the Power Of the Legendary Greek (2010) by George Catherine

Author:George, Catherine [Catherine, George,]
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-01-14T19:17:00.687000+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WAS a long time before Isobel slept. She felt worried because Luke was in danger, and even more worried because she felt that way. Don’t go there, she warned herself forcibly. She was just about getting over the recent hateful episode. Only a fool would lay herself open to more emotional trauma. Especially with a man who lived his life to a very different set of rules from hers. She tossed and turned endlessly, but when heavy, exhausted sleep overtook her at last she was jolted out of it into a waking nightmare by rough hands which dragged her out of bed, her terrified scream smothered by a pungent cloth clamped over her face.

When Isobel opened her eyes again she felt icy-cold as she stared up into a starlit sky. She could hear an insistent put-putting noise, but instead of fear her knee-jerk reaction was sheer bloody-minded anger when she found she was tied up. Other people had nice package holidays, uneventful except for lost luggage, plane delays and sunburn, while so far hers had been one disaster after another. But burning resentment swiftly morphed into the cold chill of fear as she identified the noise. It was an outboard motor and she was not only in the bottom of a boat, but trussed up like an oven-ready chicken. How long had she been unconscious? And where on earth was she being taken? Even more frightening, what would happen when she got there? At least the smothering cloth had gone. Chloroform, probably. She swallowed down on a wave of nausea, thankful she hadn’t been gagged, then clenched her teeth in anguish as she prayed hard that nothing had happened to Eleni and Spiro. And, instead of howling in anger at fate, she forced herself to lie perfectly still. Better to pretend she was still unconscious than risk the chloroform treatment again.

But why had she been snatched? If ransom was the motive, she had no money so she was no earthly use to a kidnapper. She shivered, feeling cold for all kinds of reasons. And hideously helpless. Then her heart lurched as the engine died and the boat grated against shingle. Now what? She kept her eyes tightly shut, playing dead as she was heaved over a burly shoulder. Her nostrils were assaulted by unwashed wool and sweat and tobacco as she was carried over what appeared to be rocks, by the way she was jolted. The rough handling had started up the throbbing in her temple again and her ankle was joining in. When I get home, Isobel promised herself bitterly—if I get home—I’ll never leave it again.

She heard a door creak, then she was dumped on some kind of bed, pungent with the smell of wet wood and fish. She opened her eyes a crack to see a nightmare shape outlined by the moonlight shining through the small window of some kind of hut, and swallowed a scream as a huge hooded figure bent over her. He

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