The Wedding Ransom (11 page)

She stood barefoot on the white sand beach, her glistening, waist-length hair flying unbound in the breeze. She wrapped her mouth around a banana and took a bite. Her eyes closed and pleasure filled her expression. When she ever-so-slowly ringed her lips with her tongue, savoring the sensuous pleasure of the fruit, Rafe threw his head back, glared at the sky, and swore softly.

It was going to be a long, hot, hard afternoon.

~~~~~~~~~~

Pleasure hummed in Maggie’s veins as she licked the last bit of banana from her fingers. Mmm, I’ve missed this.

She’d missed the fruit and this little slice of heaven. This tiny little island off the coast of Yucatan had always been one of her favorite places to visit. No one lived here, and all signs suggested few people other than she and her papas ever visited.

The land was lush and lovely. A wide variety of tropical fruits ladened the trees and sweetened the air. Birds filled the afternoon with a symphony of song. The surf lapped against the beach, the soothing sound melting over her like warm honey. Maggie called the

island Eden, and glancing toward the man who shared the island with her, she felt like Eve studying the apple. Rafe Malone was pure temptation.

Maggie sucked in a breath. This beautiful island, the privacy afforded by her grandfathers’ departure. The sea, the sand, the sun. The man. Life simply couldn’t get more romantic than this.

“I still can’t believe they did this,” Rafe said, rubbing his jaw with the palm of his hand.

He hadn’t shaved that morning. The dark stubble on his face and glare in his eyes as he gazed toward the horizon where the
Buccaneer’s Bliss
had disappeared made him look dangerous. Maggie grinned. She’d always liked that in a man. “You can’t believe they did what?”

“Left us here like this. Alone. After all that chin music they spouted about my staying away from you, and then they up and leave the fox in with the hen. It makes no sense.”

“Maybe they think they’ve frightened you into good behavior with their threats.”

He drawled, “Maggie, please. I’m serious.”

She’d like to please him. Seriously. “Papa Gus explained it all before they left. They had no choice but to leave us both here. Do you not believe them?”

“I believe them. It makes sense that they needed to scout for information and that the village is too dangerous a place for a man to visit alone or to take a woman. I can even understand that having a stranger like me along might cause their old friends to clam up.”

“So what else could they have done?”

Rafe didn’t have an answer for that because one didn’t exist.

“Quit your fretting and follow me, Malone. Do I have a treat for you! Have you ever tasted mango? I know of a tree not far off the beach.”

He sighed heavily and glanced back toward the sea. She heard him grumbling something about buccaneers and sea sirens, and a shiver of delight raced up her spine. Was that how he thought of her? A sea siren?

“No, I’ve never tasted a mango.”

“Then you’re in for a culinary adventure, Malone. Be happy about it, all right?”

He looked at Maggie, then back at the sea. After a moment, he shrugged. “You’re right. I came here looking for adventure, so I reckon I’d be a fool not to give it a try. Lead the way, Lorelei.”

Malone appeared to relax after that. He asked dozens of questions about the island and its vegetation. He climbed up a mahogany tree and shimmied down a long palm. He tasted each fruit she offered him and spent twenty minutes trying to figure his way into a coconut. Maggie shook her head in amusement when he finally whipped out his Texas Paterson and plugged it.

After that bit of excitement, Maggie led him to her favorite spot on the island, a calm green-water lagoon rimmed by a sugar sand beach. “This is where I swim. Actually, I do more standing and watching than swimming. There are thousands of fish in this lagoon. You won’t believe all the colors, Rafe. Come see.” She reached up to open the buttons on her bodice.

He caught her by the arm. “What in blazes are you doing?”

“I’m going swimming,” she said, looking at him in surprise. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

He winced as though in pain. “Do you wear the same thing when you swim as what you wear to take a mud bath?”

She wore one of the bathing sarongs she’d acquired during their last South Sea voyage. What did he…oh. Maggie remembered what she’d worn when she inadvertently shared a mud bath with Rafe Malone. Nothing. He thought she intended to strip down to the bare skin right here in front of him.

She found the idea intriguing but a little too advanced for the current stage of their relationship.

Rafe’s hand tightened around her arm. “Maggie St. John, are you inviting me to get naked with you?”

“No, Malone. I’m inviting you to swim with me. That’s all. I’m wearing a bathing costume beneath my clothes.” She tugged off the dress to reveal a bright orange and green sarong. As she removed the necklace from around her neck, she added, “I wanted to swim and watch the fish, and I thought you’d enjoy the entertainment, too. This lagoon is filled with the prettiest, most brilliant colors I’ve seen in my life.”

Rafe studied her with a strange look in his eyes. “Prettier than a rainbow over Lake Bliss?”

Surprised by the question. Maggie paused and thought about it a moment. The colors of life in this Caribbean lagoon were flashy and fast. A rainbow painting the sky at home was bigger, grander. “Nothing is as beautiful as home.”

“You are, Mary Margaret St. John.”

The sound of her full name on his lips sent a quiver skidding across her skin. Her head jerked up, and she met his gaze. The heat in his eyes all but knocked her to her knees. Good heavens, what had she started? Maggie trembled as he slowly walked toward her. She was filled with fear and excitement and…need.

He stopped in front of her and raised his hand, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. “This is a dangerous game you are playing, lady. You’ve been inviting me to do more than swim since we left Galveston, and I’m about ready to take you up on the offer.”

Was it true? Had her actions suggested more than she, in her inexperience, had realized? And if so, how did she feel about it? Did she want to take this beyond flirtation? Was she ready for seduction?

But before Maggie could make up her mind, Rafe turned and disappeared into the trees. She watched him go and muttered, “Promises, promises.”

Rafe struck out blindly, not caring where he went as long as it was away from Maggie. Another minute with her—one more glimpse of that scrap of fabric she wore for swimming—and he’d have been on her as fast as small-town gossip.

As it was, the only thing stopping him was suspicion. What did she want? What was she after? What sort of scheme or scam did she and her pirate papas have in the works?

Rafe wondered if the treasure actually existed. It could be that this entire trip was an elaborate attempt to trap him into doing something he wouldn’t want to do. What could that be? Shoot, he was game for just about anything as long as it wouldn’t break his promise to Luke.

His promise to Luke.

Memories of that awful time during the war slithered over Rafe like a snake, and he picked up his step trying to outrun them. Failing. As he sped through the jungle, thoughts of his half brother Nick Callahan coiled around him. They constricted his chest and hissed in his ear. Broken promises. False accusations. Bloody deaths. Senseless deaths.

Rafe let out a yell when he broke through the trees onto the beach. He headed straight for the water, stripping down to his skin along the way. He dove into the cool surf and swam with powerful strokes, hoping the salt water and physical exertion would wash away the ugliness of the past and clear his mind to better deal with problems of the present.

He swam for almost an hour and felt tired but refreshed when he finally dragged himself from the sea. He plopped down on the sand and soaked in the welcome warmth of the Caribbean sun.

Until the sound of Maggie’s scream chilled him all over again.

R
afe leapt to his feet, pausing only long enough to pull on his pants and boots and pick up his gun. As he raced for the lagoon, a second shriek ripped through the air.

“Stop it…stop it…oh!”

Fear rushed like poison through his veins.
Please, God, let me get to her in time
. Who was attacking her? Cutthroats, soldiers? It didn’t really matter. Whoever it was had bought more trouble than he could imagine when he made Maggie scream.

At the tree line Rafe paused, his frantic gaze sweeping the area for Maggie. There, a spot of orange. Rafe’s gaze locked on the battle raging before his eyes and shock stopped him cold. She didn’t look hurt; she looked angry. Wet, bedraggled, and, most of all, furious.

And she was battling a monster for her dress.

Not a man but a monster. A real monster. Green and scaly, seven feet long and probably thirty pounds or so. It was the ugliest creature Rafe had ever seen. Like an overgrown horned toad, only different. A mouthful of vicious-looking teeth had hold of one end of Maggie’s dress and she had hold of the other. She was growling; the animal remained silent.

Rafe didn’t know whether to laugh or shoot the lizard. He called out to Maggie, “Is he dangerous?”

She spared him a glare. “No, but I am. He won’t let go. Pretend he’s a coconut, Malone, and shoot him. We’ll have iguana stew for supper.”

“No.” Rafe approached the struggling pair, watching Maggie with a mixture of amusement and lust—wearing that wet bathing sarong, she might as well have been naked. He eyed the animal with distaste. He’d heard of iguanas, but this was the first he’d seen. And I thought we grew things big in Texas. “I don’t kill what I don’t eat, and I gave up eating reptiles years ago. Let go, Maggie.”

“I want my dress back.”

“Why? It’s not worth wearing. Not anymore.”

She spat out a stream of sea-creature names and Rafe decided to try out one of the pirate family oaths on his tongue. “Oyster!” he cursed. Then, grinning, he nodded. “You put the right emphasis on it and it works real good.”

“Put a sponge in it, Malone.” Maggie’s jaw clenched. She planted her feet, inhaled a deep breath, and gave the fabric one furious tug. The ripping seemed to go on forever.

Maggie fell back onto her behind, her hands clutching her half of a dress split down the middle. The iguana swaggered off into the trees with the other portion.

“You know,” Rafe drawled, watching the big lizard’s tail swing back and forth. “That fellow’s technique could use some work. I’ve ripped a bodice or two in my day, but only at my lady’s request.”

Maggie gawked up at him, speechless. Rafe plopped down on the sand beside her, leaned back on his elbows, and waited for her to speak. When she continued to stare at him, he added, “Just for my information—so I can keep my amorous skills up, you understand—what turned you against him to begin with? Was it his looks? Do you prefer a different shade of green, perhaps? You find shorter toes more attractive? Perhaps you prefer beards to dewlaps below your lover’s lips?”

Maggie made a strangled noise, and Rafe pressed onward. “Or maybe his actions are at fault. Could it be you don’t care to be spat at? Or maybe you didn’t care for that darting business.”

Rafe demonstrated by whipping his tongue in and out of his mouth.

That did it. A twinkle kindled in her eyes and laughter bubbled up from inside her. Rafe’s smug grin dissolved into chuckles as he dropped back upon the sand. “That had to be the funniest thing I’ve seen in years.”

“I must have looked like a fool.”

He pictured her then—the damp sarong plastered to her curves, the length of her bare legs, the fire in her eyes. “You looked ravishing.”

In the time it took to say those three words, the laughter between them died, replaced by tension thick and hot and sweet. Rafe slowly lifted his back off the sand until they sat eye to eye, lips to lips. The moment seemed to stretch for hours as she beckoned him closer with those Caribbean blue eyes.

“They’ll kill me,” Rafe said, his voice rough and low, referring to the pirates. He lifted a hand, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

She shivered at his touch. “They may try.”

His mouth slanted in a crooked smile. “What do you want from me, Maggie?”

“Romance,” she said on a sigh. “I’ve never been romanced. My papas hover over me so. I think you are my chance, Rafe. I’d like you to give me just a little romance.”

He considered it a moment. He didn’t know how he felt about being Maggie’s “chance,” but he did like the idea of romance. He always had. “I’m good at that.”

“I thought you might be.”

He leaned forward, and as her lashes fluttered to her cheeks, he touched her mouth with his. She tasted of salt water, mango, and innocence. Soft and shyly, she returned his kiss, her response both uncertain and encouraging, fueling the slow burn that had been building inside Rafe since their mud bath rendezvous.

He slid his hand into her silky, molten-gold hair and pulled her closer. Her hands crept around his torso, and she held him tight. At the press of her breasts against his bare chest, a wave of wanting washed over him, and even though he knew better, even though he knew it was a mistake, Rafe took it beyond a kiss.

He lowered her to the ground and lay beside her. Heat pooled in his groin as he rolled her toward him. Even as she melted against him, he slipped his tongue past the velvet softness of her lips, exploring her intimately, thoroughly. A whimper of need escaped her throat and he captured it, savored the taste of it. Swallowed it to feed the driving ache inside him.

He craved her bare skin beneath his fingers, beneath his mouth. He yearned to suckle at her breasts. He hungered to bury himself in the sweet honey between her thighs. Breaking their kiss, he stared down into her eyes, past the flecks of blue and green and into her very soul. How he wanted her. Mary Margaret St. John. “Mary,” he breathed.

A smile hovered at her lips and in her expression, he saw softness and wonder and…innocence. That damned innocence.
A little romance
. Fool woman didn’t know what she was asking for.