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“Just a bit tired.” She smiled and made a joke. Before long they were engaged in the sort of lighthearted exchange they did so well. They dined on slivers of artichoke heart drizzled with a peppery sauce of black olives and capers, followed by slices of chicken that had been marinated in lime, coriander, and juniper. By the time the raspberry charlotte arrived in a puddle of ginger crème anglaise, she was too full to eat more than a few bites. As she sat bathed in candlelight and Stefan's affection, she thought how much she was enjoying herself. Why didn't she just tell Stefan she would marry him? What woman in her right mind could resist the idea of being a princess? For all her valued independence, she was working too hard and spending too much time away from her son. She loved her career, but she was beginning to realize that she wanted more out of life than spectacular Nielsens. Still, was this marriage what she really wanted?
“Are you listening, darling? This isn't the most encouraging response I've ever received to a marriage proposal.”
“Oh, dear, I'm sorry. I'm afraid I was woolgathering.” She smiled apologetically. “I need a bit more time, Stefan. To be honest, I'm not all that certain how good you are for my character.”
He looked at her, puzzled. “What a curious thing to say. Whatever do you mean?”
She couldn't explain to him how afraid she was that after a few years in his company, she might be right back where she had started from—staring into mirrors and throwing a temper tantrum if her nail polish chipped. Leaning forward, she kissed him, taking a nip at his lip with her small, sharp teeth and distracting him from his question. The wine had warmed her blood, and his solicitude chipped away at the barriers she'd built around herself. Her body was young and healthy. Why was she letting it shrivel up like an old leaf? She brushed his lips with her own again. “Instead of a proposal, how about a proposition?”
A combination of amusement and desire sparked in his eyes. “I suppose that would depend on the kind of proposition.”
She gave him a saucy grin. “Take me to your bedroom, and I'll show you.”
Picking up her hand, he kissed the tips of her fingers, his gesture so courtly and elegant he might have been leading her onto the ballroom floor. As they walked through the hallway, she found herself enveloped in a haze of wine and laughter so pleasurable that, by the time they actually entered his opulent stateroom, she might have believed she was really in love if she hadn't known herself better. Still, it had been so long since a man had held her in his arms that she let herself pretend.
He kissed her, gently at first and then more passionately, muttering foreign words in her ear that excited her. His hands moved to the fastenings on her clothing. “If only you knew how long I have wanted to see you naked,” he murmured. Drawing down the bodice of her gown, he nuzzled at the tops of her breasts as they rose over the lacy border of her slip. “Like warm peaches,” he murmured. “Full and rich and scented. I'm going to suck out every sweet drop of their juice.”
Francesca found his line a little corny, but her body wasn't as discriminating as her mind and she could feel her skin growing deliciously warm. She cupped her hand around the back of his head and arched her neck. His lips dipped lower, burrowed beneath the lace of her slip for her nipple. “Here,” he said, closing around her. “Oh, yes...”
Yes, indeed. Francesca gasped as she felt the suction of his mouth and then the delicious scrape of his teeth.
“My darling, Francesca...” He sucked deeper, and her knees began to feel as if they would buckle.
And then the telephone rang.
“Those imbeciles!” He cursed in a language she didn't understand. “They know I am never to be disturbed here.”
But the mood had been broken, and she stiffened. She suddenly felt embarrassed to be getting ready to have sex with a man she only loved a little bit. What was wrong with her that she couldn't fall in love with him? Why did she still have to make such a big thing out of sex?
The phone continued to ring. He snatched it and barked into the receiver, listened a moment, then held it out to her, obviously irritated. “It's for you. An emergency.”
She let out an oath that was purely Anglo-Saxon, determined to have Nathan Hurd's scalp for this. No matter what his current crisis, her producer had no right to interrupt her tonight. “Nathan, I'm going to—” Stefan banged a heavy crystal brandy decanter down on a tray, and she pushed her finger into her exposed ear to shut him out. “What? I can't hear.”
“It's Holly Grace, Francie.”
Francesca was immediately alarmed. “Holly Grace, are you all right?”
“Not really. If you're not sitting down, you'd better do it.”
Francesca sank down on the side of the bed, apprehension growing inside her at the strangely subdued sound of Holly Grace's voice. “What's wrong?” she demanded. “Are you sick? Did something happen with Gerry?” Stefan's tirade quieted as he heard the worried tone in her voice, and he came over to stand next to her.
“No, Francie, nothing like that.” Holly Grace paused for a moment. “It's Teddy.”
“Teddy?” A surge of primal fear shot through Francesca, and her heart began to race.
Holly Grace's words came out in a rush. “He disappeared. Tonight, not long after I took him home.”
Raw terror swept through Francesca's body with such intensity that all her senses seemed to short-circuit. An instant array of ugly pictures flashed into her mind from programs she had done, and she felt herself skimming over the edge of consciousness.
“Francie,” Holly Grace went on, “I think Dallie's kidnapped him.”
Her first feeling was a numbing surge of relief. The dark visions of a shallow grave and a small, mutilated body receded; but then other visions began to appear and she could barely breathe.
“Oh, God, Francie, I'm sorry.” Holly Grace's words tumbled over each other. “I don't know exactly what happened. They accidentally met at my apartment today, and then Dallie showed up at your place about an hour after I'd dropped Teddy off and told Consuelo I'd sent him back to pick up Teddy so he could spend the night with me. She knew who he was, of course, so she didn't think anything of it. He had Teddy pack a suitcase, and nobody has seen either of them since. I've called everywhere. Dallie's checked out of his hotel, and Skeet doesn't know a thing. The two of them were supposed to go to Florida this week for a tournament.”
Francesca felt a sickness growing in the pit of her stomach. Why would Dallie take Teddy? She could only think of one reason, but that was impossible. No one knew the truth; she had never told a soul. Still, she couldn't come up with any other reason. A bitter rage mounted inside her. How could he do something so barbaric?
“Francie, are you still there?”
