Dragon's Eden (2 page)

“No. Not yet.” Sugar knew Dr. Thomas Caine
would be apoplectic if he knew his daughter was harboring a bounty
hunter who had crossed Fang Baolian. It would remind him too much
of her youthful mistakes and a past best forgotten—though it could
never truly be forgotten.

“I don’ know why they brought that boy
here,” Carolina said. She tilted her head and clipped a large
tangerine-and-yellow earring on one ear. “It don’ make no sense, no
how. They should’ve taken him to Kingstown and let your papa have
him.”

Sugar had told her old friend as much, but
Shulan had assured her that the man she called half brother wasn’t
in danger of dying. He’d been treated by the finest doctors in Hong
Kong and spent weeks recuperating there before Shulan had
transported him halfway around the world to the Caribbean. He did
need care and watching over, but nothing beyond Sugar’s skills.

Mostly he needed protection, Shulan had
said, protection and confinement—for his own good.

Sugar had understood what was being asked of
her: repayment of a debt left too long unpaid. Shulan had given
Sugar a sanctuary when she’d most needed it. In return for that
salvation, the pirate princess wanted her to hold this man at
Cocorico Bay, Sugar’s refuge at the end of the world, where her
home hugged sheer rock walls and the sea offered the only
escape.

She wasn’t so sure Shulan had been right
about her half brother’s health. The only sign of life he’d given
all day, besides his breathing and occasional movement, had
happened between the time when Shulan and her cohorts had left him
fully clothed on the bed and a half hour later, when Carolina had
gone in to check on him and let out a little scream of shocked
sensibilities.

What would possess an injured man to use his
last ounce of strength to take his clothes off was beyond Sugar’s
understanding. Unless, even injured and drugged, the pile of coolie
clothes they’d found at the foot of the bed had offended him as
much as they had offended Carolina. Carolina had immediately
carried them over to the cabana and dumped them in the ragbag,
grumbling about having no bondslaves on Cocorico.

“If he hasn’t wakened by morning, I’ll make
sure he gets to St. Vincent,” Sugar told Carolina. She wondered if
Shulan knew what lengths she might have to go for the stranger’s
life, what risks might be involved. She hadn’t been back to
Kingstown since she’d left with the fear of God in her heart.

“Your papa isn’t gonna like this. He isn’t
gonna like any of this,” Carolina warned, clipping on her other
earring.

“I know. That’s why we’re not telling him,
or Mamma either.”

“What about that man?” Carolina asked,
gesturing toward the courtyard.

Sugar shook her head in resignation. She
didn’t know anything about the ancient, fragile-looking man Shulan
had left at Cocorico, except he was Chinese and he was there to
protect Jackson.

As she returned her attention to the man
stretched out on the bed, a few quaint sayings went through her
mind. Ones about chickens coming home to roost and reaping what
you’ve sown. She’d learned a long time ago that some mistakes
lasted a lifetime. The stranger on her bed was proof of that.

“I don’ like the look of the old Chinee,”
Carolina went on. “You want I should stay?”

“No.” Sugar glanced at her friend. “You go
on back to Kingstown. I’ll be fine. If it makes you feel better,
have Henry come back in the morning.”

“Henry.” Carolina gave a ladylike snort.
“That man good for nothin’ at all.”

Despite her friendship with the old sailor,
Sugar couldn’t disagree. Henry, sweet as he was, was truly good for
nothing. Too many years of rum and sunshine had taken all the
gumption out of him.

“I jus don’ like leaving you with a foreign
devil and a naked boy. That’s all.”

If the man on the bed had been a boy, Sugar
would have had far fewer doubts herself. As for the foreign devil
standing guard in the courtyard . . . She glanced out the open
doorway at the old man staring at the sea. If a good wind didn’t
blow him over, she’d count herself lucky. If a good wind did blow
him over, then she’d have some explaining to do.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Carolina
strode forward and snapped the sheet up over the sleeping man’s
body. Then she bent down and tucked the sheet under the mattress.
“If this don’ hold him, nothin’ will,” she grumbled, walking around
the end of the bed to do the same to the other side. “I swear, I’ve
only covered this boy five times today. I ain’t never seen—”

She stopped cold, the sudden halt in her
speech bringing Sugar’s head up. Carolina had gone pale beneath the
café au lait color of her skin. She dropped the sheet and took a
step back from the bed, crossing herself.

“Sweet God A’ mighty,” she murmured.
“Obeahman.”

Obeahman
? Sugar
turned to stare at the man on the bed. One look at where the river
of his hair had flowed onto the bed, revealing the left side of his
chest, was all she needed to see to know why Carolina suddenly held
him in fear, why she thought he was a sorcerer of the island magic,
obeah.

Sugar was a bit more skeptical, despite his
elaborate tattoo.

“There are no white obeahmen, Carolina,” she
said dryly.

“There was, missy,” the older woman scolded
as she crossed herself again. “Once they had a white obeahman on
St. Lucia. I seen him myself.”

“I saw him too. He wasn’t white.”

“White enough,” Carolina said, arching an
aristocratic eyebrow in her direction. “Jus’ like this boy.”

Sugar tried another tack. “This man came
here from Hong Kong. Who would go to Hong Kong to get an
obeahman?”

“Nobody with no sense, that’s for sure.” The
older woman huffed.

Sugar nodded in agreement. “This man is no
obeahman.”

“Well, he sure is something,” Carolina
insisted.

Sugar agreed with that, too, but she wasn’t
sure what name to put to him—until she looked again at his
tattoo.

“He’s a dragon man, Carolina, and dragon men
have no power in the lower latitudes.”

Carolina rolled her eyes and cast a droll
look in Sugar’s direction. “You, missy, got so much to learn, it
ain’t even funny.”

Sugar pressed her lips together to keep from
grinning.

“What you know about men fit on the head of
a pin, girl. What you know about dragon men you don’ even need a
pin to hold.”

Sugar’s lips twitched.

“Don’ you go grinnin’ at me, missy. You may
be too big to have your bottom paddled, but that don’ mean I might
not try.” Carolina turned her attention to the man on the bed,
leaning over and taking a good long look at the tattoo emblazoned
on his left breast. “Why this here is nothin’ more than a naked
dragon boy,” she said in a dismissive tone, rising to stand tall
and straight next to the bed. “If’n he gives you any trouble, you
call your papa.”

“I will,” Sugar promised, her gaze straying
to the sleeping man.

Her smile faded. He was already giving her
trouble, just by lying there. Without another move he was an added
misadventure in a life she’d tried damn hard to keep on the
straight and narrow.

He kicked at the sheet, and a softly
muttered curse rose from his lips. Sugar felt her heart sink lower
in her chest. Lord help her. She had a dragon man in her bed, a
beautiful, dangerous, fascinating dragon man.

* * *

Jackson woke slowly, drifting in and out of
consciousness and confusion. His first realization was that he’d
been drugged again, and he swore it would be the last time. Next
time the bastards could just kill him and get it over with.

Right. A grin graced his mouth, and he let
out a short laugh. His self-righteousness had a habit of drawing
the line at actual death. He was definitely not martyr
material.

He stretched, lifting one arm above his head
and lengthening his torso. Damn, he wished he could open his eyes.
They felt as if they’d been weighted down, but he knew that side
effect of the drug would soon pass. All he had to do was wait.

His grin returned. Waiting had never been
his strong suit, and he’d already waited long enough for his body
to heal. Shulan had taken him on a hell of a ride, but it was time
to get off before she did something terrible, like run back to her
momma using him as a peace offering.

He tilted his head back to loosen the
tightness in his neck, and a sigh escaped him. God, he wanted to go
home.

Sugar stood transfixed in the doorway,
holding a water pitcher in her hand, mesmerized by the slow stretch
and release of his muscles and the play of emotions across his
face. His frown had been brief, while his smile kept returning, as
if it couldn’t be contained. The pleased curve of his mouth was at
once both sensual and wry, revealing straight white teeth and an
unexpected confidence.

She knew what drugs he’d been given, and he
should be waking in a state of weakness and confusion. Instead he
looked like the picture of health. It was disconcerting to realize
she’d waited the rest of the afternoon and part of the night for
him to wake, only to find that when the moment arose, she wasn’t
prepared to deal with him.

He laughed again, and the soft, deep sound
rolled over her like a heat wave. She’d never seen anything like
him—an animal as fresh and beautiful as God’s new day, uncoiling
from sleep with grace, supple muscles stretching, his smile
spreading.

His thick-as-sin lashes were still fanned
across his cheeks, though, and that bothered her. Not being able to
open his eyes must be an aftereffect she hadn’t been told about. He
didn’t seem distressed by the hindrance, far from it. The way he
laughed made her think he was as content as a cat, in love with the
night whether he could see it or not. His laughter made her feel
that she’d missed something wonderful, that the hours, and the
moonlight, and the clouds slipping across the sky knew a particular
mystery they had shared only with him.

She could believe a woman would shoot him
for walking away from her bed. He was magnificent.

She moved slightly to redistribute the
weight of the pitcher, then froze as he stilled on the bed, every
muscle tensed, every sense alert. He was a predator readying for
the kill. The only movement was the beat of his pulse, showing in
the veins outlined against the hard curves of his arms. His eyes
hadn’t opened, but she felt as if he were staring right through her
to where her heart had suddenly stopped.

In the next instant his countenance changed.
He cocked his head, sending a fall of hair sliding across his
chest. A look of confusion drew the winged curves of his eyebrows
closer together.

“Woman?” he asked, his voice a husky
counterpart to the easiness of his laughter.

She hadn’t given him a clue, not one. She’d
done nothing but stand in the doorway, and yet he knew. For a
second the thought that Carolina might have been right about his
magical powers crossed her mind. Just as quickly, she dismissed the
idea. He was a bounty hunter with a dragon tattoo. Nothing more—and
nothing less.

“Yes,” she said, tightening her hold on the
pitcher, hoping her answer would keep him from coming off the bed.
She’d been going in and out of his room all evening. It hadn’t
occurred to her that she might need protection from him.

“But not Shulan,” he said, sounding
surprised but not disappointed.

“No.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone.”

It seemed to be the answer he expected.

“So you are the new ‘she.’ My new
keeper?”

Sugar nodded, despite his confusing
statement. Then she realized her mistake and spoke. “Yes.”

A smile eased across his mouth. He came up
on his elbows, looking for all the world as if he were assessing
her. “And what are your plans for me, island woman?”

His tone suggested a world of possibilities
Sugar wasn’t about to entertain, not with him looking so incredibly
at home in her bed.

“Shulan left another man,” she said in
warning.

His smile retreated into wryness. “The
ancient one? Jen Ch’eng?”

“He hasn’t introduced himself, but yes, he
is very old.”

“It’s Jen,” he said, this time sounding
disappointed but not surprised. With a sigh, he relaxed back onto
the bed. “Better Jen than Sher Chang, though. That steroided
bastard hurt me one too many times.”

She felt a flash of anger at his words.
She’d sensed the huge man’s cruelty. Shulan lived in the kind of
world where men like Sher Chang were necessary, but Sugar would not
have allowed him to stay on her island.

“Do you have anything to drink?” her patient
asked. “I’m thirsty.”

She glanced down at the full pitcher. Maybe
he was a magic man.

Eyeing him carefully, she walked over to the
bedside table and reached for a glass. Before she could lift it off
the table, his hand snaked around her wrist and closed tightly. The
water pitcher dropped from her other hand, landing hard on the
table and splashing water on the cloth. Sugar gasped, more at the
suddenness of his attack than at any pain he was inflicting.

“Don’t scream,” he said, pushing himself up
with his free hand and swinging his legs over the side of the
bed.

“There’s no one to scream for,” she gritted
out between her teeth, furious with herself for having been caught,
and by a blind man at that. She tested his grip with a quick jerk
of her arm. He jerked back, coming to his feet and bringing her
flush up against his body.

Her heart stopped a second time.

They were standing toe-to-toe, his knees
meeting her thighs, his chest rising and falling in front of her
nose. He was taller than she’d thought, more powerful —and more
dangerous.

“No one?” he asked. “On the whole
island?”

She wasn’t going to answer. He’d find out
the truth soon enough.