Tempestuous Eden (18 page)

He clenched his hands into fists and stared into the night sky. For a moment there, just for a moment, he felt as if he had broken through. She had almost laughed at his impulsive teasing. Or had she? The desire to do him bodily harm had also gleamed in those vibrant eyes.

He heard her moving about the cabin and his teeth grated as he thought of the battle that would inevitably come this night. He couldn’t keep her sedated forever. He played with the idea of spending his entire night above deck and leaving her alone, but discarded the notion almost immediately. It was going to be too long a trip for him to manage in total discomfort and with a complete lack of rest. There was also her to consider. She possessed a little too much bravado and courage. If she seriously considered an escape, she could easily hurt herself.

No, they would settle sleeping arrangements tonight, even if it did mean a battle. His teeth unlocked as he uttered an explosive, grating expletive to the night sky and stalked to the anchor line. Moments later they were moving into the current.

Blair once more ignored the mess that had been dinner as she returned to the cabin. Tired but restless she picked up her forgotten burgundy and sipped at it while she idly paced the few steps of the cabin. The acidic taste no longer bothered her; she hoped the alcohol would help still her whirling turmoil.

How long was this to go on? she wondered desperately. And who was Craig Taylor? Besides a warlock, she added with a spurt of wry humor. Unable to label her charismatic captor the renegade that he was, she began to rationalize, sliding back into a seat at the table and helping herself to another of his cigarettes. She finished her wine as she inhaled and expelled a fog of smoke, arguing with herself all along. There was a quality of goodness to Craig; there had to be. She simply couldn’t equate the flesh-and-blood man she had come to know so well in the last three weeks with a cold-blooded assassin. And cruel lunatics didn’t send money to charitable organizations in apology for stealing a pair of useful hands.

Was it at all possible to chip away at the rough edges of the man and convince him that his way of life was wrong? That he should let her go? She could promise to help him, she could intercede, swear not to bring charges against …

What a joke. He was not a man to be swerved from a course of action he had chosen to take. Whatever his principles were, he was a man who stuck to them indomitably.

Unless he could be made to see the error.

She started suddenly as she realized they were under way again. Moving swiftly to the porthole over the table, she frowned, unable see a thing. Why was he moving at night?

Blair slid slowly back into the seat. What did it really matter? She wasn’t going to make any escape attempts.

Bone weary and mentally and physically exhausted, she stood and dispiritedly moved back to the head. All she wanted to do right now was wash her face and crawl into bed.

Staring at her face in the cabinet mirror, she was idly surprised to see that she didn’t look any different. Sighing softly, she opened the cabinet. She had been right. A hairbrush sat on the second shelf of the cabinet and Blair automatically threaded it through her hair. Setting it back and closing the cabinet, she sighed, feeling the never-ending round of questions springing up in her mind again. She didn’t want to think anymore; the day had been filled with a gamut of emotions, all of them painful.

She wanted solace from the fear and betrayal, an escape from the fear, confusion, heartache, and quandary. She turned out the light in the head and returned to the cabin, crawling immediately into the bed and sinking her head into the pillow with relief. Actually she feared she wouldn’t sleep; it had been late in the morning when she had woken, and a mind couldn’t simply be turned off. But mental exhaustion was the most wearing type of tired there was. Even as she worried about sleeping, she slipped into a restless doze.

She had assumed she would awaken all through the night, but that wasn’t the case. Her exhaustion took its toll. By the time Craig came back down to the cabin she was so soundly asleep that she didn’t even twitch as he lay down beside her.

He had been given a night’s reprieve, he thought wryly. What reprieve? She might have slept soundly, but his night was a misery. It wasn’t difficult to rise long before she ever knew he was near.

They entered a test of willpower the following morning. Craig attempted to be pleasant, but he was trying to prove a point. She had to work with him.

And so, though he cooked and filled a plate for her at each meal, he cleaned only what he needed to use. Irritated beneath his calm façade, he tended to be clumsy. He broke several plates, and then left them where they fell.

Eventually, he was sure, she would start to go crazy with the mess and have to pick it up. But Blair, convinced the breakage was done purposely to annoy her, just as stubbornly skirted the broken stoneware. She ignored any of his remarks and generally kept her distance. And yet, even keeping that distance, with cutting, cynical remarks offered to Craig at any chance given her, was a strain.

By nightfall, after a dinner consumed and the remains once more left upon the table, Blair was once more exhausted, as if she had spent the day sailing and Craig had spent it sunning on the bow of the boat. When he went topside after dinner, she lay down to doze, highly irritated that broken crockery lay on the floor and a mess lay on the table, but determined to do nothing about it.

And once again, sleep did come easily.

Sometime later she began to awaken to myriad sounds that slowly filtered through her consciousness. She could hear voices faintly, sometimes somber, sometimes rising in laughter. And from very far off the light melody of a guitar.

Springing up in the bed, she pushed aside the material covering the porthole. They were passing a village, and the voices were coming from the docks where late-night fishermen were hauling in their catches. Lights from a town center blazed a dull yellow, and in some café nearby, workers were sipping
cerveza
and listening to the haunting music of the guitar.

And the river was narrow here, very narrow. Surely she could call out to these people and receive some assistance.

Bolting from the bed, she raced to the hatchway, then stopped her headlong flight with caution. Climbing up the ladder quietly, she watched Craig. His eyes too were on the village as he held the tiller; he appeared deeply pensive. Bereft of shirt again, his golden-muscled physique gleamed in the eerie glow of light.

Blair bit down on her lip. She was going to have to flatten herself and crawl to the bow before shouting for help. Holding her breath carefully, she crept from the hatch and ducked, turning to attempt a slither to the bow.

She hadn’t moved a foot before Craig’s hand clamped down upon the small of her back, his fingers curling into the waistband of her skirt as he hauled her back to the tiller with him. Gasping for breath, Blair was able to expel a very weak “Help!” which, unfortunately couldn’t be heard more than a yard from the boat. Translating her thought to Spanish, she tried again as he dragged her to his side, finally managing a slightly more substantial “
Ayudame! Ayud
—”

Navigation at this narrow section of the river was tricky, but Craig seemed to have it under perfect control single-handedly. He was quite effortlessly able to crush Blair to his side, pushing her mouth into his shoulder. She struggled against the iron band of his arm, but the action merely served as a Chinese torture—the more she twisted, the more tightly she was crushed.

“I can’t let you do it, Blair,” he said softly, his words a breath over her head. His grip on her eased somewhat. “No more calling out,” he warned, catching sight of her eyes in the glow and seeking an agreement within them. He smiled at her, almost sadly again as they passed by the docks of the village and the late-night bustle that surrounded them. Friendly fishermen, stopping to watch them pass with idle interest, waved and hailed them.

Craig adjusted the arm that he had around Blair’s body to lift her lower arm and hand by the elbow. “Un-unh,” he warned, sensing a tension in her that meant another attempt for help. “Just wave good-bye to the nice people, Mrs. Teile.”

Blair shut her mouth and watched helplessly as the village moved swiftly by them.

And then the glow that was the village began to fade. The fishermen in their boats and on the dock became minuscule, receding into the distance until she could only discern lights on the river. Even the breeze had seemed to pick up to accommodate Craig—mainsail, mizzen, and jib puffed out like night clouds, and the sailboat seemed to fly over the water.

“You can let go of me now,” Blair commented tiredly. It was a pity she had ever gotten out of bed.

Craig didn’t release her, but glancing up at his sharp profile, she realized that he wasn’t looking at her; he probably hadn’t even heard her. It was almost as if he had forgotten her. His eyes were keenly upon the sails.

“Hold the tiller,” he commanded curtly, releasing her and springing to his feet. Blair glanced after him blankly, and the boat made a sudden sharp jerk. “Hold her steady!” Craig barked impatiently, crouching with instant coordination beneath the swaying boom. Feeling a rough wave suck at the boat a second time, Blair automatically grabbed the tiller tightly. She didn’t like the role of first mate beneath a pirate captain, but she didn’t much relish the thought of drowning either.

Craig quickly began to crank in the port sheet line, steadying the boom, then pulling in the mainsail. The craft immediately began to respond, rolling easily despite the increasing wind. Moments later the jib was furled, and their pace slowed to a more secure one, the boat keeling evenly starboard just slightly. In bare feet that seemed to hug the planks beneath them, Craig padded agilely back toward Blair and resumed control of the tiller.

“Go back to bed,” he told Blair bluntly.

She stared at him silently for a moment, idly and dispiritedly wondering if he was aware of how very leonine he was capable of looking. His body had the grace of a great cat; his footsteps were as sure as the soft padding of the agile creatures. And now, so harshly alert, his eyes appeared more a true yellow-gold than ever. Night eyes, eyes that caught the slightest movement, eyes that ferreted into the soul.

Without a word Blair turned and carefully made her way down the ladder. The dinner plates she had ignored had crashed off the table and now lay in little pieces on the floor. Luckily Craig had picked up after himself in the galley. But combined with the previous shambles, the dinner plates made a true disaster area of the floor.

Feeling strangely disassociated from the situation, Blair bent to pick up the broken stoneware. Then she straightened. She wasn’t going to clean up; she was a hostage, not the maid.

Tumbling back into the bed with a heavy depression weighing down upon her, she willed herself back to sleep.

Again she had no conception of how long she rested before being interrupted again, this time by the sense of movement nearby. She flicked her eyes open narrowly to see Craig, his expression hard as he viewed the destruction in the cabin. Apparently, though, he had no intention of dealing with the mess either. His displeasure evident, he turned abruptly to Blair, aware that she was awake despite the fact that she quickly closed her eyes tightly.

“You will pick this up in the morning,” he said quietly.

She didn’t respond, and he didn’t feel it necessary to press his confident claim. Blair sensed each of his movements as he dimmed the cabin lights but refused to acknowledge that she was awake until she was forced to.

“Move over,” he growled suddenly.

Her eyes flew wide open.
“What?”
It was a shriek, a disbelieving whisper.

“I said, move over,” he repeated impatiently.

She didn’t move over; she suddenly became very wide awake and leaped from the bed, facing him with hands on hips, feet firmly planted on the floor. “Oh, no!” she protested. “You are not sleeping in here with me.” She meant to command with dignity, but her words were coming out as a plea. She was terribly aware that she was scared, and worse, she was more frightened of herself than she was of him. Despite all that had happened, she had kept trying to find excuses; she had still spent countless moments of the day admiring the man. “You promised,” she charged him. “You said—”

“I think,” Craig interrupted with a tired but firm voice, “that I promised I’d never force myself upon you, and don’t worry, I have no intention of touching you.” He stared back at the woman glaring at him, railing her scorn. Her eyes were sparkling like emeralds, as full of fire as her hair. Her form—the slender yet luscious form he had held with such tender wonder such a short time ago—was pulsating visibly with tension beneath the light cotton of her outfit. He had taken her underclothes earlier when he had stolen her jeans, and the rise and fall of full breasts—the peaks and darker hues of the nipples painfully visible—was scintillating despite his exhausted state. A hot sensation began to burn in his groin; his fraying nerves snapped and along with them, his temper.

“Listen, damn you,” he grated sardonically, “I’d sooner bed with a porcupine at the moment. But I do have to sleep and I’ve done so beside you for two nights. And as you may or may not have noticed, I need room. I have no intention of trying to get my rest squeezed around the table. Nor do I feel like sleeping on the floor. So just get back in there on your own side.”

“I’ll
curl around the table seat,” Blair offered desperately, “or I can sleep on the floor.” She was shocked she hadn’t realized that he had lain beside her, but where had she thought he had been?

Arms crossed over his bare, imposing chest, Craig shook his head. “Sorry, we’re anchored too close to the shoreline. You don’t trust me—I don’t trust you. You may just decide you want to take a little swim and try to make the miles back to that village through the jungle. And honey, you are ‘goods’ to be delivered in prime condition. I don’t want you attempting any night excursions.”