After encountering severe storms off the mainland of South America, which severely damaged the Dolphin’s hull and forced her to put in at the first landfall, which happened to be the island of Trinidad, it was with sadness and reluctance that Cassandra, eager to reach Barbados and her cousin Sir John Everson, parted company with the Dolphin.
The burial they had given her father at sea had been a particularly poignant moment for her. She had watched through a mist of tears as the corpse of the man who had been tied to her by blood had slipped beneath the grey waters. ‘Goodbye, Father,’ she had whispered, and in the soulful wind blowing over the sea came the tempting strains of an answering farewell, strains that filled her heart, a sound heard by her alone.
And now Cassandra was glad to be moving on, to put the tragic memories of those terrible last days in London behind her. She acquired a passage on a large English merchant vessel, the Spirit of Enterprise, bound for Barbados and Antigua. During the same storms that had battered the Dolphin, the merchantman, which had been travelling in an organised convoy, since lone vessels were in danger of being attacked and plundered by pirates, had been blown severely off course, and the ship’s commander, Captain Tillotson, had put in at Trinidad to take on fresh water.
Uneasy at Cassandra being the only woman on board the Dolphin, Drum had insisted that his daughter, eighteen-year-old Rosa, accompany her. She was a quiet, comely girl, with dark features like her Portuguese mother. Drum had taken her on board when they had made a lengthy stop at Praia, his home in the Cape Verde Islands.
In desperate need of provisions, and to carry out urgent repairs to the badly leaking Dolphin, Drum was to go on to one of the neighbouring islands—an island that was a favourite haunt for pirates. Contrary to his misgivings when he had taken Cassandra on board, the sailors had taken to her like seals to the ocean, and the entire crew would mourn her departure.
Drum bore a deep and abiding love for his daughter; when the moment came to say farewell, he stood still for a moment while Rosa rested her head against him, then he patted her and said gruffly, ‘Be a good girl, Rosa, and do as Cassandra tells you.’ Promising dutifully that she would, lifting her arms she put them round her father’s neck and kissed his scarred cheek. He held her tightly for a moment and then stepped back and turned to Cassandra.
‘Try not to worry about Rosa, Drum,’ Cassandra said, aware of his concern and touched at how much feeling this hard-bitten pirate possessed for his daughter. ‘Captain Tillotson is to give us his protection until we reach my cousin. I promise to take good care of her, and ensure her safe passage back to Cape Verde. Where will you go, when the Dolphin is repaired?’
‘Who knows?’ he said with a roguish, Irish grin. ‘The ship will sail, winged by her oars, and go wherever the wind will take us.’
If Captain Tillotson thought it strange for an English woman to be travelling with just one female companion so far from home, he was too much of a gentleman to show it. However, the occupants of the Dolphin stirred his curiosity and he suspected they were sea rovers, but the captain, though fearsome to look at with his scarred face, seemed a reasonable enough individual and was clearly concerned that the young lady and her companion be delivered safely to her cousin on Barbados.
It was with the dawn on a morning in April, almost five months after leaving England, that Cassandra glimpsed the coral island of Barbados, its encircling reefs giving her a degree of security and immunity. It was a large island, hanging like a teardrop one hundred miles east of the Caribbean chain. Well situated in terms of the north-easterly trade winds and ocean currents that enabled the island to receive shipping from Europe, it rose on the horizon wreathed in a golden mist, like a mirage, bewitching, peaceful and powerfully hypnotic, and, the closer they sailed, the air blowing from inland was heavy with a thousand scents.
The ship anchored in the commodious bay at Bridgetown. The glittering waters were dotted with all manner of craft, from fishing ketches and lighters to huge merchantmen that docked at Barbados frequently. Barbados was successful in its manufacture of sugar, and Bridgetown, bustling to an ageless quick tempo, was the island’s trading centre.
The noise and colour assailed Cassandra’s senses, and the hot Caribbean sun gilded the town and warehouses that lined the waterfront in a silver glow. Everywhere disorder reigned. A never-ceasing army of bare-chested black slaves worked laboriously, driving wagons and manning the oars of the lighters—sturdy vessels utilised to transport cargo to and from the ships anchored in the bay. They were built to carry twenty to thirty tons—and in many cases passengers and cargo would be lucky to escape a drenching.
The figures on the beach were a blur in the trembling heat haze as Cassandra was rowed in a precariously laden lighter from the ship. With no room in the boat for another person or piece of baggage, Rosa had been left with no alternative but to take the boat behind. When they were halfway to the shore, the boat carrying Cassandra began to list precariously to one side as it was tossed about on the choppy water, causing the baggage to shift. Everyone in the boat realised it was about to capsize.
Overseeing the unloading of his ship, the Sea Hawk, Stuart Marston stood on the shore, momentarily distracted from watching his cargo of much-wanted metals and broadcloth being taken to the warehouses, when his attention was caught by a female occupant in one of the boats advancing towards the shore. A wide-brimmed hat with a sweeping white plume sat on top of her silvery blonde hair, and she was lavishly attired in garments that would have graced the Court of King Charles in England, yet which looked incongruously out of place on this tropical island.
Her beauty was apparent and he could not tear his eyes away from her. She seemed to exist in a shimmering pool of silver light radiating all about her. His dark gaze swept over her features appreciatively, for like all hot-blooded men he was easily moved by the beauty of a woman. Observing that the boat she was in was about to cast her into the sea, immediately he strode into the surf and began wading through the shallow water towards it.
Taken completely by surprise as two tanned hands reached out and hauled her from the boat just as it keeled over, spilling occupants and baggage into the water and causing a general turmoil, Cassandra gasped and began struggling against the person who had taken such liberty, but it was like trying to prise herself out of a steel trap.
‘Be still,’ commanded the masculine voice of her captor, his hard arms tightening about her waist and beneath her knees, ‘or you’ll have us both in the water.’
Startled by the harsh, deep resonance of his tone, Cassandra did as he ordered, torn between amusement and a certain amount of consternation, but, on seeing her captor’s handsome features and encountering an amused dark stare, she relaxed and, reaching up, placed her arms about his neck.
Smiling up at him, she let her eyes dwell on the tiny beads of perspiration, which glistened like delicate pearl drops on his brown flesh. Nothing had prepared her for the thrill of excitement that travelled deliciously throughout her body at finding herself pressed against the broad chest of such a powerfully attractive man.
‘I realise that you must have feared for my safety when you saw the boat list, and I am grateful to you for coming so swiftly to my rescue, sir,’ she murmured, feeling the hardness of his body and the tightening of his sinewy arms supporting her, and conscious of the faint scent of sandalwood, which he favoured. ‘It was extremely gallant of you. However, I can swim and the sea in this part is not nearly deep enough for a person to drown.’
‘Then I am glad I was ignorant of that fact since it would have denied me the pleasure of carrying you to the beach. Unless, of course, you would like me to put you down into the water—which I do not recommend,’ he said, the quirk in his lips deepening into an amused, one-sided grin, and his eyes sparkling with devilment, ‘for it is not unknown for sharks to swim in the shallows in the hope of obtaining a tasty meal.’
‘Then it would appear I have no option but to remain where I am. I have no mind to be eaten by the sharks, so I am perfectly happy for you to carry me all the way to the shore,’ Cassandra replied softly, falling under the influence of the stranger’s slow and easy smile.
She was content to let her eyes linger on the deep cleft in his chin, which emphasised the strength of his jaw. His mouth was wide, his lips firm, and she conceived that it denoted humour as well as hardness. The only imperfection was a small scar, which curved down one cheek, yet even that could not mar his handsome face. His eyes were impressive, fierce and black, their smouldering depths seductive and enticing, and totally alive.
Cassandra judged him to be in his late twenties or early thirties. There was a certain arrogance and aggressive quality to his features, and he was self-assured and attractive enough to turn any woman’s head. His hair was thick and unruly and shining black, and a heavy wave fell with careless unrestraint over his brow. His skin shone with a bronzed, smooth, healthy glow and he looked magnificently virile and masculine.
Feeling himself undergoing her close scrutiny Stuart looked down at her. Their eyes met, his bolder and more penetrating than any man’s who had looked at her before. They openly and unabashedly displayed his approval as his gaze ranged over her face. The slow grin that followed and the gleam in his dark eyes brought a stinging heat creeping over Cassandra’s skin and her heart turned over beneath the warmth, the power of it. Realising she was staring at him with a brazenness that was immodest, she lowered her eyes. Her sudden discomfiture broadened his smile, displaying two even rows of white teeth.
‘Do I unsettle you?’ he enquired quietly.
‘No. Not in the least.’ That was not quite true, for he did unsettle her. Having no experience of men like this, she was not at all sure how to handle the incident.
‘If so, I beg your pardon. You are an extremely beautiful young woman—indeed, it would be ungracious of me to say otherwise—and I fear I have been on board ship too long. My manners appear to have deserted me,’ Stuart confessed, looking down into her eyes raised to his, bright and vivid blue—periwinkle blue, the bluest eyes he had ever seen, the pupils as black as jet. From that moment he was intrigued.
Held in his arms, she was as light as swan’s-down and he could feel every slender curve of her body, hinting at hidden delights. The fresh delicate scent of jasmine rose from her skin that was burned golden brown, which intrigued him more, since all the young ladies of his acquaintance deemed it shocking to expose one’s flesh to the sun.
But Stuart suspected this was no ordinary young woman. He sensed in her an adventuresome spirit, which had no room for convention or etiquette. There was nothing demure about her, as was the case with the young ladies who flitted in and out of his mother’s circle back in England, whose eyes would be ingeniously cast down, even among those they knew, which was proper. This young lady showed none of the restraint instilled into young girls of good family. She stared directly into his eyes. Her own glowed with an inner light and hinted of the woman hidden beneath the soft innocence of her face.
Around the slender column of her throat she wore a diamond-studded velvet band that matched her oyster silk gown. Despite the searing heat of the day and the heavy clothes she wore, she looked cool and completely at ease, not in the least embarrassed or discomfited at being carried in the arms of a half-dressed sea captain in full view of sailors and townspeople, or concerned by the capsizing of the boat, which its occupants were trying frantically to correct.
‘So—you are English,’ he said at length, his curiosity matching his growing ardour.
‘Does that surprise you?’
‘Considering we are on the other side of the Atlantic in the West Indies, then I have to say it does, Mistress…?’
‘Everson.’
‘I am most pleased to meet you, Mistress Everson.’
‘I am here to visit my cousin, Sir John Everson.’
‘Is he a planter on the island?’
‘No. He is a director and shareholder of a mercantile company based in London—the Wyndham Company. Perhaps you know of it.’
‘There are few in the trade who don’t. Its commercial success has attracted understandable envy and admiration from its rivals. The Company has expressed an interest in expanding eastwards—to the Spice Islands and India, I believe.’
‘Maybe so. I couldn’t say. John doesn’t often discuss Company business with me. For myself, I had a mind to pay him a visit—to see something of the West Indies and widen my horizons. Should I find Barbados as pleasant as it’s been portrayed, then I shall be in no hurry to leave,’ Cassandra told him lightly, as if she were speaking of nothing more interesting than visiting the county next to the one in which she lived in England, instead of an island on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
‘And you live in London?’
‘More or less. I live in the village of Chelsea.’
‘Then being from Chelsea, you’ll find this climate and its people very different.’
Bathed in a tropical heat, Cassandra gazed along the shimmering line of sand. It was a vibrant and colourful scene, an unfamiliar one, with people who were strangers, not only white but black, too. These black people were slaves, of a different culture, who spoke an unintelligible language, brought over from Africa to work the labour-intensive sugar plantations.
Slavery might have economic advantages but it involved cruelty. It was a system that restricted the human rights of individuals owned by the white planters. John had explained that without slaves the plantations could not exist, which was the sad reality of the island’s success. It was a system Cassandra found abhorrent, and she was glad the Wyndham Company’s operations did not extend to the triangular route.
The triangular route began in Europe with ships loaded with trade goods bound for Africa. These goods were bartered or sold for slaves. The second leg of the journey—known as the Middle Passage—was across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, where the slaves were offloaded and sold at auctions or privately. Laden with tropical produce, the ships then returned to Europe on the third leg of their journey.
Cassandra knew that in the weeks ahead she would see slavery in all its ugliness, but today, beneath a blue sky and the white-capped sea pulsating with the forces of wind and gravity all around her, the island seemed to hold a special allure. Already she could feel herself falling under its spell. She breathed in the air of the future in the making, the strange, unfamiliar scents borne on the breeze that blew from inland, which in her ignorance of a place she had only a rudimentary awareness of she could not put a name to, but which, altogether, became the essence of the Caribbean. It was exciting and made her feel vibrantly alive and set her blood racing.
‘Oh, I think I shall come to like it very well,’ she finally replied quietly. She eased against the stranger as he continued to wade through the shallows, intensely aware of the immediate effect of her movement as she heard him catch his breath and felt his arm tighten about her waist. How was it possible that the warmth of that corded arm burned through her dress and into her flesh? She looked at his face, just inches from her own, and the bold gleam in his eyes almost halted her breath. ‘And you, sir? What is your business on Barbados?’
‘My ship, the Sea Hawk, is chartered by a mercantile company back in London—the Wheatley and Roe Company—not as successful as the Wyndham Company, I grant you, but it does well enough. I am Captain Stuart Marston, and glad to be of service.’
They had reached the shore but he continued to hold her, seeming reluctant to put her down—and it shocked Cassandra to find she was thoroughly enjoying the experience and the sensation of having him hold her so close.
She smiled up at him through her long, thick lashes. ‘We have reached the shore, Captain Marston. I think it’s quite safe to put me down now. Do you know my cousin?’ she asked as he set her down on the sand, experiencing a feeling of regret when he relinquished his hold on her.
‘No, I can’t say that I do. I did not arrive myself until yesterday.’
‘But you are no stranger to the West Indies?’ she asked, smoothing her skirts and quite unconcerned that they had been doused in seawater, for they would be dry in no time in this heat.
‘I have made frequent trips over the years—both to the Indies and America.’
‘And accumulated exciting tales to tell, I don’t doubt,’ Cassandra teased. ‘What a pity I don’t have the time to stay and listen to them. I do so enjoy tales of adventure and valour and daring-do.’
A lazy grin swept across Stuart’s tanned face, and he smiled deep into her eyes. ‘Would you make of me a braggart, Mistress Everson?’
She inclined her head in response to his disarming smile. ‘I would not be so bold, Captain Marston. Tell me, as someone who is familiar with the island, what do you think of Barbados? Can you recommend it? My cousin says you have to experience it for yourself, to take in the powerful flavours of the island, and form your own opinion. Would you agree with him?’
‘Your cousin is right. It is true that the Caribbean Islands are quite splendid—unique, in fact—and you must be prepared for a strange new experience. Their mystique has attracted travellers from all over the world.’ He glanced at the Spirit of Enterprise out in the bay, squinting his eyes in the sun’s glare. ‘I see you sailed on the Spirit of Enterprise, commanded by my good friend Samuel Tillotson. I’m glad he made it after being blown off course, when he might have fallen into the hands of buccaneers that infest these waters. Unfortunately these lawless, uncontrollable desperadoes are capable of attacking and stripping some of the greatest ships when they’re without the protection of the convoy, and think nothing of slaughtering everyone on board.’
His words were spoken with some deep-felt emotion, and there was an underlying bitterness that was not lost on Cassandra. Her conscience smote her and she averted her eyes, her thoughts locked upon her own involvement with such men. ‘Yes. We must be thankful he made it.’
‘And are you travelling alone?’
‘No,’ she replied, moving a little away from him, finding that being in such close proximity was curiously disturbing. He was uncommonly tall, a little over six foot, she thought. He wore a loose-fitting coarse linen shirt, which flapped open to expose a broad expanse of bronzed chest covered with a dusting of black hair. A thick leather belt with a silver buckle circled his waist, and beneath his black breeches, rolled up above his knees, his calves bulged and the sand stuck to his wet feet. She had seen men on board the Dolphin similarly dressed, but none had affected her in quite the same way that he did. ‘I—I have a companion with me.’
‘A lady?’ he asked, cocking a quizzical dark eyebrow.
‘But of course,’ she laughed. ‘I could not possibly travel halfway across the world on a ship with no companion other than seamen, now could I? It would be unbecoming for me to travel unattended.’ Suppressing a smile, she wondered what his reaction would be if she were to tell him she was no stranger to life on board a ship with only hard-bitten pirates for company. No doubt he would be horrified and want nothing more to do with her.
‘And your cousin—he is expecting you?’
Cassandra’s eye’s clouded and her expression became serious, for she was apprehensive of what John’s reaction would be on seeing her. ‘On the contrary. In search of adventure and to carve myself a mark in the world, when I left England I cast aside the security of home and family, knowing I faced the censure of my cousin John, who is also my guardian. I dare say he will be horrified to see me and his anger will be ferocious indeed, especially since I have no defence for my actions.’
‘And you don’t expect to escape retribution.’ Stuart’s eyes scanned her face, the twitch of his mouth revealing his amusement, while at the same time the thought did cross his mind that the young lady might be in love with her cousin.
‘Unfortunately no. I fear the consequence of my actions. John will be unable to refrain from showing his displeasure—and no doubt I will be thoroughly admonished for my unsuitable, impetuous behaviour. But once he is over the worst of his anger and has calmed down, I know he will be pleased to see me.’
A breeze rippled through the plume in the brim of Cassandra’s hat and she turned her face better to feel its coolness on her cheeks, offering some relief from the heat and humidity, finding as she did so that her eyes were drawn to Captain Marston’s irresistibly. His steadfast gaze held hers so she could not look away. She saw his face was not lacking in interest for he was beginning to realise he had met a real phenomenon.
‘So, your stay on Barbados is indefinite, Mistress Everson?’
The smile returned to her lips. ‘It is my wish to remain for as long as possible—but then, regrettable though it will be when the time comes, I must return to England with my cousin. How long that will be I can’t say until I’ve seen him. And you, Captain Marston? How long are you to remain on Barbados?’
‘When my ship has been relieved of its cargo I have to go on to Jamaica. I have relatives there I wish to see, and I have to collect a fresh cargo—mainly sugar. I expect to be gone several weeks, but I shall return to Barbados in time to join the convoy back to England.’
They turned to watch the boat that had capsized being hauled on to the beach, and the one carrying Rosa and the young midshipman Captain Tillotson had ordered to escort her followed close behind.
Stuart looked at Cassandra. His black eyes narrowed as he studied her with unnerving intensity. ‘I am reluctant to see you go, Mistress Everson. Perhaps you will allow me to escort you to your cousin?’
Cassandra averted her eyes. Being flesh and blood, she could not remain unmoved by the attentions of such a devastatingly handsome man. The feelings he roused in her were unsettling and outside her experience. ‘Thank you—you are most kind, but—Captain Tillotson has instructed one of his midshipmen to take me directly to him,’ she explained hesitantly, watching the young man of whom she spoke assisting Rosa from the boat.
‘And you know where he is to be located?’
He moved closer to her, a towering masculine presence who filled her sights. Close to, his ruggedness seemed more pronounced, and the broad expanse of his chest and arms reminded her rather forcefully of how his powerful body had felt pressed against her. Unexpectedly Cassandra found herself the victim of an absurd attack of shyness, and she suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable with the dark way he was regarding her, his gaze narrowed and assessing.
‘Y-yes,’ she stammered. ‘He—he is staying at the Courtly plantation, which is the home of Sir Charles Courtly in the parish of St George. Sir Charles is John’s long-time friend, who also has large investments in the Wyndham Company.’
Stuart nodded. Her confusion showed on her face. She was very young, her face that of a guileless child, and his own became warm and gentle, and yet at the same time ardent. He drank in her presence, quelling the insane impulse to bend his head and slowly, endlessly, kiss the smile from her soft inviting lips, to carry her along the shore away from prying eyes and make love to her.
She had no conception of her own beauty or the impact it had on men. No woman had ever affected him so deeply on first meeting. He must see her again, and the knowledge that he would exhilarated him. She fired his blood. He wanted her completely and irrevocably—with a need that defied all reason.
‘Then at least allow me to arrange some transport to take you out there.’
Cassandra accepted gracefully. There was a vigorous purposefulness in his long quick strides as he headed for the waterfront, and an air of carefully restrained power, of forcefulness, emanating from him. She stood rooted to the sand, while all of Meredith’s dark warnings about being acquainted with men such as Captain Marston rushed through her mind.
He spoke with a silver tongue, and his words, like his bold stare, set her blood aflame. He had told her he would be reluctant to see her go, and she was surprised how reluctant she would be to leave him. She told herself she was being foolish, that she was overreacting to what was nothing more than empty flattery, that it could not matter to her. Despite what he thought and said, she could not link her future with that of a reckless sea captain. In no time at all he returned.
‘It’s all arranged. A carriage is waiting to take you out to the Courtly plantation. It’s hardly a vehicle fit for a lady, but it will get you there.’
‘Thank you. You have been most helpful.’
‘I hope we will meet again before I have to return to England. Perhaps when I return from Jamaica. Everything about you intrigues me in a way that makes me want to get to know you better.’
Suspicious of his flattery, Cassandra laughed nervously, though a traitorous part of her responded to the low caress of his voice. She had to get away from him—to escape the intoxicating madness he was plunging her into. She needed all her willpower to dispel the assault on her defences. This man was too assured, too handsome, too irresistibly exciting by far.
‘And I think you are an outrageous flatterer, and capable of luring helpless females into a game at which you are obviously a master, Captain Marston. Yes, I can well believe that you are capable of charming a snake out of its basket. How many female hearts have you stolen with such honeyed sentiments?’
His look was swift and predatory, and a roguish gleam brightened his eyes. ‘Some—although I see nothing helpless about you. However, most women would think such thoughts but never utter them.’
Cassandra saw laughter lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. He was mocking her. Annoyance stirred and her eyes flashed. ‘I am not most women, Captain Marston.’
He raised an eyebrow with an amused admiration. He hadn’t missed the flare of temper in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t agree more. You are unaware of the potency of your charms that makes you different, Mistress Everson, and I meant no insult.’
Cassandra smothered a smile at the man’s outrageous audacity. ‘None taken.’
‘And you will allow me to call on you when I return?’
‘Yes, of course. I shall look forward to it,’ she murmured.
‘Thank you. Duty may take me away from you now, but not for long. I will not lose you. If you are not here when I return, then I will find you in London.’ His voice was low, urgent and persuasive, and he was studying her from beneath his strongly marked eyebrows, watching her face as he bowed his dark head politely, his expression appraising as she turned and began to move away and followed the young midshipman and her companion off the beach.
Stuart’s eyes continued to watch her. Her step was one of confidence, as if she sensed hidden dangers ahead but determined nevertheless to enjoy them. She moved gracefully, with an added fluency that drew the eye to the elegance of her straight back and the proud tilt of her head. In those first dazzling moments when he had scooped her out of the capsizing boat, neither had been prepared for the impact of their meeting, for the attraction had been mutual and instantaneous. The unexpectedness of it astounded Stuart, and Cassandra would have been surprised if she had known the depth of his feelings as she walked away from him. Suddenly, this, his final trip on the Sea Hawk, had begun to take on a certain appeal.
Young, original and fresh, Mistress Everson possessed an indescribable magnetism in abundance, with that unique quality of innocence and sexuality rarely come by. She was a woman, hardly more than a child, with a combination of youthful beauty and an untouched air of shy modesty, and yet she had about her a primitive earthiness that sat strangely at odds with her well-bred gentility. When she smiled a small dimple appeared in her cheek, and her rosy parted lips revealed perfect, small white teeth. Stuart was enchanted. He thought he had never seen anything quite so appealing or irresistibly captivating as Mistress Everson. Women like her were as scarce and as hard to come by as a rare jewel and must be treated as such, and he was determined that she would not escape him.
He knew practically nothing about her, but the violence and depth of his attraction, and his instinct, told him he had met the woman with whom he wished to spend the rest of his life. He had always avoided any sentimental attachment, yet here, against his will—for he had not thought to look for a wife until he returned to England—he found his head filled with thoughts of Mistress Everson, and he became determined that as soon as he returned from Jamaica he would embark on the most exhilarating and exciting chase of his life.
As he was about to turn away he stopped in his tracks and looked at her again, checked, suddenly, by a memory when he saw a thick strand of her silvery gold hair, having come loose from the pins securing it beneath her hat, become caught by the breeze. It toyed with it and raised it high, and it rippled and danced behind her as she walked like a ship’s pennon borne on the wind. His brow became creased in a puzzled frown when the memory stirred once more. He tried to think what it was and to remember of whom it was Mistress Everson reminded him. He got no further, for at that moment he was distracted when one of his crew drew his attention, and he was forced to turn his mind to other things.
Cassandra knew Captain Marston was watching her as she walked away through the vibrant, colourful profusion of people thronging the beach. She was tempted to turn her head and look back, but for some strange reason that was beyond her she kept her eyes focused ahead.
How could it be that after a few minutes away from him she was already craving his company once more? When he had looked into her eyes she had felt the intensity of his regard, and had known that he was passionately aware of her. Their meeting had left her tingling with pleasure, for she had never met a man so fascinating, stimulating and exciting. That he was a man of power and accustomed to obedience from others was clear.
She very much hoped they would meet again—or did she? She sighed, totally confused. What was wrong with her? Had she lost control of her reason? Was the island getting to her already? Was it the heat or some temporary madness? No one had ever made her feel this way. Could it possibly be that she was falling in love with a man she had met just once?