Obsession - Girl Abducted (2 page)

She would belong only to him, forever and always.

Mark's idyllic thoughts were shattered as he overheard Lisa's words. "Yes, he called again! And he sent a huge bouquet of the most beautiful flowers! The note said he can't wait to work with you, and that he is your biggest fan. And he signed it himself! 'With love and great expectations, Tim.'"

Tim! Rutherford, the bastard! What a nerve, pushing himself on Emily like that. Mark had to physically restrain himself at that moment, because Emily's response infuriated him. "Lisa, that's so cool! I adore Tim! He's such a good actor. I hope we get some juicy love scenes to do!" Both women dissolved into girlish laughter and Emily's dark blue eyes sparkled with amusement and mischief.

Mark felt the blood rush to his face. A lesser man, he thought, might have leapt up at that moment to protest, but not Mark. Oh no, Mark was nothing if not patient. He had waited a long time for the right moment to introduce himself to his beloved and he wasn't about to blow that now, just because that asshole Rutherford thought he could charm Emily.

But he would have to move fast. It sounded like Emily had deluded herself into thinking she wanted to work with this jerk, even to do love scenes with him! Mark couldn't bear the thought of Emily lying naked in another man's arms. Another
man's mouth on her perfect pert nipples. Another man's whip lashing that tender flesh...

He knew she was scheduled to fly to L.A. soon and then it would be too late to stop Rutherford from his attempts to corrupt the pure and chaste Emily. Since she had dumped that ridiculous low-life movie director last year, his Emily had remained faithful to Mark, though she didn't know it. She had saved that creamy flesh for his use alone. And soon, yes very soon, she would belong to him and dreams she didn't even know she had would be realized.

Even at this early hour, New York hummed and honked.

The air was cool and the sun was still hidden behind the skyscrapers. She would be coming out of her apartment house in a just a minute. Mark was waiting, the black Lincoln he had rented parked by the curb in front. It was an identical model to the ones driven by the studio chauffeurs. When Emily came out her driver and car would be waiting to take her to the studio for another photo shoot for yet another magazine. But this time the driver would be Mark. He had made sure that the regular driver would be a little late, by slashing his tires earlier this morning.

He had even managed to procure a studio driver uniform by following the driver after hours. When he dropped off his suit for dry cleaning, Mark had been the one to pick it up. His convincing story about his lost ticket, and his ability to describe the suit in detail, as well as the substantial tip discreetly delivered for any trouble caused, assuaged any misgivings the clerk might have had in handing over the uniform. Luckily the driver was about his height, though Mark
was in much better shape. He prided himself on his washboard stomach and long lean muscles. He exercised every night, while watching one of Emily's films on his TV or some streaming video of her online.

He saw the door swing open, held by the doorman, who smiled at Emily as she stepped out onto the street. There she was, radiant in a bright yellow cotton sweater and faded blue jeans, her trademark brown leather jacket slung casually over her shoulder. From now on she would be wearing only dresses, if anything—he wanted to see those glorious legs at all times. And of course she must always be available to him.

As she walked toward him, he pushed the passenger door open, hoping she didn't notice that his hand was trembling.

"Good morning, Ms. Hunter," he called out, trying to sound jovial and relaxed, as if he picked up gorgeous young movie stars every day.

"Oh," Emily looked at him uncertainly. "Hank isn't-?"

"Hank is sick. I'll be your driver just for the day, ma'am.

My name is Mark. I'll drive you to the studio, Ms. Hunter.

Please get in." For one horrible moment he thought she was on to him. She paused, her expression uncertain. For one endless moment it seemed all his carefully laid plans would be ruined. She would refuse to get in and she would call the police.

His heart was tapping painfully in his chest and sweat began to bead on his forehead. He hoped his expression didn't betray his anxiety as he forced a calm smile. He almost sighed aloud with relief when she gave him a small return smile and climbed into the back seat. "Well, okay. Nice to
meet you, Mark." She didn't sound very happy to have a replacement for Hank. Mark instantly and intensely hated Hank but managed to quash his feelings. What did it matter now? He had her.
He had her!

He could smell her perfume—something light and slightly spicy. He would have her wear something with a more floral scent. If she wore anything at all. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch her soft cheek, touch that perfectly rounded little breast. His heart gave a small lurch as he looked at her in the rearview mirror. Another car's loud and angry honking brought him back to the reality of New York City traffic. Smiling, he clicked the childproof locks into place and eased out of the parking spot.

He began to weave his way through the early morning traffic. Emily had leaned back in the seat and he could see in the rearview mirror that her eyes were closed. Good! That much longer until she began to notice that they weren't, in fact, going to the studio at all. After several minutes Emily opened her eyes and sat up, staring out the tinted window as the car approached the George Washington Bridge.

"Hey! Where are you going? This isn't the right way! You're leaving the city!"

"Sorry," Mark said, "Didn't they tell you? We have to pick up another actor for the shoot." Emily looked suspiciously at him, her eyes narrowing. The sweetest little furl appeared between her eyes. Mark had to force himself to keep his eyes on the road.

"Who?" she demanded. "I wasn't told about this."

"Lonnie Bateman."
"Lonnie Bateman's out of town. Just what is going on here?" Out of town. He hadn't counted on this. Oh well, so the jig would be up that much sooner.

"Listen, Emily—" he began.

"Emily? I'm Emily now? Just what the hell do you think you're doing? Take me back this instant!" He could hear an edge of panic beneath her attempt to sound authoritative. His cock responded to the sexy note of fear in her voice. He thrilled to the idea he could make his darling little girl afraid.

And this was just the beginning. He would teach her real fear once he had her where he wanted her.

"This is a little sooner than I wanted to tell you," Mark began, his heart drumming against his ribs. As he spoke, his hand slipped into his jacket pocket and closed around a little pistol he had purchased for this precise occasion. "You are being abducted, Ms. Hunter. But not some sordid kidnapping.

Rather, I'm stealing you from the strife and chaos of your life.

I'm taking you to a safe haven where we can get to know each other, without all those agents, directors and paparazzi harassing you every hour of the day and night. I, Emily dearest, am setting you free."

He waited for her response. He felt the little speech had gone well. He had rehearsed it a number of times, changing a word here and there for effect. Emily was staring at him in horror. "What the hell..." She trailed off, biting her lip as she saw his pistol pointed in her direction. "Oh, my God," she half-whispered, the words forced from her involuntarily by the sight of the weapon.
"Don't worry, darling." Oh, it felt delicious to say that! "I won't use this, of course, unless you make me. I just brought it along in case you had any ideas of disturbing our plans.

Now, hand me that purse." He wouldn't have her surreptitiously dialing 911 on her cell phone. He'd thought everything through.

"Who are you?" Emily asked, still whispering. She handed her small brown leather bag to him with trembling fingers.

Mark dropped on it on the seat beside him and pulled open the little snap. Wallet, lipstick, cell phone. Good.

"I'm Mark, like I told you. You can call me Mark, or you can call me sir." Yes, he had thought about that too. He liked the intimacy of her calling him by his given name. But he also liked the idea that she should respect him and his position. Of course, she didn't know his position yet. She would find out soon enough.

As Emily didn't respond, Mark continued, "You don't know me, but I know you. I'm your biggest fan." I really am her biggest fan, he thought. Not like that idiot Rutherford who just wants to get into her pants. "I've seen all your work," he went on, smiling. "and I own everything ever out on DVD or television with you in it. Even that shampoo commercial you did back in the early days of your career. I know where you live. I know your daily schedule. I know where you eat. I know who your friends are. I know who your family is and where they live and what they all do for a living."

As Mark spoke, Emily looked more and more frightened.

This irritated him, since he felt she should be flattered to know he was so interested in her and her life.
"A stalker!" Emily finally blurted out. It came out more as a squeak than a statement. Mark smiled at her little girl voice, aware that fear had ratcheted the pitch up an octave. But he didn't like being called a stalker. No. He was so much more than that. He was her savior.

"No name calling, little girl," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. They were over the bridge now, heading northwest.

"Just pretend you're Catherine in
The China Hunt
. I'll be Garth Blackstone, your British hero and love interest." Emily had once played a turn-of-the-century heroine caught in a deadly murder mystery. It hadn't been one of her more famous pictures, but Mark loved it. It was romantic, but more importantly, she got kidnapped and tied to a chair. There was a whipping implied but the audience didn't get to see it.

Her screams in the film had been heart-wrenchingly real.

He had watched that scene so many times there wasn't a detail that escaped him. The frightening thing about what he had just said was that Garth Blackstone wasn't the "good guy". He was the abductor who planned to murder Catherine if his demands weren't met. Emily began to cry quietly, large tears welling and spilling over. "Please, don't hurt me. Please.

Take me back home. Please."

Again his cock fought with him, straining against the fabric of his stolen uniform. He loved the terror in her eyes and the way her voice cracked with fear and pleading. But he also loved Emily, and didn't want her to suffer too much. At least not like this. "I'm taking you home, darling. Our home. I've been working and saving for two years for this. I have it all arranged so I can work from home. I'll never leave you alone
again, my beloved. No more lonely nights for you. No more endless work schedules with all those vultures profiting off your talents."

Emily continued to cry, her head now hidden in her hands.

Mark was annoyed. Wasn't she listening to him? "Stop it! I don't like that crying. You'll look like a mess with those puffy red eyes. Stop it at once." Still driving, he reached his hand back and touched the top of her head with the hard metal of the gun. Emily jumped and jerked her head back, stifling a little cry.

"Look what you've done! You've ruined your pretty face.

I'll need something else to look at then. Take off your sweater. And your bra too. I've seen your tits, of course, in
Jack & Jill
, but not up close and personal!" Mark was grinning now, his breathing growing faster at the thought of seeing her half-naked. He hadn't planned on making her strip in the car but she had brought this on herself with those stupid tears.

Emily had stopped crying. She wiped a hand across her nose and his heart almost burst with tenderness. She looked like a little girl who had fallen and skinned her knee. But the little girl was being naughty. Mark had given her a specific order.

"Emily, what did I tell you?" He couldn't quite believe he was talking to the woman of his dreams like this. He couldn't believe his own wonderful, masterful nerve, as he commanded her to obey him. "Take off that sweater and bra right now or I'm going to have to do it for you." His voice was stern.
Emily slowly lifted the hem of her sweater and began to pull it up over her head. Mark almost swerved into a guardrail as her flat tummy and bra-encased breasts were revealed.

She pulled the sweater over her head and sat, looking down, her face now a pleasing blush of pink. "Go on," Mark said in a low voice, not trusting himself to say more. His heart was pounding so hard his chest actually hurt.

Still looking down, Emily reached behind her back and unclasped the little silk bra that was her last protection against his ravenous eyes. As her breasts popped into view in his mirror Mark had trouble keeping his eyes on the road. He would have pulled over but he didn't want any questions from helpful passersby or the police. In the mirror he could see Emily's bowed head. The pink flush on her face was creeping down her neck and torso.

"Come on," he said, hugely enjoying her sweet shyness.

"It's not like you haven't bared those delicious breasts of yours to the entire world. Lift up your head and be proud, girl!" As she hesitantly lifted her head, her breasts were raised up to their perfection. They swelled from her body like soft round oranges on a plate. The impossibly soft, creamy skin was tipped in dark, rosy pink. Mark's mouth literally watered at the thought of tasting those perfect mounds of feminine perfection.

"Let's see those nipples. Squeeze them for me. I want to see them perk up." Emily stared at him, horrified. He only had to wave the gun slightly, and her hesitant fingers flew to her nipples. She twisted and rolled the soft pink flesh in her hands, making her nipples stand at attention. Her nipples
were a dusky rose color, melting into a slightly lighter pink and then into the white of her breasts. She was perfect.

"Put your hands behind your head, like in the movie."

Looking down now, biting her lips with worry, Emily did as she was told.

"Ah," Mark breathed. He could touch her if he wanted. She was so close to him. He stared at her in his mirror as he maneuvered in the traffic. He longed to reach back and twist those stiff nipples but he didn't dare. He didn't want to embarrass himself by coming in his pants. Plenty of time to touch her later.