Missing Mother-To-Be. Эль КеннедиЧитать онлайн книгу.
hung up in frustration, not bothering to leave a message. I got knocked up after a one-night-stand wasn’t something you wanted to say over voice mail.
She shoved the phone in her bag and leaned her head back. What a mess. Why had Deacon checked out of his hotel so abruptly?
And why couldn’t she get him out of her head?
The memory of their night together floated into her mind like a balmy summer breeze. Her body grew hot, tight and achy, as she remembered the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her.
“You’re stunning,” he’d whispered into her neck. And then he’d looked at her with those sexy hazel eyes, as if he’d truly never known beauty until that night.
The entire encounter was still so surreal. The tangy flavor of the red wine they’d sipped. His warm breath, heating her skin. His lips, kissing their way along her collarbone, her jaw, finally pressing against her mouth.
Her skin broke out in shivers. God, those kisses. Soft and romantic, teasing, fleeting and then hot and passionate, as the heat between them exploded in a raging fire that had left her utterly sated.
“This isn’t a good idea,” he’d murmured between kisses, uncertainty flickering on his handsome face. “We’re strangers.”
Yes, they were. Two strangers who’d met in a museum, shared a few glasses of wine in a hotel room and wound up needy and naked in bed.
It had been the best night of her life.
Lana’s gaze dropped to her flat abdomen. Maybe the worst, too, yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret the result of their passion. A baby. God, a baby.
Those two words continued to echo through her mind, and she clung to them. The tiny life growing inside her was the only thing keeping her grounded at the moment. The only reason she hadn’t gone into a total panic and started roaming the streets of Paris in search of Deacon. She needed to be strong for this child. She needed to love it and protect it.
Protect it, she repeated in her mind, as her eyelids became heavy. She wasn’t sure why the slightly ominous notion rolled inside her head, but she clung to that, too, as sleep slowly crept in.
She wasn’t sure how long she slept, but when her eyes snapped open a while later, it was pitch black inside the cabin, and all she saw out the window was darkness. The train was still moving, the wheels making a metallic click-clack sound as they sped along the rails.
Lana glanced at her watch and saw it was almost five in the morning, a half-hour before her scheduled wake-up call. Rubbing her tired eyes, she stood up and went to the small sink in the corner of the cabin, where she brushed her teeth and washed her face. Then she sat down again, wide awake as she waited for the train to reach Milan.
The wake-up knock sounded from the door thirty minutes later, and when the train’s wheels finally screeched to a halt, Lana was more than ready to get off and board the connecting train to Florence. She should’ve just hopped a flight, it would’ve gotten her home a lot sooner, but she’d always thought traveling through Europe by train was charming.
Now she just found it time-consuming.
She was at the door of the cabin when the train came to a creaky stop, so when the second knock came, she already had her hand on the door handle.
“I’m all ready,” she said as she opened the door. “My suitcase is—”
Her words halted in her throat as she laid eyes on two very large, very menacing-looking men. The taller of the two had a shaved head and a lethal jagged scar along his left cheekbone. The second man was shorter, but not lacking in muscle. He had the shoulders of a linebacker, dark skin the color of rich chocolate and a pair of chilly brown eyes.
There was a third man behind them, but he had his back turned, as if he were scouting the narrow corridor of the train.
A lookout.
The thought flew into her head swiftly, making her hands grow cold. “Can I help you?” she asked cautiously.
Scar Cheek seemed to be smirking, though his lips were snapped together in a rigid line. It was Cold Eyes who responded to her question. “You’re going to need to come with us.”
He spoke in English, and the harsh look on his face brooked no argument.
Lana argued. “I’m sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else. I’m not—”
Her sentence died with a squeak. Cold Eyes had just shifted the bottom of his long black trench coat, revealing the sleek gun in his right hand.
“Listen to me, and listen carefully,” he said, his voice eerily soft. “You are going to follow us off this train like a good little girl. If you scream, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes. If you try to run, I’ll put one in your leg. Understood?”
She nodded dazedly, terror circling her spine like icy fingers. What the hell was going on? Her first thought was that this might be a terrorist attack, that the train had been hijacked, but the corridor remained as silent as a church. No frightened screams, no terrified whimpers.
These men…
They were here for her.
“Now pick up your suitcase,” Cold Eyes ordered, his hand still resting on the butt of his weapon.
As her heart thudded like a bass drum, Lana numbly bent down to grab the handle of her suitcase. Her fingers shook so wildly she could barely get a grip on the bag. Finally, she did, heaving it off the ground.
“Good girl,” Cold Eyes said with mock encouragement. “Now follow us. And remember what I told you.”
Her feet felt cold and heavy, but she forced them to move. The two men immediately flanked her, keeping her sandwiched between them like bodyguards. The third man she’d noticed walked in front of them. He wore a long black coat like his fellow henchmen, and all she saw of him was a head of dark, close-cropped hair and broad shoulders. But something about his gait, those confident but wary strides… it was very familiar.
Alarm skittered through her as they walked. Cabin doors were beginning to open, bleary-eyed passengers stepping out into the corridor ready to disembark. Lana felt a sudden spike of adrenaline. There were people around. Cold Eyes might be hiding his gun underneath his big coat, but no way would he pull that thing out in front of all of these people.
Would he?
Her palms went damp, sweat coating the handle of her suitcase. Should she call their bluff? Scream like a banshee? They wouldn’t shoot her with so many eyewitnesses. They wouldn’t—
“Don’t even think about it,” Cold Eyes murmured, glancing at her with a pleasant smile.
“You won’t do it,” she murmured back, her voice shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. “You won’t shoot me with all these people around.”
“Maybe not,” he replied casually. “But one phone call and your mother dies.”
Panic slammed into her. Mom? No, he was bluffing. Her mother was staying with an old girlfriend at Martha’s Vineyard, according to her brother Dylan. No way could these men know that.
“A friend of mine is staring through the scope of a rifle as we speak, and your mother’s pretty little face is in his sights. The Vineyard is lovely this time of year, don’t you think?”
Her pulse shrieked between her eyes. Oh, God. They did know where her mom was. She forced herself to stay calm. Okay, this didn’t mean anything. Just because they knew her mom’s location didn’t mean some sniper was actually situated there. Cold Eyes could still be bluffing, but… if he wasn’t… Lord, if he wasn’t, she wasn’t about to endanger her mother’s life by causing a scene.
Better to get off the train with these men. Maybe she could lose them in the terminal. Maybe—
The