“WAIT A MINUTE!” BLAIR snapped haughtily, hands before her as if she could ward him off. “I’m crawling in on my own side—agreeably.” She stretched out with far more cool than she was feeling and turned her back to him.
“Thank you,” Craig clipped curtly.
“It’s evident you know of my father,” Blair murmured caustically. “Surely you can’t imagine him to be a man to raise a complete fool!”
He didn’t answer her, and of course she didn’t see him wince. Craig thought his own position bad enough; he didn’t envy Andrew Huntington trying to explain this mess to his firebrand daughter. But that would be Huntington’s problem. At the moment, he had his own.
Craig padded across the cabin to a cabinet and withdrew an extra sheet. He ripped the one she was clutching from her and tossed her the fresh one before she could protest. “His and hers,” he murmured briefly, then crawled into the bed himself and pulled his sheet high over his shoulders, wondering if he was shielding himself from the breeze filtering through the porthole or trying to contain his own demanding urges.
Minutes that were an eternity passed. Neither dared move; they were both acutely aware of the other, every breath, every nuance, every slight twitch of limb. The jungle seemed ridiculously still that night; not a rustle sounded from the shore. Even the lap of the water against the hull of the boat was soft. Two nights ago, Craig thought, just two nights ago he had held her, first in passion, then again, hours and a lifetime later, when she didn’t know she had slipped into his arms.
But this was different. It was hell, and it was a hell he had sentenced them both to. But he couldn’t do it differently. If and when he finally slept, it would be a sound sleep. If they slept apart … He didn’t think her in the least stupid, or a fool. She knew the dangers of her environs, but she was also desperate. He just couldn’t take a chance, no matter how slim, that she might try to escape him, preferring a venomous predator to him.
Damn her!
She didn’t find it in the least conceivable that he deserved her blind trust. Not that he had done much to warrant it, but he would never forget the hatred in her eyes when she had caught him flashing the communication in the clearing.
He sat up in the bed, disgusted with his inability to sleep. In forty-eight hours he had had less than three hours rest. He should be dead to the world.
He had slept in khakis on the hard ground, in the midst of shelling, catastrophe, and disaster. But for the life of him he couldn’t sleep in this bed beside Blair. He had procured himself a sheet, but now he kicked it aside. It was hot, so damned hot. He was wearing only his cutoffs, but those cutoffs seemed to be strangling him, constricting him, pinching into his flesh.
He stood with something that sounded like a low growl and impatiently began to shed the offending pants. In the privacy of his own home, or tent, for that matter, he usually slept in the buff. He didn’t have to go that far, but he’d be damned if he was going to spend the upcoming nights in stifled misery because of her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded stiffly from the darkness as his zipper rasped its way down.
“I’m taking my pants off,” Craig snapped, surprised at the heat in his answer. “And if you don’t like it, I’m sorry, but it’s too damned bad.” He had intended to leave his briefs on, but his misery sparked a flare of vengeance and they too dropped to the floor. His eyes were accustomed to the dim light, and although she was turned away from him, he knew she heard the sound and that she also knew what it was by the slight but telltale flinch that rippled through her form. Damn her! he thought for the zillionth time. Crawling back into bed, he leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry, Blair. If you roll over in the night, you aren’t going to see anything you haven’t seen before.”
Blair didn’t turn around. “That’s true,” she replied with a bland boredom, adding the final insult with a deep yawn.
More than ever he wanted to break her neck. He hadn’t intended it, but the charged tension of the night had turned to a battle for control. And she was winning, or so Craig thought with his jaw clenching piano-wire tight.
Blair was not feeling any sense of triumph. He had been right—the facts might have changed overnight, but the body hadn’t. All the animal magnetism was still blatantly there. Her flesh tingled with actual pain, as if the nerve endings had been cut and torn and left bleeding. He was at least a foot away, but she could feel him. Her body cried out for his. A heat rose from an involuntary core, a fire creeping into a system that knew delight and the epitome of pleasure lurked nearby. She could tell herself that she hated him, but her thoughts raged on, out of control with memory. Taut, bronzed skin, a rippling power-play of musculature. The sweet carnal ecstasy of the flesh his body had truly and thoroughly taught hers …
It had all been meaningless! she shouted silently to herself, drawing on that irrevocable fact for strength. From the beginning he had sought her out for who she was; he had befriended her to come close; he had made love to her to deceive her.
He had kidnapped her for his own secretive gain. She could not, would not, fall into his arms. She could not, would not, allow her imagination to stray to the magnificent, naked, male beauty so close beside her. Yet she couldn’t help but spend the same hours of misery as he while they both lay motionless upon the bed. It was dawn, the pink streaks of morning casting their shadows through the cabin before she slept. And in sleep her mind had little control over her body As she unknowingly had before, she slowly but surely gravitated to his warm length.
That ended the sleep Craig had finally found. He hadn’t moved, but she was fitted against him like a glove to a hand. Her hair, its fragrance soft and enticing, teased his nostrils as her head rested half next to and half on his shoulder. Her back was curved along his chest, her hips level with his. She too had discarded her sheet, and all that lay between them was the flimsy cotton barrier of the peasant cloth, no barrier at all against his feeling the satin feminine softness of her skin.
Craig lifted a hand almost helplessly in the near-dark stillness. It moved to the silken tangle of her hair. She shifted, and she fit to him even more smoothly as her body made a natural sensual adjustment. She would waken this time, he warned himself. But he was innocent. She had edged over to him. He took a deep breath and gave up the battle. His arms came around her and he held her as he gave in to the comfort, drifting in a no-man’s-land between sleep and daydreams, exotic images spurred by scent and touch racing like a consuming blaze through his blood.
Blair didn’t awake immediately. She was comfortable, and in a deep sleep. She began a slow, lazy stretch, and then halted. The limbs that moved with delicious leisure suddenly became aware that they moved upon something hard but yielding, warm … breathing.
Her eyes flew open and met a penetrating yellow stare. She leaned up to find her hands planted in the tawny hair of his chest, her body more than half reclined on his, a knee bent, a slender leg cast over his. And as she became aware of her body she also became aware of his, and a flash of crimson flushed over her, beginning at the roots of her hair. His arousal was against her like a burning brand.
“Take your hands off me!” Blair snapped in panic.
Craig lifted hands that were in no way touching her. He smiled slowly with innocence and amusement, truly the helpless victim.
“Damn!” Blair’s outburst as she realized the inadvertent aggressor was half seething growl and half wail. She leaped from the bed, sputtering a stream of expletives that would have done any seaman proud, leaving nothing aside in her efforts to convince Craig of just what she did think of him.
“You left out a few,” Craig reminded her calmly. Actually he wasn’t so calm. He was frustrated, and therefore irate, and-not nearly as blasé about his physical condition as he pretended. “I think you forgot to tell me that I’m the dregs of the earth.”
Blair stared at him for a single second of confusion, snapping her mouth shut. Then she whirled about, stalking for the nearby head where she could slam him out for a few moments of privacy to regain her dignity and cool.
But she wasn’t to make the door.
“Un-unh,” Craig had bounded from the bed and his hand firmly clamped her arm, spinning her about, evidently not in the least concerned by his nudity. “I’d like to be a gentleman and allow you in first, but—” He pushed her aside and brushed on past her, pausing before closing the head door behind him. “I think you’ll agree that I’m the one in need of the shower. That is, unless you have something else in mind to remedy my situation?”
Blair finally did pick up part of the broken crockery. She did so to send a piece flying after him. He was far too quick. The door closed and the piece of plate hit the wooden door and fell harmlessly to the floor. Staring after it, Blair stamped a foot wrathfully, only to cut her bare sole upon another piece. Certain she would surely disintegrate with rage, she turned hobbling to the ladder and crawled topside to nurse her wounded foot—and pride.
It would have been common sense, she thought dryly as her temper cooled but her foot continued to smart, to pick up the broken glass last night. She had simply been too tired and discouraged and confused. The broken pottery had sliced a gash from her heel to the ball of her foot, and though she was sure the cut wasn’t terribly deep, it continued to bleed despite her attempts to stop the flow. Great, she thought morosely. Now if I do get some heaven-sent way to escape, I’ll probably be limping with gangrene! Cursing her own stupidity, she didn’t notice as Craig joined her on the bow,
“What did you do?” he demanded sharply.
“Nothing,” Blair snapped, glancing up at him from her Indianstyle perch. He was decently if not thoroughly clad in another pair of cutoffs. She noticed absently that the deep bronze of his skin showed no reaction yet to the blazing heat of the sun, even though he continually sailed nearly naked. She hadn’t been out on deck nearly as much as he, yet she could feel her own nose beginning to redden and turn sore.
“Let me see your foot,” he commanded, coming toward her.
“I don’t want you touch—” Blair began, but her words caught in a gasp as he grasped her ankle despite her protests, leaving her scrambling for balance.
“You idiot!” he hissed, releasing her ankle and disappearing back down the hatch. She stared after him blankly, but he returned almost immediately, carrying a first-aid box. She stretched out a hand to take it from him, murmuring a grudging “Thank you,” but he ignored her, once more clutching her ankle and seating himself beside her.
“What is that?” she protested warily, wincing as he produced a bottle of clear liquid she assumed to be alcohol.
His eyes met hers momentarily, surprisingly filled with a sudden light of teasing amusement. “Chicken?” he inquired. “Come on now, Blair, take it like a man. If you do stupid things, you have to pay the price.”
She didn’t respond as he started to swab her foot; she proudly bit into her lip against the pain. But none was forthcoming. His cleanser wasn’t alcohol.
“Peroxide,” he explained as he saw her eyes fill with relief and confusion.
“Oh,” she murmured, accepting his ministrations momentarily. Then her eyes began to blaze with a new growth of temper. “It wasn’t my fault!” she hissed. “It was there, and I stepped on it.”
“It wouldn’t have been there if someone had thought to clean up the cabin while someone else was busy sailing this tub.”
Blair smiled grimly. “Must have been the maid’s day off.”
“I see,” Craig replied, nodding gravely as he took gauze out of the kit and a plastic bottle of nasty-looking red liquid.
“Merthiolate,” he explained as he poured the red liquid on a piece of cotton. “And it will hurt.”
Blair jerked involuntarily. He was right; it hurt like hell. She blinked back the stinging sensation in her eyes and her fingers dug into the planking.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice brisk but soothing. “I’ll just wrap it up. Have you had a tetanus shot recently?”
“Of course,” Blair replied absently, fascinated by his gentle bandaging of her foot. He released it finally. “You’re going to be hobbling around for a while,” he mused, “but I suppose worse things could have happened.” He stood then, all previous anger vanished. His eyes were light as they gazed down into hers, seemingly from an incredible height. “I don’t suppose you would make coffee?”
Blair lowered her head. She was sorely attempted to say, “Of course.” But she couldn’t. Even though it was easy to feel that he was truly concerned, that friendship and camaraderie could return between them with a simple word from her, she couldn’t allow herself to forget that she had been taken here by force. But I’m in love with him! The painful thought flashed through her mind and she was unable to hide from that truth. But she had to hide it from him. She wasn’t a naive fool to be brainwashed by her captor.
“No,” she murmured. “You’re right. I won’t make coffee.”
Did a shadow of disappointment flicker through the leonine eyes? If so, it was gone immediately. He shrugged indifferently. “Then do without.”
Craig disappeared down the hatch and moments later she could smell coffee brewing—and she could also smell the tantalizing aroma of bacon. Curious, she hobbled back down the ladder. The cabin had been neatly rearranged; the broken stoneware was gone. Craig stood in the galley transferring food from the skillet to his plate.
Blair ignored him and moved back to the head. She closed the door behind her and brushed her teeth and hair and washed her face. When she returned to the cabin Craig was sitting comfortably eating; he acknowledged her presence with a slight nod, but said nothing. He finished his meal with apparent gusto, then pushed his plate aside and reached for a cigarette to smoke with his second cup of coffee.
The hell with him, she thought. He wasn’t going to break her by refusing to cook for her. She didn’t mind cooking for herself; she would simply wait until he went topside, then she would enjoy her meal leisurely. She passed through the cabin, determined to go topside herself until he left the cabin. Then she would change places. No problem.
But there was a problem. Not thinking, she paused to help herself to a cigarette from his pack before climbing the ladder. The pack was pulled away just as her hand descended.
“Sorry, Mrs. Teile,” Craig murmured politely. “My cigarettes.”
Blair froze momentarily, then forced herself to shrug. “I’ll live longer,” she said dismissively before leaving him.
On deck she seethed.
She would have really loved a cigarette, and the denial was increasing the craving. She wasn’t even much of a smoker, just a few cigarettes a day, but the one that was the most dear to her was that enjoyed with a second cup of coffee in the morning.
“So I’ll quit,” she grated aloud to herself.
Amazing how trivia could irritate beyond reason. But it did, and suddenly it was all-out war.
A cold war, a silent war, but a determined war. For three days Blair didn’t speak a word to Craig. When he would finish in the galley, she would make her own meals. To prepare her own food she was forced to pick up after him, but she left the galley in a shambles so that he would have to do the same. On their third day out, he had offered her a change of clothes, telling her she could rot in her clothing or switch and wash. She didn’t reply. She would do her own washing, but she would be damned if she would do his.
It was on their fourth morning out on the River Tub, as Blair had labeled the boat, not knowing its real name, if it did have one, when Blair heard voices from above. She had been wondering earlier why they hadn’t been moving. Leaving her eggs sizzling in the frying pan, she limped on her still sore foot to the hatchway to listen.
Craig’s voice sounded to her. Calling out in Spanish, he was hailing another vessel. “Necesito un favor, amigo!”
Blair couldn’t see him, but she could well imagine his easy grin. The passing captain called back to Craig, and as Blair listened to the ensuing conversation, she was torn between laughter and a need to gather her wits. They had run aground! The indomitable Craig Taylor had actually managed to run aground! There had been high winds last night, therefore it hadn’t been Craig’s lack of sailing ability that had beached them, but still she loved it. Mr. Perfect making a mistake, falling prey to the laws of nature.
Now Blair realized that calling out when they had passed the village was a mistake. It had been ridiculous to imagine that she would have been heard or that the fishermen would have had the authority to do anything.
But the vessel Craig was asking for a tow had to be manned by a captain—a man of some prestige, a man who would be close enough to hear her fervent pleas, a man who could tell her where she was and steer her in the course of a fair-sized city.
They were already connecting tow lines; she could hear Craig moving about. Listening until his footsteps passed overhead, Blair scrambled to the ladder, forgetting about her foot and almost staggering as a bolt of pain shot through her. Taking a deep breath, she regained her balance and gingerly stuck her head out of the hatch.
She almost smiled. The boat towing them out of their suction was a large one, and several pot-bellied and mustachioed men were milling about the captain. Craig was busy at the helm, holding the tiller and guiding a line.
Blair crawled on out of the hatch and bolted past him as best she could limping. She scooted as far up on the bow as possible, attracting the captain’s attention with a gasped, “Ayudame! Ay, por favor! Help me!”
“Quée pasa?” the captain queried back, not twenty feet from her.
She opened her mouth for an explanation, but Craig was upon her by then, dragging her back with a jerked, violent force. “Let go of me!” Blair hissed desperately, struggling against him as she quickly rasped loudly in Spanish, “I’m being kidnapped, I’m an American, I need to get to an embassy—”
The stabbing wrench of his arm against her midriff cut off her breath and Blair gasped against the pain. He wasn’t playing with her now, she realized dully … “Mi esposa!” he shouted in Spanish, and she could hear the fury in his voice even as he apologized to the captain. “Mi esposa, she has gone un poco loco in la cabeza, saben …” His voice trailed away sadly; only she could feel the tension of his viselike grip upon her. “Get down in the hold, damn you!” he gritted through clenched teeth.
Blair gasped for air and stared up into his innocent features, stunned. How could he think he could get away with such a thing? Despite the pain of his hold she desperately struggled against him, shouting in Spanish. “This man is not my husband! He is a criminal, he is holding me against my will ….” Her voice simply ran out with a cry as Craig jerked her tightly again, his eyes denoting barely contained wrath.
It didn’t matter, Blair thought brokenly. The men aboard the other vessel, captain included, were laughing. They were telling Craig he had asked for trouble when he had married a norteamericana.
“But a fine-looking one!” A particularly swarthy pot-belly called out. “I’d give you two cows and ten chickens for a single hour. Tell me, amigo, is she a fireball in bed?”
Craig’s eyes turned down to her. His amusement still did not quell the fury. His arms came around her like bars, he drew her to his chest, the painful spike of his fingers a warning to her ribs as he spoke to the men over the top of her head. “Si, señores,” he replied with a broad grin well feigned, “mi esposa is definitely a fireball. But she is not for sale, not even for a minute.”
“Ah, a wild one!” the captain raucously replied, slapping his thigh with enjoyment. “But watch it, amigo—these redheads try to wear the pants in the household, especially these norteamericanas, sí? Put your foot down now, son, or you will find yourself in mucho trouble!”
Craig smiled over clenched teeth grimly and agreed with the men.
Blair thought she had previously known humiliation, but nothing like this. Nor had she ever believed Craig could hold her with such harsh, cold ruthlessness.
She was tiring from fighting him, but her instinct for survival warned her this might be her last chance. With all her might she dug an elbow into his ribs, granting herself the satisfaction of hearing him grunt now in pain.
But her satisfaction was short-lived. Since no local could possibly allow his wife to make a fool of him long, and still hold his head high, these men would expect Craig’s treatment of her to be humiliating, even brutal.
He bent low and rasped in her ear. A stranger’s voice. A dangerous, warning voice. “Stop it, Blair. I really don’t want to have to hurt you.”
“It’s the bambino!” he called to their amused audience. “They say women are worse at these times.”
It was apparent that every man aboard the fishing barge was a father. And all probably had wives who scolded around the roost. They were more than happy to give Craig complete empathy and advice.
“It is a crazy time,” the captain called. “But it will pass. Felicidades! May your child be a strong son.”
“Bambino!” A shriek rent the air and Blair realized it was herself, shouting against all caution. It had simply been the final straw. “I am not having any bambino and this man is not my hus—”
“Blair!” She was sure her ribs would shortly disintegrate. “I do not want to hurt you.”
She was simply too incensed to heed his growl; she was almost oblivious to the stifling pressure of his arms. “I am not crazy,” she shouted out in Spanish “I’m not his wife, damn it. Don’t you understand …”
“Mrs. Teile”—this time she couldn’t help but be entirely aware of the growl of his voice—“I have warned you.”
Suddenly she was spinning around. She heard a loud crack and realized that Craig had slapped her face—with cold expertise, as usual. The pain was hardly a sting, and yet it was loud and staggering. Dazed, she found herself crushed into his arms, her mind unable to keep up with the whirlwind of her body. She was clamped fully to him, with a force that truly threatened to crush bone. A handful of terse fingers were threaded into her hair, drawing her head irrevocably back. It was a hold from which she could neither twist nor turn as he dragged her toward the hold. Stunned and shaken, helpless and infuriated at that very helplessness, Blair struggled against his bruising punishment to no avail. She was the hostage to be subdued.
It was the ultimate warning. He could do anything. His kindnesses to her were just that. She must learn to obey him.
It was also a hell of a show—one greeted with lavish applause, the entertainment clearly condoned by their audience.
Blair couldn’t breathe. The strength seemed to be sapping from her body to his. She was mad enough to kill, she thought faintly, betrayed again in the worst way possible. But now, even now, her soul ransacked and robbed, she could not feel revulsion. As she stumbled along through the acrid taste of her salt tears and the blood of bruised lips, she wondered if it would matter if she could really hate him. He wasn’t seeking any type of surrender, she thought, vaguely noticing the male aroma she had come to know so well, and just a while ago—love.
This was merely a well-executed and deliberate piece of showmanship, and just to make the show complete, he moved his crushing hand from the small of her back to bring it with firm possession in a slow slide over her breast, waist, and hip, and down to her thigh.
By the time he released her, she was trembling in desperate spasms, half with rage and humiliation, and—God help her—half with excitement. Even now he had the unique power to stimulate her senses no matter what the circumstances.
Still, she was determined not to give herself away. Not that that mattered either—the world was spinning, and even as she attempted to stumble away from him, she collapsed against him.
“Below, mi esposa,” Craig whispered in low warning as he half supported her, half shoved her toward the hatch. “One more word out of your mouth, and I will sell you to that old fisherman and I’ll give him a damn cow and chicken to boot.”
Instinctively she tried to wrench away from him, although she had every intention of disappearing down the hatch. Unfortunately Craig didn’t realize that. His arm came for hers once again and a swift jerk brought her moving quickly. Too quickly. She stumbled and her foot touched down hard on rough planking. The shriek that tore from her mouth was one of pure agony. “Craig … my foot …” she gasped out.
Craig felt his entire body go stiff as he winced with her pain. God, the last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt her. If she had only listened to him, damn it. Now he had caused her to open the entire gash.
He was torn in two, speared by guilt, then further infuriated that she had caused him such a terrible guilty feeling. Didn’t she know what the repercussions of her foolishness might have been?
She was instantly in his arms, lifted effortlessly off both feet. “Un momentito, por favor,” he called to the tolerant fishing captain. Supporting her over a shoulder, he brought her swiftly down the ladder.
In the cabin they were hit with the foul smell of Blair’s burning eggs. Cursing beneath his breath, Craig paused a second to shut the gas and move the skillet, then he carried her to the bed, tension and anger tightening in his muscles, but his touch still gentle as he lowered her down and captured her ankle to look at her foot.
“Damn you!” he murmured, his voice a cross between anger and tortured resignation. Blood was soaking through the gauze, and he bit imperceptibly into his lip before meeting her eyes. “You really are an idiot,” he continued harshly to keep himself from pleading that she not force him to cause her pain again. It hurt him so much more. “What the hell did you think you were doing? You saw those men, you heard them. Do you really think you would have gotten to a city? You may have gotten somewhere eventually, but you would have been used by ten men ten times before …”
“Craig!” she cried out with misery.
His tone softened. “I am sorry I had to hurt you, Blair. Christ! Don’t make me do this again. Stay here now, and stay off that foot! I mean it.”
He did indeed mean it. She had seen that particular look in his eyes before. Twice, in fact. Both times had proceeded apologetic blows to her jaw.
He was awaiting a response from her, and she slowly nodded, miserably biting at her lip. He glanced back to her foot and his fingers touched the gauze as he assured himself the fresh bleeding had stopped.
And then they both suddenly became aware that the rough cloth skirt had bunched and risen high on Blair’s thigh. A static tension rippled between them; her limb appeared so long, pale, and vulnerable—gracefully shaped and so inviting. And the hiking up of her skirt left so very little to the imagination.
Craig abruptly pulled her skirt back down and turned from her to head out of the cabin. “Stay right there until I come back,” he commanded curtly.
Blair allowed her head to fall to the pillow. How was it possible to feel so many emotions within minutes? She had been so mad, she felt like a blazing torch, but just moments later, when he had responded so fleetly to her pain, she had felt an overwhelming urge to reach up and touch the tawny hair and tell him that she was all right with him near.
And again, even when he had held her in violence, she had felt that intense sensation of hot, stirring excitement.
God, what was the matter with her? she wondered, pressing her fingers against bruised lips. How could she be so foolish?
Because he wasn’t innately a violent man; his power was that of mind more than body. Although dangerous, it was always clearly apparent to Blair that a gentleness toward her lurked beneath Craig’s seeming roughness. A tenderness.
And then she was recalling his eyes, the lightness of his touch as he adjusted her skirt. And God, she could remember his touch of just a few nights ago, sometimes rough and always demanding, rough only when he had swept her to a passion to equal his own.
“Don’t!” she whispered aloud to herself, “Don’t!” She couldn’t allow her mind to wander that way.
Cows and chickens! she reminded herself with a clench of the teeth. Think of the humiliation. Think of the anger.
The boat suddenly jarred. A long sucking sound issued through the cabin as the earth released its grip upon the hull. She could hear Craig calling thanks to the captain who had given them the tow. And then they were on their way.
She didn’t have the strength or energy to disobey Craig and move. In time, she knew, he would come to her. She closed her eyes and fell into a restless sleep.