Captain's Paradise (8 page)

“Stop it, Robin.” Michael suddenly rose and crossed the small deck between them, tossing his cigarette overboard and sitting down on the bench near her raised legs. “Is that what you think a hero is, some kind of superman? Robin, you just described a machine, not a human being. And you sure as hell didn’t describe me.”

He was too close, too near, and her body was heating slowly. Her laugh was a small, hollow sound. “Didn’t I? You’re going to tackle Sutton alone even though you’ll be outnumbered at least ten to one. What do you call that?”

“My only option.” He took a breath, releasing it impatiently. “Robin, if I thought we could get more than ourselves and this boat anywhere near Sutton’s yacht unobserved, we’d have an army as backup. I’m not too proud to yell for help, but in
this
situation one man has a better chance of getting on that yacht without raising the alarm.”

“And then?” Her voice was taut. “What, Michael? Do you think you can get those girls off the boat by yourself? Or are you going to take a cannon along to persuade all those armed men to give up peacefully?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” he said, more than a suggestion of clenched teeth in his voice. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to get Lisa and those other girls safely out of Sutton’s hands.”

“I know.” She tried and failed to smile. “That’s what makes you a hero, Michael. That’s what fearless men do.”

“Fearless?” He laughed shortly. “Fear’s an old friend of mine, Robin. And right now I’m shaking inside.”

She stared at him, feeling a jolt of shock. All the strong men she had known and none had ever admitted to fear. Granted, she hadn’t brought the question up; because they appeared utterly fearless, she had accepted that as truth. But if this man, whose strength and courage she
could almost see, like an aura around him, if this man admitted to fear …

“It doesn’t show,” she whispered.

He was still frowning, his sharp gray eyes probing hers. “Of course it doesn’t show; I don’t let it. Just like you don’t let it show.”

“It shows on me like a red flag,” she told him, stubborn insistence in her voice. “And every time, every time I have to go into a bad situation, every time I have to at least pretend to be strong, the fear eats me up inside. And I know I’ll freeze. I’ll freeze up, and I’ll get someone killed. That’s why I couldn’t be—” She broke off, horrified.

But it was too late. Michael finished the sentence quietly, a dawning understanding in his expression. “That’s why you couldn’t be a cop, like your father.”

Robin tried to draw away from him, but she was hemmed in by the side of the boat and by the long legs stretched out beside the bench. She couldn’t move away without touching him, and suddenly she was more afraid of touching him than of anything else.

“That’s it, isn’t it, Robin?”

Her arms tightened around her upraised knees, and she couldn’t look away from those clear, perceptive eyes. “I went through the academy,” she said almost inaudibly. “Everyone said I was born to be a cop. But I knew the truth. I knew I was always afraid. I knew someone would depend on me someday, a partner, and I’d freeze up. I’d be paralyzed with fear, and I’d get that partner, or someone else, killed.”

“Did you ever freeze up?” he asked quietly.

“That doesn’t matter, don’t you see? I knew I would. And I couldn’t be a cop when I knew that.”

“What happened? Did you drop out of the academy?”

She swallowed hard. “No. I failed the written exam. Twice. I failed it twice.”

Michael looked at her for a long moment, then said, “So you stuck that label on yourself as well.”

“What label?”

“Failure. Is that what your father called you?”

“No.” She avoided his eyes. “I didn’t give him the chance. I haven’t seen him in three years. A coward to the end.”

“Stop it.” He reached out, grasping both her shoulders and holding them hard. “Robin, fear is natural; in a dangerous situation you’d be an idiot if you weren’t afraid. And that failure of yours wasn’t an honest one.”

“I know what I am,” she whispered, trying to ignore the hard strength of his chest pressed against her arms.

He seemed about to shake her, but then drew a breath and spoke roughly. “Do you? Well, let me tell you what others know about you, Robin. What
I
know about you, even though we’ve known each other less than twenty-four hours. I know that you went through an experience that would have destroyed most women. You were kidnapped, drugged, treated like a piece of merchandise. But you still managed to save yourself by getting away and jumping overboard. And then, when any other woman would have run to
escape those painful memories, you teamed up with a stranger to try to save those other women.

“You went into a place that half the cops I’ve ever met would have avoided like the plague, filled with men very like the ones who kidnapped you. And you
did
it, Robin. You instinctively assumed the one role that provided a slight chance of success. And it worked. You went in for information—and you came out with it. You got the job done.”

“I was afraid!” she cried.

“So what? You think courage is measured by the lack of fear? No, Robin, it’s the opposite. Courage is doing what you have to
despite
fear.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, thinking of her father, always smiling, confident, unafraid.

Michael did shake her then, but gently. His gray eyes went steely suddenly, with the inward-turned look of self-appraisal. “I’ve been in this business for ten years,” he told her flatly, “and I’m very good at what I do. I’ve worked in the Middle East, South America, every part of Europe and Asia. Dirty jobs, most of them, and
hellishly tangled. I’ve been betrayed by people I thought were friends, captured, held prisoner. And, Robin … I’ve been
afraid
.”

She stared at him, seeing the naked truth. “But it didn’t paralyze you,” she whispered. “It didn’t stop you.”

“No. And it won’t stop you. You doubted yourself and your abilities in the beginning, and that’s natural. But you seem to keep misinterpreting your own reactions to danger. The point isn’t that you’re afraid. The point is that it doesn’t stop you.”

“What if it does one day?”

“It won’t.”

“How can I be sure of that?”

The hands on her shoulders gentled. “Robin, you should be sure of it now. You’ve already faced dangers most people never encounter. You just have to accept that fear is two-o’clock-in-the-morning courage.”

Feeling very shaken, she murmured, “Is that a quote?”

He smiled a little. “Paraphrase. Look it up
sometime. Because that’s the kind of courage you have. The rarest kind.”

Robin drew a breath, aware suddenly of the quiet of the marina, of the gentle rocking motion of the boat. Of him. His long fingers were moving on her shoulders, almost absently probing; his eyes were darkening. And she couldn’t look away from him. She had an abrupt memory of jumping off that yacht, of sinking into dark waters, alone and afraid.

“What is it about you?” he murmured, clearly puzzled. “I’ve talked more in the last twenty-four hours than I usually do in a month.”

“You’re … very alone, aren’t you?”

“Except for Lisa.”

Robin shook her head slightly. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know.” His eyes were searching her face now, still puzzled, as if he were looking for something. “Professionally I rarely work with a partner. Personally I suppose I never thought it was fair to begin a relationship that couldn’t last.”

“You mean friendship? Or a lover?”

“Both. My life would strain any kind of relationship.”

Robin was trying to concentrate, trying to keep her mind off the slow, inexorable awakening of her body and senses. “But you must have friendships. Dane, for one.”

Michael tilted his head slightly, listening. “Maybe it’s your voice,” he said absently, then responded to her comments before she could react. “Dane? No, Dane isn’t a friend. We don’t know enough about each other for friendship. I’m secretive; he’s enigmatic. He’s too good a card player for my peace of mind. And even though I’d trust him with my life—and have in some situations—I’m not so sure I’d turn my back to him.”

She felt a sudden pang, remembering what he had said about having been betrayed by those he’d considered friends. “You two seemed to know each other so well. And yet you still feel suspicious?”

One of his hands lifted from her shoulder and
brushed a strand of auburn hair from her face, then lingered warmly against her neck. “I’ve always hedged my bets, Robin,” he said quietly. “Because sure things sometimes stumble, and the long shots can get you killed.”

“Which am I?” she heard herself ask unsteadily. “The sure thing? Or the long shot?”

“I don’t know.” His hand slid around to the nape of her neck, and he began drawing her toward him. “But for the first time in my life … I don’t know if I can hedge this bet.”

Against her conscious volition, Robin felt her hands lifting to touch his chest, felt her legs parting so that as he drew her closer she was heavily aware of the warmth of his body in the hollow of her thighs.

“I don’t think … this is a very good idea,” she managed to say almost inaudibly.

“Of course it isn’t,” he said huskily. “What the hell does that matter?”

Robin forgot her objections the moment his lips touched hers. She forgot everything but him and the violent surge of emotions rushing
through her. She had never felt anything like this, and the force of it shocked her. It came from him, that force, but there was an equally strong response from deep inside herself, and that stunned her; she had never before felt such power.

Her arms went up around his neck as he pulled her fiercely against him, and she felt him draw one of her legs across his, stroking the slender thigh left bare by her shorts. With a mind of its own, her body arched into his, driven to be closer.

A wild sound tangled in the back of her throat as his mouth slanted across hers, deepening the kiss, and heat jolted through her like wildfire. What did it matter, she wondered dazedly, that there would have to be a reckoning for this, that she would pay dearly in tattered emotions. What did it matter that this time she was drawn to a man stronger than any she had ever known, with a force of will that would inevitably deepen her own sense of failure.

Nothing mattered except now, this moment,
and the feelings he was drawing from her deepest self.

It was Michael who pulled back suddenly, holding her away from him with iron hands on her shoulders. His face was pale except for the hard flush on his cheekbones, his eyes glittering. “I didn’t plan on you,” he said hoarsely.

Robin was staring at him, dazed. She forced her arms to let go of him. “Oh, damn,” she muttered, realizing only then that it was too late for her to fight this. Far too late. “I didn’t plan on you either.”

He released her and drew away slowly, rising to his feet and staring down at her. His eyes were violent, but his face remained hard and still.

Robin spoke before he could, fighting to hold her voice steady. “You may not know which I am, a sure thing or a long shot, but you know what this is, don’t you?” She didn’t have to elaborate; he knew that “this” was the explosive attraction between them.

Michael nodded with stark control. “I know.
It’s a long shot. One chance in a million. And I don’t bet on long shots.”

She watched him move away and begin preparations to leave the marina, feeling hot and restless. And despite what Michael had said, she was still afraid.

She didn’t bet on long shots—usually. And Michael didn’t bet on them—usually. But here they were, getting ready to sail off on this small boat alone to try to rescue women being held by armed men on a large yacht.

And if that wasn’t a long shot … then what was?

I
N A LUXURIOUS
condo high above Miami’s famous gleaming white strip of beach, Dane Prescott turned away from the bar in the sunken living room and abruptly went still. Seconds passed. His preoccupied frown slowly faded, a smile taking its place.

“For someone who’s reputedly out of the business,” he murmured to the apparently empty room, “you sure creep around on cat feet. And I’ve never known a retiree more inclined to pick locks and disable security systems.”

“You ought to change that system,” Raven Long said, stepping down into the living room. “It’s lousy.”

“I’m a guest here,” Dane told her politely. “The place belongs to a friend.”

Raven looked around, then gazed at him with a lifted brow. “Broke this week?” she asked him dryly.

“No. But near enough.” He shrugged, dismissing what was obviously an unimportant problem. “What brings you down to sunny Miami? Last I heard, you’d married Joshua Long and had retired from the world of shadows and secrets.”

“You know what they say about retired agents. They just can’t keep out of the dark. I need some information, Dane.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you know Michael Siran?”

“Yes. Would you like a drink?”

Raven’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Will I be here that long?”

“You might.”

“Okay. Brandy.”

He poured her drink, then carried it to her and gestured for her to sit down. When she had, he joined her at one end of the plush gold grouping in the center of the room. “Why are you looking for Michael?” he asked.

“I might need his help. A friend of a friend could well be in trouble down here. Very likely is in trouble. She hasn’t checked out of her hotel, but her things are still there and she hasn’t been seen for the past few days. She’s a reporter, and she was looking into a white slavery ring.” Raven studied her brandy thoughtfully. “I’m here with some friends. We checked the marina a couple of hours ago and found we’d just missed Siran’s boat. Where is he, Dane?”

“Unless I’m much mistaken,” Dane said, “he’s with your friend of a friend. If her name’s Robin Stuart, that is.”

Raven blinked, then smiled. “How did that happen?”

“Seems she wasn’t just looking into white slavery; she fell into it. Managed to jump ship in the
dead of night. By a great stroke of luck, Michael was in the vicinity. He fished her out of the water.”