Gone Tropical (21 page)

She was right though. At first he hadn’t wanted anything to do with her. Hell, he’d known she wasn’t going to stay in Sydney, and he’d kept his mouth shut. He was supposed to protect her. He should have insisted she go back to the States like her father had wanted. Truth be known, he’d wanted her along on this trip. His only problem was he hadn’t told her, and he hadn’t taken her into his confidence. He’d tell her, now, that he wanted her to stay.

“You fine now, Helen, Kirstie?” he asked.

“Yep. Goodnight, Jake. Get into your room before you freeze. Thanks for helping me,” Helen said.

“Give me the keys.” Amy thrust a hand toward him.

No way in hell
. She might lock him out. “No, I’m going in with you. We need to talk.”

“I’m done talking,” she said and thumped his arm. “Keys.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, then, I’m sleeping in Sarge’s bed,” Amy said, stomping along the walkway. “Have fun talking…to yourself.”

“Will you two bloody well quit it?” Helen asked, stopping at her cabin door. “We’re all tired and sopping wet, it’s been an awful day, and no, you’re not sleeping in our bed, Amy.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Jake slipped the key in the lock.

Helen shooed Amy away. “Go with Jake. Either talk about your problems, or get some sleep and talk tomorrow, or kiss and make up. I really don’t care. I’m crawling into bed…alone.”

Amy pursed her lips and walked back to the cabin. He knew she felt trapped. It was raining so hard she wouldn’t go back to the lodge, and they were all soaked to the skin. He held the door open, knowing how much effort those steps had taken. He had a lot of repair work to do.

Amy brushed angrily past him and tossed the dripping wet raincoat over a chair.

“Okay, talk.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for everything.” He stood inside the door, partly to bar her escape and partly to scan the room. “And you were right on many points. I can understand how you didn’t trust us.”

“That’s it?”

“For now.”

Flashes of what had happened earlier, blurred with how she’d helped him. She’d almost been harmed trying to help him with his phobia. And here she was dressed only in flip-flops and dirty, wet, shorty pajamas. He’d planned on a speech. Spilling his guts, and convincing her of how much she meant to him.
More action…less words…that’s what we need.

She turned and glared at him, her body rigid, closed off. Arms folded over her chest. “Do you want first shower?”

He could feel his teeth start to chatter. He did, but he shook his head. She started to walk toward the bathroom.

“Amy. Thanks…for helping me earlier,” he said and saw her shoulders slacken a little. He pulled one of the spare blankets up and wrapped it around his shoulders. He’d been running on adrenaline for hours and could feel his body letting go, slumping. “I have this horrible snake phobia and…well, we can discuss it another time…there’s other stuff we need to talk about first.”

She met his gaze and held it. Her arms dropped to her sides and she blew out a gust of air. “You’re welcome.”

“Seriously, you put yourself in terrible danger to help me.”

“That was accidental, Jake. You put yourself in greater danger coming after me.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts, Jake,” Amy said softly. “You saved my life.”

“Yeah, well—”

“I know you’re a P.I. and you worked LAPD and it’s sort of second nature to you. But you saved my life. And…and you got injured.” Her voice gave a little hitch, and she seemed suddenly paler, more fragile.

He took a step forward, faltered. Would she welcome him? She’d survived an awful experience. They’d been so caught up with taking care of the felon, discussing the case, getting angry over who had withheld information and why. Nobody had stopped to think about Amy and what she’d been through. He’d heaped accusations on her instead of comforting her.

“I’m so sorry, Amy. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I should have told you about Sarge, and what was going on.”
Ah to hell with it!
He’d take another thumping if he had to. He moved quickly, pulled her into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he said, whispering against the side of her neck.

They were both cold and wet, but for now he enfolded her into the blanket. “I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to you. As it was, I wanted to rip the guy’s head off. You’ve been through hell and back tonight—”

“Shhh,” she whispered, and softened in his arms.

He was almost intoxicated by the scent of her, the feel of her. They could talk about it tomorrow. He’d explain how he and Sarge were going out to that island, alone, but not now. The subject might get her all riled up again, and he couldn’t see any reason to do that. After a good night’s sleep they’d talk it out.

There were other more important things on his mind, like holding her close as they slept. Letting her know she was safe and loved and protected.

He might be relegated to the floor, he had no idea how she’d respond to him after what she’d been through. He’d follow her lead. He wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone before, but he knew he had to build her trust again. He’d respect her need for privacy, or sleep, or whatever. The last thing he needed was for her to think all guys were creeps and thought only of sex. He kissed her softly and felt her response. He wouldn’t rush things.

She nipped his bottom lip, stepped back, and made eye contact. Her eyes gleamed and a tiny smirk crooked one side of her mouth. “Don’t ever hold back on me again, Turner. Okay?”

He grinned. “I swear.”

“We’re in this together, right?”

“Right,” he said. “You want to talk?”

“Talk can wait until morning, let’s go to bed,” she said. “But first I’m taking a shower to wash the dirt out of these abrasions. Want to join me?”

****

Rain pelted the small helipad on Braxton Island. Underneath the shelter, the one hanging light—a glass enclosure filled with dead bugs—swayed wildly in the wind. Stuart stared at the light for a few minutes unable to comprehend his stretch of bad luck.

He’d seen Hadi captured and dragged up to the lodge, and made a quick escape. He’d waited until everything died down and everyone went to their individual cabins. He’d left the headlights off in the jeep and driven slowly away, praying he wouldn’t hit anything. After driving the hour and a half up to Cooktown, he’d called Col who sent the helicopter to pick him up. He’d barely had time to explain what had happened, to shower and change clothes, when the island was put on immediate evacuation notice.

“Give him a few minutes,” Col yelled.

Stuart nodded. He knew Col spoke of the pilot. There was no sense saying anything, because the wind whipped your words away the minute they left your mouth. He waited for the blades of the helicopter to go to flat pitch, or whatever the hell Col had said it was. He held onto the raincoat slapping around his jean clad legs with one hand. The other hand held the rain hat in place. Shouldn’t have bothered with the stupid hat or coat, he was already drenched.

The storm had turned violent in the last hour. The palm trees that lined the beach were bent over almost double and huge fronds could be heard snapping, and seen flying on the wind hitting rooftops, and anything else in their path.

He cupped his mouth and yelled. “They say the cyclone will be a direct hit. You’ve got to come with me.”

“No way.”

“No boats are arriving or leaving the island. If I take the chopper you’ll be cut off.”

“Pilot will be back. We’ve never been hit before. Path it takes is north of Cooktown, and us.”

Bile rose in Stuart’s throat. He hated the thought of flying during a storm, but he had to see Meg. If he stayed here, he’d die with Col for sure. The helicopter blades softened as the pitch went neutral, and Stuart raised a hand to the pilot.

“It’s an HH 65 Dolphin, like the Australian Coastwatch use,” Col said. “Higher speed than the Air Force copters, and a good bad weather performer.”

Stuart clamped tighter to the rain hat. All he needed to know was he’d be safe. He blocked out the drone of Col’s voice as he proudly gave statistics on his latest purchase. Meg would need him, even though she’d told him not to come when he’d called earlier. He picked up his bag. “I left the jeep at Cooktown. I can use it to get back to Bungumby, right?”

“One of my men has it,” Col said. “He’s on a job. You’ll have to rent.”

Was Col faking? He was a mean bastard. “I have the keys.”

“We always have two sets.”

He was an asshole, always had been, and stubborn as hell. Stuart shifted the bag, stuck out his hand. “See you later then.”

Col shook his hand and walked back in through the heliport shelter. His three Dobermans waited patiently behind the glass doors that led up a long corridor, into the cool, dark depth of his mansion.

Stuart took one last look at Col’s retreating frame. The man loved his island and his dogs, everything else was negotiable. He turned away, ran forward hunched against the rain and wind, his head bowed and keeping low to avoid the turning rotor blades. He slid the cargo door open and jumped inside.

“We’ll have to get the bloody hell out of here,” the pilot yelled back over the incredible noise. “It’s late and Cooktown Airport’s dark. I’ll make a call in the blind, just in case any other aircraft are in the area. Doubt they will be, but just in case.”

Stuart buckled up and heard him say something about having made it through difficult headwinds but they’d have the wind at their back for the return journey. He nodded and closed his eyes, and he kept them shut as they tipped and tilted and swept in a wide circle over the island before straightening and heading toward the mainland. He had no interest in watching the black of the sky, the black of the ocean beneath, and knowing his life was in the hands of some egotistical young stud of a pilot bent on making his stomach leap up into his throat.

He thought about Meg.

The helicopter plunged through the blackness, buffeted occasionally by the winds, but not as badly as he’d expected. Okay, he’d give him this: he was a damn good pilot. At sunrise, he’d head for Bungumby. No sense calling Meg tonight. He’d said he would call again at ten in the morning anyway, but this way he’d be there in person. He almost drifted off and jerked awake when he heard the pilot’s voice.

“This is helicopter 85273 on final for Cooktown Airport. I’ll call in my departure.”

Stuart saw the flicker of lights to the West.
Cooktown!
The trip hadn’t taken long, less than ten minutes. He settled back in his seat, closed his eyes and gripped his coat tight. Meg had been acting strange. Could be she was preoccupied with family. She’d been cool, giving him excuses, putting her father on the phone and disappearing. He hadn’t sensed anything strange with her folks. The mother was sweet and friendly, but she didn’t say too much.

He’d had some interesting conversations with the old guy. He seemed welcoming, even spoke of retiring, looking forward to passing his place over to Meg. In fact the old guy had expressed his happiness that his only daughter was about to get married and remain in Australia. Old man Thompson had even quizzed him about his lifestyle. He’d asked if he loved the country, nature, and the tropics. Stuart smiled. Of course he had assured him he did.

His job couldn’t be any easier if he tried. He’d even placed a bet with Col. Within months of marrying Meg, the property would be theirs. And he never gambled with Col.

****

Amy broke away from Jake’s kiss and ran a hand over his chest, noticing bruises.

She soaped up her hands and gently washed him
. He’d hurt himself badly tonight and said nothing.
She’d made an instant decision and invited him into the shower. She traced one blotchy reddish bruise and her heart softened at the memory of him tracking her abductor.

“Turn around,” he said. “Let me get your back.”

“Um, listen, Jake,” she said, aware they were both getting highly aroused. She moved away a little, reached up, cupped one side of his jaw with a soapy hand and traced his jaw line. The quickie had been fine. She’d started that, she’d been confident then. But now, the thought of spending the night in the same bed with him had her nerves on end. They’d crossed an invisible barrier tonight. Something deeper was going on, at least in her mind.

“You were hurt tonight. You’ve got a head injury and I bet, a damn thumping good headache. Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a big day ahead of us. I have to pick up Diana and…”

“Are you kidding?” he asked. “Who has time for sleep?” He pulled her back to him, crushing her breasts against his chest and kissing her shoulders while the steamy water poured down on their heads. He stepped out of the flow of water. “Hell, I’d forgotten about Diana. With the threat of a cyclone, we should have had her cancel.”

“It’s okay. Worst case scenario, she’ll stay in Cairns.”

Jake kissed her neck. “I could run back to the lodge and try a call. What do you think?”

She pulled him closer.
Damn, I’m so easy, one kiss and I’m gone
. “I gave her Brian’s number as a back-up and told her to call him if she couldn’t get through to Bungumby.” She pulled him closer, kissed him hard.

Jake nodded. “Good. Always have a back-up.” Then his lips met hers again, and his hands soaped her up and her whole body tingled with need.

“So…about your injuries—”

“I’ve got two bruises and a sore knee, and a scratch on my head. I doubt those will slow me down.” Jake chuckled and rinsed off his back. “Come on, let’s get dried off.” He stepped out of the shower, held out a soft towel and wrapped it around her. “What about you? Let me see your injuries.” He kissed her palms and examined her knee.

“I’ll survive,” she said, and walked into the main part of the cabin.

“Have I told you how much I like your hair like this?”

“Like what?”

“Soft…feminine.”

She tilted her head back as he ran a hand up the back of her neck. “Thanks,” she murmured, enjoying the feel of his fingers massaging her scalp. She tried to convince herself she was in charge here.
Don’t let his sweet words sway you. It’s just sex.
She let the towel drop and pressed into him, loving the feel of her damp breasts against the hair on his chest. “Last chance, you sure you’re up for this?