by Susan Napier
She had just resigned herself to waiting out the siesta after all when her prey had swooped on her unsuspecting back.
'The bus driver does have instructions to come via the scenic route,' J.J. Hawkwood said drily, making her realise how long the silence had stretched.
'Yes, well... I like to be independent,' she reminded him.
'But now you are regretting that independence?' he guessed smoothly. 'Because this no doubt helpful young man has explained to you that, this being a privately owned island, he has to have official permission to land anyone on the Ile des Faucons—permission which he does not happen to have...'
'Yes, of course,' Elizabeth lied primly, throwing a brief, reproachful glance back at the guilty man on the boat whose unworthy hide she was saving. No wonder the prices she had been quoted were so exorbitant! 'I was just enquiring, that's all. Actually, I thought I'd just look around the shops while I waited for the hotel boat to come back-'
'Unnecessary, Miss Lamb. My own personal boat is leaving for the island in a few minutes. You will travel with us.'
Not can, not may, but will. Elizabeth's pride was pricked.
'Thank you, but I prefer to do some shopping—' she began testily.
'It's siesta. The shops are closed.' He picked up her largest bag, hefting its weight with an ease that hardly stirred the thick muscles of his upper arm. For some reason the demonstration of his strength made her more determined to impose her will on him.
'Put it down.'
'I beg your pardon?' The haughty English correctness was as infuriating as ever.
'My suitcase. Could you please let go of it? I can handle it myself.' She reached for it and he jerked it away.
'I'm sure you can. You're a very strapping young lady. But as a gentleman I insist on being allowed the honour of carrying it on board for you.'
Strapping?
Elizabeth felt a star-burst of anger mingle with a treacherous desire to laugh at his subtly provocative insult. He made her sound like a ten-foot-tall Amazon, bulging with muscles and threats to male dominance.
'Carrying it? Oh, is that what you're doing? I got the impression that you were holding it to ransom,' she said tartly. 'Your boat doesn’t fly the skull and crossbones, by any chance, does it?'
'You think I look like a pirate?' He tipped his head, smiling, probably flattered by the odious comparison.
'No,' she lied crushingly. 'But you're certainly behaving like one.'
'I'm told that's my principal charm,' he murmured.
'How depressing for you.'
'You think so?' The smile became thinner, less provocative, and Elizabeth knew that she had finally got under that thick skin.
'Pirates are notoriously cold-blooded, violent and amoral. Your other charms must be singularly unattractive if those are the ones that people associate you with.'
For an instant something hot and dangerous flashed in the grey eyes and Elizabeth inadvertently took a few steps back. Her mouth went dry when he matched her, pace for pace.
'Why all the hostility, Miss Lamb? You have resented me from the first moment we met on the plane. Why?' He spoke very quietly, and was all the more menacing for it.
'I—I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,' she said awkwardly, knowing it was true. She had no right to judge him when she only had one side of the evidence.
She took off her sunglasses and looked at him with her chin high, so that he could see she was perfectly sincere. She had never deliberately set out to hurt anybody in her life—until this wretched man had crossed her path.
He looked into her wide violet eyes with their deep, dark centres.
'No, but you did say it. Now you will tell me why.' Again that will. As if the only will operating around here was his.
'Look, I've said I'm sorry-'
'That's not enough.'
She was intimidated, but she wasn’t stupid. 'Well, it will just have to do!'
'I don’t like mysteries,' he said bluntly, not taking his eyes off her flushed face.
'That makes two of us!' Elizabeth blurted out in exasperation. 'Look, I think it's best if I wait for the hotel launch to come back-'
'You're a very stubborn woman.'
It was an accusation that she was perfectly comfortable with as far as he was concerned. 'Yes.'
'Independent and stubborn.'
She angled her chin a little higher. 'Yes.'
'You have a problem dealing with men?'
She flushed at the unexpected flanking attack.
'No, I have no problem whatsoever in dealing with men!' she denied hotly.
He nodded thoughtfully. 'Ah...so it is only me?'
'I—' She was almost grateful for the sharp interruption when it came, until she realised its source.
'Jack, aren’t you carrying chivalry too far? The woman obviously doesn’t want a lift. She seems quite capable of making her own decisions!'
Elizabeth's attention, which had been solely focused on the male threat looming over her, now skittered to the companion that she hadn’t even noticed. Tall. Slim. Blonde and beautiful in a very glossy, sophisticated kind of way.
Serena Corvell.
Elizabeth's defensive indignation drained away, along with her hectic colour.
J.J. Hawkwood and Serena Corvell. Together. And 'Jack'? She supposed it was his nickname.
The camera over her shoulder suddenly felt like a ten-ton boulder, signalling her guilty intent.
'No, of course not.' Hawkwood was casually soothing. 'Well, Miss Lamb—at least let me take your suitcase over to the hotel; that way you won’t have to carry it everywhere while you do your "shopping".'
'Uh—perhaps I will come with you after all...' Elizabeth found her voice hurriedly.
'Oh, for goodness' sake-' Serena Corvell was staring at her with an expression of the utmost disdain for her vacillation.
'If...if the offer is still open, of course,' Elizabeth said stiffly.
For some reason J.J. Hawkwood decided to be perverse as he studied her pale face. 'I wouldn’t like you to feel pressured into doing something you didn’t want to...'
The irony was almost laughable. This whole trip fell into that category!
'No, really, I want to come,' she said quickly, unaware of the thread of panic in her voice which contradicted the false smile on her lips.
'When I said that the shops were closed, I didn’t mean the cafes and restaurants. If you like I could recommend somewhere-'
'No!' Her deep voice almost tipped over the edge into desperation. If only he would stop looking at her like that! She cleared her throat and continued more calmly. 'No, I think that I'm a little worn out from travelling after all, and I'd rather lunch at the hotel, so if you don’t mind, Monsieur Hawkwood...'
For a moment she thought that Hawkwood was going to persist with his perverse offers of alternatives until he had forced her to flatly beg for her passage, but Serena Corvell came unexpectedly to her aid.
'So it's settled, then. Now can we go, Jack? I would like to get to the island before nightfall!'
He made a soothing response to her brisk sarcasm and then graciously made the belated introduction.
'Serena Corvell, this is Miss... ?'
It seemed a defeat to have to say it. 'Elizabeth,' she said sullenly.
'Elizabeth Lamb.' His mocking smile acknowledged his victory. 'We travelled together from New Zealand.' He made it sound as if they had had a formal assignation. 'Please, call me Jack—Monsieur Hawkwood sounds so...proper. And I bet they call you Beth.'
She would have liked to deny it. Somehow he made the nickname sound gentle, ineffectual, boring... It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she was a spritely, dynamic Liz, but she quelled the impulse. She merely ignored him as the other woman brushed impatiently past her on the narrow decking and began striding sleekly towards the end of the pier.
Hawkwood bowed slightly to Elizabeth, indicating that he would bring up the rear, and after hesit
ating she reluctantly complied with his silent command.
Having him walk behind her was an unnerving experience. She discovered that she had forgotten how to move her limbs naturally, her hips and knees stiffening so that she stumbled slightly like a little girl trying out her mother's high heels.
Hawkwood must have thought so, too, because he murmured closely enough to send shivers up her nervous spine, 'I can’t let you wear those shoes on board. You'll have to go barefoot. After all the persuasion it took to get you on board, I don’t want to lose you over the side.'
He might if he knew what she was up to!
'I have some trainers in my bag,' she said gruffly, and almost tripped again when she saw where Serena Corvell was leading them.
Le Faucon. Black lettering on the bow arrogantly proclaimed its ownership. After her initial surprise passed, Elizabeth had to admit that the vessel was exactly like its owner—handsome and emphatically individualistic. Elizabeth had pictured a rich man's toy—a sleek, fast, stylish white launch bristling with every piece of marine technology known to man. Instead, what she got was a graceful old wooden yacht whose gleaming teak deck and highly polished brass fittings didn’t disguise the subtle signs of her considerable age.
There was even a figurehead, but not the usual deep-breasted nymph. It was a hawk, wings swept back against the bow, predatory beak thrust aggressively forward in search of new prey. A pirate's boat.
Elizabeth was unaware that she had halted, until she received a soft nudge behind her knee that set her in hurried motion again.
'Beautiful, isn’t she?'
Was he talking about his yacht, or Serena, who was frowning back at them from the deck and still managing to look gorgeous?
Elizabeth pretended to concentrate on taking off her shoes and stepping gingerly down the weather-beaten gangplank. Once on board she felt horribly trapped.
'This way. We'll stow your bag below.'
Elizabeth followed him carefully down the steep companionway. There was a compact galley and two other cabins below, as well as extra sleeping bunks in the fo'c'sle. The cabin that Jack placed her bag in was surprisingly large, and the wood panelling and floor gleamed with the same loving polish that the rest of the vessel showed.
'It would probably be a good idea to change out of your skirt as well as your shoes. When the wind hits our sails you might find your modesty compromised,' Jack told her blandly.
Elizabeth gave him a prim look, although she had every intention of following his advice. 'I'll have your shirt laundered at the hotel before I return it,' she began, fingering the buttons, feeling suddenly very conscious of the wide, comfortable-looking double bunk behind her.
He shrugged. 'In that case you may as well keep it on. Once we get away from the protection of the "Grand Terre"—the mainland—there'll be a fair amount of salt spray on deck. No point in your ruining another clean blouse even before we reach the hotel.' As she opened her mouth to tell him she had no intention of wearing his clothing longer than necessary he continued glibly, 'Unless, of course, you have some personal reason for rejecting the most sensible alternative.'
Unfortunately her reason was all too personal. The thought that the silk against her skin had once sheathed his own lean, hard physique was disturbing. Lovers wore each other's clothes... Elizabeth was disgusted with herself for the wayward thought. He was right. The offer was the most practical, and, besides, at the moment she couldn’t think of a convenient lie to explain away her deep reluctance to being in his debt even in the simplest of ways.
'No, of course not,' she murmured awkwardly, and when he made no immediate move to leave she abruptly changed the subject. 'How many crew do you employ?'
He regarded her with a hint of puzzlement. 'You do have very odd preconceptions about me, Eliza-Beth
Lamb,' he enunciated softly. 'I don’t have to employ anyone, I'm quite capable of handling her all by myself. Although it does help to have someone on board who knows how to rig a sail. Ever done any sailing?'
Elizabeth shook her head, deciding to ignore his provocative pronunciation of her name. His remarks explained the roughness of his hands, so different from the pampered softness she had expected from a wealthy executive.
His eyes narrowed to conceal a fugitive gleam in the grey eyes. 'Hmm. I'll have to find some other way for you to work your passage.'
Arrogant pirate! No doubt he expected every woman to fall at his feet just because he was handsome and rich and powerful and... sexy...
'I'm sure I could swab the decks quite efficiently,' Elizabeth replied coldly, thinking that she could very well also swab his mouth out with soap. He was actually flirting with her while his mistress awaited him above!
'Oh, I'm sure I could think of a more comfortable position for you than on your hands and knees,' he murmured, watching her speaking eyes go purple with outrage before he continued almost seamlessly, 'The galley for instance. Would you mind foraging for a snack while I get us under way? Even with the wind behind us Ile de Faucons is about two hours' sailing time away and we're bound to get peckish before then.'
He left while she was still simmering over a pithy reply. The knowledge that he could tie her up into verbal as well as physical knots was galling.
The cupboards in the galley were another salutary lesson on the dangers of pre-judgement. They were stocked not with the expensive luxuries but with plain, practical fare. Cheeses, brown bread and beer were the main inhabitants of the small refrigerator.
As Elizabeth made a selection of hearty sandwiches she could feel the difference beneath her feet. The gentle rock of the boat had become a rhythmic sway and out of the porthole she could see the craft moored in the marina slipping by as they left the harbour.
It took a bit of juggling for her to get the tray of sandwiches and beer up the narrow companionway, along with the camera she had grimly shouldered in order to take maximum advantage of her enforced voyage, but Elizabeth managed it without spilling anything. She had left her sunglasses back in the cabin and the colours of the sea and sky enchanted her with their glittering intensity. Wary of the stability of her new sea legs and keeping a nervous eye on the shifting sails, Elizabeth edged carefully past the raised cabin to the rear deck, ignoring Jack's approving click when he saw the loose white cotton trousers she had teamed with his shirt.
Serena Corvell was reclining elegantly on the padded stern seating, not lifting a manicured fingernail as she watched Jack at the wheel. Although she, too, was wearing flat shoes they were of expensive snakeskin rather than canvas and the lightweight cream trouser-suit accentuating her slim figure made Elizabeth feel like a lumpy street-urchin in comparison. Thank goodness the cotton trousers and loose shirt hid her over-generous lines from those critical brown eyes.
At the moment they were regarding the tray with a seething discontent that Elizabeth instinctively sensed had little to do with what was actually on offer.
'Surely there must be something other than beer to drink? Go back down and find a bottle of wine. White. And make sure it's cold.'
Elizabeth's easy temper simmered at the order, but Jack was there before her. 'Beth isn’t a servant, Serena. She's just as much my guest as you are. If you want something else go and get it yourself.'
Serena glowered but she didn’t stir. She poked broodingly at the thick sandwiches. 'I suppose there weren’t any knives down there, either. These are like doorsteps. I doubt if I could get one past my lips.'
You would if I shoved it down your throat, thought Elizabeth with unaccustomed savagery. Without a word she removed the tray from under the disdainful nose and offered it instead to the man at the wheel.
'Thanks.' He bit into a brown square with a throaty sound of satisfaction. 'Mmm, you obviously know the way to a sailor's heart. You can work passage in my galley any time.'
Elizabeth told herself the funny hollow feeling in her stomach was merely hunger and selected a sandwich for herself. 'No, thank you, I get enough of that at
home.'
'You have a large family?'
'No—there's only me and my two elderly uncles—they brought me up but they were never very clever in the kitchen so when I was old enough I was very glad to take over.'
'Do you work, as well as keep house for your uncles?'
Elizabeth bit her lip as she realised that she was chattering as if she had nothing to hide. If she was a good detective she would be worming information out of him, not vice versa.
She muttered an affirmative and quickly asked him about the reef which surrounded New Caledonia, at the same time offering him another sandwich. He seemed easily diverted by the twin distractions, obligingly informing her that the coral reef was the second largest in the world and that it could be seen from the high ridge that divided Ile des Faucons into two distinct halves.
'The reef is one of the reasons for the hotel's fame. The waters around our island are spectacularly good for snorkelling and skin-diving. Have you done either before?'
'No. Although I like swimming.'
'You must try diving, while you're here.'
'Perhaps,' Elizabeth temporised. Snorkelling she thought she could cope with, but skin-diving was a little too radical.
- 'My mother used to say that.' His smile in profile was only tantalisingly half revealed. 'What?'
'Perhaps. When she wanted to let me down gently, without causing conflict by an outright refusal. She hoped that if she procrastinated long enough I would forget my desire to do whatever it was she didn’t want me to.'
'And did you usually?'
'Never.' There was satisfaction in his smile.
Elizabeth was unable to hide her disapproval. It's not good for children always to get their own way.'
'I didn’t say I got always my own way. I said I never forgot my original desire. I allowed myself to be distracted, but never lost sight of the compromise involved.' His smile tipped cynically. 'To this day I don’t like to compromise.'
