Love Captive Read Online Free Page B

to struggle with even more pressing tears.
    Oh, I hate him
! Anne thought first, furiously grabbing up a tissue from her purse to wipe her eyes. Oh, but isn't he right? she thought next. Or… is he right? He was so handsome, so incredibly dynamic. He was also a wealthy man, heir to a title. He would one day be a duke, the woman he married a duchess. How much of the sharp hunger she felt for him now was based on what he was as a person—did she really have the least idea what he was like as a person?—and how much on what she knew about his family background and money? Had he turned out to be the son of a cab driver and a seamstress, as she'd speculated there in the bar, would she have the same intense, painful interest in him now?
    Trying to be as honest with herself as she could, Anne admitted that quite possibly she wouldn't. But—if that was the case, how did a man like Carlos protect himself from being exploited, from being chased by greedy, scheming women? By sticking to those in his own special sphere, of course. By socializing with those who had the same wealthy background he had. Which was precisely the point he'd made.
    Yes, he's right; unfortunately, he's right, Anne decided, wiping away the last of her tears. He and I don't belong together, and quite possibly Michael and Dorrie don't either. After all, American marriages, based as they so often were on little other than a strong physical attraction, did end in divorce a heartbreakingly high number of times. Therefore, Carlos had every right to do as he was doing, to try to persuade his sister to return home and avoid what could very likely prove to be an extremely costly mistake.
Okay, Carlos, you win
, Anne thought wearily,
you win
.
    She had regained complete control of herself by the time Carlos reentered the cabin, carrying a tray with two plates of sandwiches.
    "I decided I was hungry after all," he announced in a coolly distant voice, "so I went to have a look and found the makings for tuna fish sandwiches. I made one for you too, if you want it. If not, no matter." He placed their plates on the table and slid the tray to the floor. Reseating himself without looking at her, he picked up his sandwich.
    After a moment, sighing, Anne decided that she too was hungry. With a murmured, "Thank you," she began to eat.
    They munched away in an unfriendly silence, Anne doing her best to forget her companion's presence. She felt a sharp sadness well up in her, and suddenly found herself remembering times when, as a small child walking by her mother's side through large department stores, she had been told sternly that she could look but not touch. She smiled wryly to herself, realizing she felt that same hungry yearning now that she'd felt then, the need to touch and stroke and hold in her arms the marvelous things she saw. But… she couldn't then and she couldn't now. She'd been born into a poor family, and when they'd gone shopping, her mother had always been fearful that her children might damage expensive merchandise for which she'd be forced to pay. There had never been enough money to buy her the things she craved as a child, and now that she was grown, nothing had changed. She was still too poor and nameless to ever have for her own the man for whom her heart now ached. But for Pete's sake, Anne scolded herself, choking down the sandwich Carlos had fixed for her, I've only just met him, and if there's one thing that's certain it's that I'll most certainly get over him.
    Over him
? Anne's thoughts echoed, and she heard herself burst out laughing. How tired she must be to be taking herself so seriously! How could she possibly think that what she felt for Carlos was anything but the silliest kind of schoolgirlish infatuation? So he was handsome, rich, a Spanish nobleman—so what? The fact remained that she'd met him only a couple of hours before and knew next to nothing about him. To imagine herself falling in love with him… Still laughing, Anne raised her