. Her mother phoned her that afternoon, her voice full of worry. JoNell's father was suffering a depression. Health and business worries had pushed him to the verge of an emotional breakdown.

  JoNell managed to keep her voice cheerful and reassuring. "I'm through here, and I'm arranging to catch the earliest possible commercial flight home. Don't worry, Mom. Everything is going to be just fine…"

  But the minute she hung up, she burst into tears. She sat weakly on the edge of the bed.

  "Seňorita, what is the matter?" asked a familiar masculine voice from the direction of the doorway.

  JoNell raised long, wet lashes and saw the figure of Jorge Del Toro.

  "Nothing—it's a personal matter," JoNell said unsteadily, brushing tears from her cheeks.

  He took a step into the room. "But you're crying. You look very upset."

  "I—I've had some disturbing news from home."

  "But what is it?" He took another step toward her, a look of concern furrowing his brow. "Please tell me." His voice was gentle—quite out of character for him.

  She hesitated. "I—I just had a call from my mother. It's my father's illness. He has beco
me very depressed."

  "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

  The note of kindness in Del Toro's voice surprised JoNell. Was he actually capable of showing sympathy for another human being?

  "No," she said. "It's a family matter. I hope I can help cheer up my father when I get home."

  He glanced toward the bed, saw her packed bags, and frowned. "You are leaving?"

  "Yes. We've completed the sales agreement. Ten hours of flying instructions. There's no reason for me to stay any longer. I want to take the earliest commercial flight home that I can get."

  Del Toro slumped into a chair, his frown deepening. His green eyes looked dark and troubled. "I had not expected you to be in such a hurry to leave. Is it because I have been such a poor host? You have not been happy in my home? Please forgive me for the bad hospitality I have shown you, seňorita. This has been a difficult time for me… the presidential election… I have been under a great deal of pressure…"

  JoNell again noticed the lines of worry and fatigue in his face. For an instant, she almost felt a touch of compassion for him. But her voice was aloof when she replied, "That has nothing to do with it, seňor. As I said, I was here to do a job, and that has been completed. Now I must go home."

  A strange expression crossed Del Toro's face. There was a strained silence before he spoke again. "Couldn't you delay your trip home for a few days so I can show you more of our city?"

  You'd like that, wouldn't you, Del Toro? You suddenly remembered that unfinished matter back on the deserted beach.

  "Thank you," she said coldly. "But I have no more time for sightseeing. As I told you, my father's health is growing worse. He has so many business worries in addition to his poor health. I must get back to help him."

  "How can you help, seňorita?"

  "I'm not exactly sure," she admitted. "I was planning to finish college next year, but, of course, now that is out of the question. Instead, somehow, perhaps, I can help save my parents' business. It's the worry about the business that has undermined my father's health so badly."