Deception Island (7 page)

She bit into the nut bar. Maybe she could seek out a spot like this in her new life and live on fish and freedom. People just brought problems—especially people with washboard stomachs.

After Jack had done about a thousand sit-ups, he sat on the other end of the seat, the musky scent of dirt and exertion wafting from him. She sneakily inhaled. What was she, a cave woman?

“You know you don't have to impress me, right?”

He scoffed. “I don't want to impress you. I just want to watch you. I mean,
need
to watch you.” She raised her eyebrow. “
Guard
you.” He clenched his fists.

Oh yeah, that armor was chinking. “Looks to me like you're punishing yourself. Guilty conscience?”

“I'm keeping fit.”

“It's more than that.” She knew that urge for physical oblivion. In prison, hard exercise was the only thing that had blotted out the anger. She'd run around the yard until she was emptied of everything—every thought, every regret—counting her steps to stop herself from thinking, like a meditation. “You've got issues.”

“Only Americans talk about ‘issues.' The rest of us just call it life.”

“You kidnapped the daughter of one of the most powerful men in America. I'm thinking your
issues
are bigger than most.”

He studied her. Flecks of caramel swam in his chocolate irises. “And you've been captured by a bloodthirsty pirate. Also not the kind of problem normal people face.”

“Ever met a normal person?”

“I married a normal person.”

His bitter tone suggested he was no longer married. Nothing on his ring finger, and no band of pale skin. “How'd that work out for you?”

He shrugged, and turned to the view. His profile was so finely etched she had an urge to sketch him—and she couldn't draw a passable stick figure.

“She have trouble dealing with the whole pirate thing? Wanted you to settle down, take a nine-to-five job, get a regular paycheck, take the kids to their ball games instead of going marauding with your wooden-legged pirate pals?”

His jaw set in stone. He stood. “Break's over.”

Okay, that had struck a nerve. Was it regret that brought the hard edge to his eye, or anger? It didn't look like heartbreak. She sipped her water. Maybe he did have kids who played sports on Saturdays. What would make a seemingly decent guy—a guy some woman had loved—do something like this? And what would trigger him to lose his nerve and let Holly go? She pushed up to standing. Press the right buttons in the right order and she might just find out.

The path curled into the jungle and narrowed. As she ran, leaves brushed her arms, and the air filled with rustling and scratching. She hadn't had much use for trail running in California, but she'd imagined dusty, quiet paths. Here, it felt like a million insects and other writhing creatures were hyped up and waiting for the signal to swarm her.

Behind her, Jack's boots pounded a rhythm that matched her footfalls. How long did she have to get to the bottom of him, before the ruse was blown? And what would he do then—kill her? She had to start with dissolving some of the tension between them—or, even better, cranking it up.

A force wrapped around her stomach, yanking her backward. She squealed. Jack's arms were circling her, lifting her off her feet, his hot chest hard up against her back. Her nerves buzzed, even as her heart pummeled.

“Watch where you're going, princess,” he growled.

He eased her down, his hands coming to rest either side of her waist. A web hung across the path, with a fist-sized spider in the middle, its hairy legs raised to strike. Her cheeks prickled. Another step and it would have sunk into her right eye.

“Is that dangerous?” she squeaked.

“Wouldn't have killed you, but its bite hurts like death. And you don't want to risk an infection out here.”

She exhaled, trying to force her body to relax. Between the sudden stop, the spider and the body contact, little explosions were spreading through her nerves. They skirted around the tree the web was strung from, Jack keeping a hand on her side until they were clear.

“Drink,” he ordered, handing her a fresh bottle.

She took it blindly.

“Come on, princess. You can fight off two six-foot pirates, but a little spider scares you?”

Oh, she'd pretty well forgotten the spider—not so much the shock of Jack's body smacking into hers. That body was the far bigger danger, in all sorts of ways. She forced down a mouthful of water and handed back the bottle.

“You go first,” he said. “And concentrate. It might be a snake next time, and I'd rather not be sucking venom out of you.”

Whoa. Lucky her face was already about as pink as it got, because
that...
Damn, who was seducing who here?

After another few steps the foliage cleared. They were on a cliff top, overlooking a sparkling cove nestled between steep bluffs. A boat was moored in it, close enough to make out the faces of the three Asian men aboard. One looked up, straight at her. Holy shit, this was her chance. She inhaled, ready to scream.

Chapter 7

Jack spun Holly and captured her in a bruising kiss, his hands pinning her neck. Laughter floated up from the boat. He was making them look like the honeymooners they were supposed to be.

She scratched at his back and kicked out, but he drove her backward. Her spine hit a tree, the shock spinning out through her torso. He flattened her, one arm pinning her right elbow to her side and enclosing her left wrist, immobilizing her upper body, while his other huge hand held her head in place like a neck brace. His eyes were focused on the boat below them, scoping out the men.

If he could play dirty, so could she. She drove her knee toward his groin but he turned his hip, deflecting it. He hooked a foot around her calf and captured it, leaving her balanced on one leg. She tried to wriggle, but she was stuck to him like glue. Her lungs stung. With her one free hand she clawed his waist, regretting her stubby fingernails. His skin flinched but he held firm.

She bit his lip, hard. He grunted. Warm metallic liquid seeped into her mouth. He pushed against her lips until she could do nothing but concentrate on inhaling desperately through her nose. His eyes were so close to hers, so fierce, that she shut her own. The spicy, sweaty scent of him mixed with the ripe aroma of the jungle and the fresh hit of sea air. She felt woozy, like she would pass out.

An outboard motor spat and blatted into life. Damn. The sound crescendoed, then faded, and still Jack kept her pinned. As disappointment coursed through her, her muscles relaxed. She became aware of his strength and heat, his hips driven into her, his arm flattening her breasts, his hand cradling her throat. She couldn't move, but he wasn't hurting her.
Fight me, and I will win.
No shit.

Okay,
Capitaine
, you win this battle. But I'll win the war
. She inhaled deeply through her nose, softened her lips against his, sinking into him, returning the kiss as she flattened her palm onto his hip, her fingers splayed over thick, tight muscles. Time she seized some control.

The rattle of the boat became hard to discern. Abruptly, he stumbled back, wiping blood from his lip. She slid down the tree trunk to the ground, panting.

His dark eyes were on fire. “Not the kind of men you want to attract, princess.”

“And you are?” She could barely spit out the words.

“Remember how I threatened to hurt you? I might show mercy. These men? They wouldn't.”

“Who were they?”

“Pirates. The real thing.”

“How do you know that?”

“You see any fishing rods? Around here, the locals don't go boating for pleasure. Especially not with an AK-47. My guess is they were scoping us out.”

Her eyes widened. A gun? “Can they get onto the island?”

“If they've got this close in a boat that small, they're familiar with the currents and reefs. But the only place to land anything bigger than a surfboard is the lagoon right on high tide, and the entrance to it is dangerous. And they've lost the element of surprise.”

“I thought you said this was a honeymoon island? Being kidnapped by pirates isn't my idea of romance. No offense.”

“Usually they post armed guards here. We waived it.”

“
We?
Who's ‘we'?”

He pressed his lips together. They were flushed dark red, with a crack of scarlet where she'd bitten him. She licked her own lips, tangy with his blood. So now she was a
vampire
cavewoman?

“We need to be vigilant. If they've figured out we have no security guards, they may come back.” Parallel lines stamped into the skin between his eyes. “Let's keep running. I want to get around the island to check they're gone, before it gets too hot.”

Sweat trickled down her cleavage. The air got hotter than this? He strode up and swung a hand at her. She flinched, shielding her head, her pulse racing.

Silence. The blow didn't come.

She shut her eyes tight.
Idiot. Of course it didn't
.

“I'm not going to hit you, princess, just help you up.”

“Oh, right.” She swallowed as she uncurled and took his outstretched hand, willing hers not to shake. The kiss had thrown her off balance, that was all. He lifted her, so effortlessly she felt weightless.

“For the record, I wouldn't strike a woman, or force myself on one.” He didn't release her hand right away, just held her there, her face inches from his collarbone, his breath grazing her hair. “That was a unique situation.”

She lifted her chin.
Seize some control
. It brought their faces awkwardly close, but she squared her focus on his eyes. His expression was so serious she was at risk of melting. She smiled, slyly, ignoring the dart of guilt over milking his concern. “I thought you couldn't care less about returning me in one piece.”

He lowered his brow, glowering. “Depends how well you behave.”

And if
she
was playing
him
, why did that look make her heart skip like a stone across a pond?

* * *

They ran for another half hour, far enough around the island to satisfy Rafe that the pirates were gone, for now. He concentrated on following Laura's stride, holding himself back as the track descended to their drop zone then looped toward the lagoon.
You're punishing yourself
, she'd said. Maybe so. All he knew for sure was that he could lose himself in physical exertion, the same way he used to lose himself in sex.

Sex. Holding Laura against that tree, his body had begged to mutiny and seek that escape again. If the perfume she hawked in those ads was anything near as intoxicating as her own scent, the men of America were in trouble. What did she call it? Laura Hyland—Spark, or something.

“Pick up the pace, princess,” he said. This was the price of easy running—thoughts found a way in.

Laura stumbled on a root. He shot out a hand and grabbed her arm. She shook it off and kept running. He'd expected a far more fragile woman than this. She was way out of her comfort zone, with her life in danger, and yet strength radiated from her. It fed into every word she spoke, her every gesture—as if she expected the worst from life and knew how to twist it to her advantage. How did her breeding prepare her for that?

But she'd flinched when he'd gone to pull her up. He knew that instinct—as did everyone who'd known violence too well as a child.

His gaze wandered up her body, lithe and relaxed, the muscles in her legs clenching rhythmically with her easy stride. She'd known fear. At whose hands—Logan's, her father's or Jasper's, whoever he was? Fear had created the tough shell around her. And what was underneath? Whenever she met his gaze, it was unflinching. Until that moment, she hadn't let down her guard, her wit hadn't wavered. A sharp brain inside a goddess's body.

He forced his eyes away, focusing over her head onto the path in front. Too much time and energy to think, that was his problem. And his lack of backup was eating him up. For now, he had no choice but to go along with Gabriel's plan. In the meantime, he'd figure out just what Laura's game was, and what kind of threat it posed. Recon and surveillance. Not his preferred mission, but if it kept him out of a flag-draped box...

He sprinted the last fifty meters to the villa, passing Laura as she jogged to a halt. He brought them each a can of cola from the fridge.

Her cheeks were crimson and she clutched her side. Maybe he shouldn't have forced someone who wasn't used to hard running to go that far, in the heat. He could go again, twice.

She opened the can, took a swig and planted it on a picnic table on the lawn. “What I really need is a swim.” She slipped off her shoes, hopping, already heading to the water. “Coming? Or are you scared of sharks—or rock fish?” Her shorts and tank followed, leaving just her underwear, transparent from sweat. Lucky he only had her back to contend with.

“Stone fish,” he corrected, numbly. Oh yeah, he could do with a whole lot of cold water right now.

She walked in ahead of him, her curves swaying against the pull of the water, then dived, her round
derrière
popping up for an instant before it disappeared. He strode in up to his chest, before she could surface and see the effect she was having on his body. The run had charged him up, that was all—and one part of him in particular was refusing to forget their encounter on the cliff. He prided himself on professionalism, so what in hell was going on there?

She broke the clear film of water and stood, facing him. She might as well not be wearing a bra. He could use more of that cola, but no way could he get out now. She splashed him. “Loosen up, Capitaine.”

“You're supposed to be afraid of me.”

She splashed him again. He half expected the water to sizzle as it hit his body. “Is that in the pirate rule book?” She stroked lazily past him, the water skimming her back, her hips, her ass, her legs. “Look, it's obvious that for some reason you're as happy to be here as I am. This battle isn't between the two of us, is it? So relax.”

So that was it. She wasn't afraid because she was waiting—expecting—to be bailed out. Was that what life with money and power was like—Daddy would bail you out of any situation, even a kidnapping? That accounted for her nonchalance, if not the other intriguing questions he wanted answers to.
Okay, mademoiselle, I'll play along
. He splashed her back and she grinned, her eyes gleaming as blue as the water.

He dived, the cool hit a tonic for his edginess. As he surfaced his lip stung where she'd bitten it. He touched it. No more blood. It'd been torture to ram his body against hers for so long, to press his lips to hers, having already wondered what that would feel like.

“I gave you a pretty good fat lip,” she said, twisting and sliding around him like a seal. “I'd say sorry, but it's kinda part of the deal.”

He shrugged. “It was a smart move.”

“It didn't work.”

“Of course it didn't.”

“Race you to the jetty.”

She duck-dived and pulled away with the same languid strokes he'd watched that morning. He was surprised she still had energy for it. He powered through the silky water. As he neared, she upped her stroke rate. He matched it, and put on a surge of his own, glad to stretch a different set of muscles. Tension dissolved from his chest for the first time in days. They sure looked like a couple of carefree newlyweds.

They reached the end of the jetty together. “Check out the fish,” she gasped, treading water.

A school of angel fish flitted under their feet, with parrot fish circling farther down. The water was clear as vodka right to the grains of sand far below, a break in the coral that bloomed and swayed around them. Yep, it was goddamn beautiful.
She
was goddamn beautiful.

“Oh, look!” She touched his shoulder. “Turtle!”

He dived out of her reach, eyes stinging against the salty water, and surfaced several meters away. Turtles. Theo was crazy about turtles.

And Rafe was just plain crazy.
This
was crazy.
Tu agis sans passion
. What the hell kind of game was he playing? He needed time out—from her.

“Do you think there's snorkel gear?” she said. “I've love a closer look.”

“You know this isn't really a honeymoon?”

“Are you always this dour?”

“I'm heading in. I need to eat.”
And get my head straight.

“I'll stay out for a bit. Save some for me,
honey
.”

* * *

Damn. She'd struck out.

Holly starfished in the water, eyes closed against the high sun, her body rising and falling with the lagoon's gentle swell. If only the movement would unknot her stomach. Just when she thought she was gaining ground, he'd pulled away.

Where could she get some of his self-control? Even in the water her body throbbed, from the run, and from the shock of feeling nearly every muscle in his body taut against her—and he seemed to have more muscles than regular people. She sure was screwed if she got charged up at an encounter like that. Normal people didn't react like that, did they?

Normal. Whatever that was. He'd been married to a “normal” woman, was possibly still not over her. Maybe Holly just couldn't compete with normal.

She swam for another twenty minutes, to collect herself and for the sheer chest-bursting liberty of it, then breaststroked to shore, her stomach still swirling.

Under a tree on the clipped lawn, he'd set the picnic table with the kind of food she'd forgotten existed. He sat on the bench seat with his back to the table, facing the ocean, wearing shorts and a deep blue T-shirt, one leg folded across the other. Wet clothes hung from a rope he'd strung up between two palm trees. He'd done laundry?

After a cursory glance her way, he reached for a towel that was draped over the seat, and tossed it to her. She took the hint, and wrapped it around her torso. Crap, her underwear didn't leave much to the imagination. She hadn't meant to be
that
obvious. Maybe she'd pushed it too far, too soon. They had a few days on the island, he'd said. A few days to take his defenses from rock to Play-Doh.

If the ransom was paid, she could go on her way without him being any wiser to her deception. If not, she wanted him on her side when the shit went down. Maybe then, she could come clean. In the meantime she was safer to play princess and hope for the best.

“You shouldn't have,” she said, shoving her hair into what she hoped was a sleek style.

“You were right,” he said, raising a glass of juice. “We may as well make the most of a bad situation. Cheers.”

She poured herself a juice and sat at the other end of the bench. Hmm. Just what did he mean by that? A bird plummeted into the water, a flash of orange and electric blue.

“Salute,”
she said. “Or is it
santé
?” High school French hadn't covered drinking etiquette.