by Caro LaFever
“Then turn on the water in the—”
“No water in the house either.” His ghostly words echoed from all around her, the edge of his words licking with sarcasm. “This isn’t the mainland, sunshine. I have a pump for the water, and when the electricity goes off—”
“The pump dies.” She slumped in distress against the door. “But I need to get the shampoo out of my hair, so if I could just step outside—”
“Nope. Not happening, although I’d love to see the last of you.” The sarcasm turned wry.
“You are a terrible host.” Her injured pride mixed with the simmering anger.
“I usually am when I get uninvited intruders.”
The truth of his charge made her wince. Yet her plan hadn’t been to invade. She hadn’t wanted to intrude for more than an hour or two. When she’d handed over the outrageous amount of money to Mr. Rodriguez for the use of him and his boat, he’d warned her about the approaching storm. But she’d thought she could meet with the caveman, get his agreement to her plan, and leave before the rain began. It wasn’t until they’d traveled halfway to the private island and she’d seen the effort it took for the boat owner to keep his craft on course, that she’d realized she might have miscalculated. Only her pride and purpose had kept her going.
Going straight into this catastrophe.
“What are you wearing?” Her grudging host inserted himself into her growing consternation. “You look like you're naked.”
His tone didn’t change to interest. It stuck with amusement.
Always, when she arrived at any beach party, the boys were impressed. Every one of them. Always. Granted, she wasn’t wearing her favorite peach and purple striped bikini, the one with the row of bows dancing along her hips, but her body was pretty damn impressive, even without the bows. If the caveman could tell she was almost naked, then he should be impressed.
Which he was not.
Her pride flipped over into a bellyflop, making her angry once more. Still, she couldn’t afford to let loose on this guy at the moment. She needed information. “There must be some water somewhere.”
“Outside.” The voice rang through the tree house again, disembodied. “But like I said, that’s off limits.”
Another blast of howling wind crackled through the house, making the levels appear to swing in a slight adjustment to the weather. She leaned against the door for support, and her heart began to gallop for another reason besides the caveman talking to her without her spotting him. “Is this house secure?”
“Secure enough.”
That response wasn’t very encouraging. The one time she’d lived through a hurricane, she’d been thirteen and scared. Except it had only been a category three, and she ended up not being very impressed. Just a lot of rain, really. But what was going on outside, by the sounds of it, wasn’t a bit of rain. Or a lot of rain.
The whoosh, whoosh, whoosh outside spoke of walls of water pouring down on the jungle surrounding them. Interspersed with the terrifying crackle and thuds of what she assumed were breaking tree limbs, the hurricane took her mind off of her damp body and itchy hair.
“What do you mean, secure enough?” she croaked, a knot of fear tightening in her throat.
His dog whined right by her.
A wet tongue licked her calf.
Risa jumped in surprise before feeling grateful she could at least reach out and touch another being. Sliding down the door, she wrapped her arms around the wiggling animal and sniffed into its neck.
A flicker of light tumbled from the upper level to land on her and the dog. A flashlight. The caveman had a flashlight. And he hadn’t been on the same level as her. This house’s acoustics were weird and wonderful all at the same time. The effect made her feel as if she’d landed in another world, filled with ghostly tree roots, scary storms, and surly cavemen.
She hugged the dog harder.
“Get away from Jiggs.”
She ignored the harsh command. To hell with him. He’d left her suitcase and purse and Manolo Blahnick shoes on the beach. He barred her from washing the shampoo from her hair. And he hadn’t even cared that she was scared. At some point, she’d have to find a way to convince him about her plan for Migneault Perfumery, but right now, she could not care less.
The thump of his steps thundered on the stairs, alerting her to his approach. Jiggs jumped from her arms and skittered across the wooden floor. The warmth seeped away, leaving her feeling bereft.
“Get up,” he ordered.
“I need something to wear.” She felt like weeping, though not in front of him. Not ever again. Closing her eyes, she tried to forget his looming presence.
A soft lump of cotton and nylon fell into her lap.
“It’s not couture.” His dry voice curled around the words. “Sorry about that.”
He wasn’t sorry at all. Not in the slightest. But she grabbed the clothes anyway.
A T-shirt and gym shorts.
Why was she not surprised? It was his usual uniform, and other than the tuxedo he’d worn the other night, they were probably the only kind of clothes inhabiting his closet.
With a sharp thrust, the memory of him coming out of the bathroom a few minutes ago, flooded her mind. Flooded it with slick skin, rolling muscles, and strands of black and green and red ink. She’d known he was a tall, muscled man. She’d felt those muscles along the entire length of her body. But she’d never imagined the impact of him naked.
Almost naked.
The ink had slinked down, past his chest and stomach, to end at the edge of the towel.
Did he have tattoos below that towel?
She pushed the thought away, irritated by her wandering mind.
He drifted off, clearly wearing clothes now—to her relief—and headed toward an arch of tree limbs and polished wood. The last of the light from outside trickled into darkness, leaving only the flash of his light to guide her. Although she didn’t like the man at all, at least he held a light in his hands. Scrambling into her borrowed clothes, she frowned.
“They’re too big,” she called after him.
“Tough.” He disappeared around the bend.
With a grumble of disgust, she took off after him. She had to hold on to the waist of the shorts to keep them up. Maybe she’d find a safety pin wherever he was heading. When she rounded the bend, she found him staring into a huge double-doored fridge. One of the doors was glass and his flashlight scanned a jumble of fresh fruit, veggies, and bottles of juice and wine.
“Coño.”
“What does that mean?” She hated to show any curiosity, but she couldn’t help herself. The guy did fascinate her.
He swiveled, his eyes narrowing. “It’s Cuban for damn or fuck or something like that.”
Risa got it. The food would rot and he was pissed. “Couldn’t we move the food somewhere cooler?”
His rose lips tilted, indicating he found her amusing. She might have taken that as a plus, except the look in his eyes told her she amused him as a dancing idiot would, not in any kind of respectful way.
“Sure.” He swept the flashlight back and forth. “Get to it.”
The man certainly enjoyed trying to order her about. Maybe it was the Marine in him. “I need a safety pin, first.”
The light landed on her face, making her squint.
“Why do you need a pin?” he asked, amusement still coloring his tone.
“Like I said,” she waved her one free hand at her waist, “these clothes don’t fit.”
The light slowly eased down, gliding along the edge of the T-shirt’s collar sliding off one shoulder, showing her bra strap. It sneaked across her stomach, floating past the end of the shorts hanging above her knees, and ending at her wiggling toes.
“Tie the waistband in a knot.”
She frowned at his calm recommendation. “A pin would be better.”
The light flashed back on her face in time to catch her irritated expression. His leer was easy to see in the shadows. “Do y
ou want my help tying that knot? Marines are pretty good at that kind of thing.”
“Nooo.” She dragged out the word to show him she wasn’t intimidated by his slinky suggestion. “I need a pin.”
“No pins here.” The flashlight went back to the fridge. “I’m going to have to think of how to save this food.”
Risa rummaged through her limited knowledge of living without modern conveniences. “Don’t you have a generator of some kind?”
“There’s a question.”
Before she could ask another, a slam of a hard wall of wind rocked the house. The loud sound of something big falling thundered through the banyan tree and into the kitchen. Risa jumped, shock and fear swamping her brain. Without thinking about anything other than survival, she rushed right to his side and practically climbed up his solid body.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
She stuck her head under his chin, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.
Jiggs whined below.
“Both of you need to get a grip,” the caveman growled.
The whistle of the wind turned to a howl. Shaking, she nestled closer to the warmth of another human being. His scent, a combination of musk and sweetness that made her think of nights in Miami dancing under the stars, surrounded her, creating a sense of safety.
A sigh gusted through him, rubbing him along her. Although fear still raced inside, she couldn’t help the leap of unexpected excitement. A heat curled into her gut. She didn’t appreciate the realization, didn’t want the connection, and in any other circumstance, she’d have withdrawn, flipped her hair over her shoulder in a dismissal, and walked away.
But this wasn’t any kind of circumstance—this was a hurricane outside and only this man provided her with a sense of security.
One of his hands finally wrapped around her waist, the ends of his fingers landing on one butt cheek. “This isn’t going to work.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant. Her being in his arms? Her being in his house? Her unexplained plan for his involvement in her family’s company?
All she was sure of was—in his arms, she felt safe from the hurricane.
His dog whined again.
Another slam of the storm barreled into the tree house, making the level platform they stood on swing. She squeaked into the skin of his neck and her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades.
“Okay, both of you are nuts, but whatever.” His fingers tightened on her waist. “Shelter it is.”
Shelter sounded good. If only that meant she could continue to stay in his grasp. Her pride wailed at her from deep within, except the layers of fear and fascination were too hard and thick to make her pay attention. The only thing that mattered right now was staying with this man, this Marine. In his arms.
His warm, strong arms.
Chapter 13
The last place Riq wanted to end up in with the princesa was the shelter.
She’d nag and wail, pout and annoy.
If it had been just himself, he would have stayed in the main house. He could have turned on the generator, made himself some dinner, watched the track of the storm as it zipped past his island. But his stubborn determination not to make this easy for her by turning on the lights and the water, meant he couldn’t do that. If he stuck her in the shelter, he could come back to the house, turn the generator on and save this food, before returning to endure her presence. He really didn’t want to have to stock up on more supplies on the mainland when he dropped off his unwanted guest.
Plus, the shelter would be humid and uncomfortable. The only food would be the MREs. And the only bed would be his.
She’d hate it.
Sure, she’d be a pest, but he’d dealt with all sorts of pests as a SEAL, and none had managed to penetrate his basic indifference to things that weren’t important.
The princesa was definitely not important.
She tightened her legs around his waist, bumping her mound right on his lower abdomen. His cock sprang to attention, much to his disgust. Before she got a hint of what was going on, he wrenched her back, pulling her away from him and setting her on the tiled floor.
“No, I need to be close to you,” she objected, her brows furrowing in the shadows cast from the flashlight he still held in one hand.
Being close was going to happen in the shelter. For a second, his decision wavered. Being close meant listening to her breathe, smelling her soapy scent, ignoring the need to touch. Add that in with her nagging, and he might be biting off more than a night chewing on his supply of beef jerky. “Get a grip. We’re safe here.”
“I’m not so sure. Didn’t you say something about a shelter?” Her face turned eager, rather like a child ready for a treat.
Something clunked in his stomach, as if he’d been hit by a mortar shell.
“Maybe.” He paused, thinking his path through one last time like Chief Galtero had taught him.
The pluses were getting her and Jiggs into a place where the storm wouldn’t bother them, so they wouldn’t bother him. He’d save the food, too. The minuses were being too close to her, and having to spend the night in a hot, small box of a room. Eating MREs.
“Is there a shower in this shelter?” Her hands clasped in front of her in clear anticipation.
Riq glanced at her hair. Unlike her usually flowing locks, the strands now stuck out from her head, stiffening with shampoo, he supposed. Yet, rather than detracting from her beauty, the weird hair only highlighted the roundness of her cheeks, the dainty jut of her jaw, the piquant prettiness of her chin. Her eyes captured his attention. He couldn’t catch the color in the gloom, but he remembered. Remembered too well.
Marine-blue. True-blue.
“No,” he said, with a curt wave of the flashlight. “No shower there, either.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. “That’s too bad.”
Another howl of wind shattered the comparative silence between them. His home shuddered, causing the woman in front of him to gasp for no reason. He’d had this house designed to withstand two-hundred-mile-per-hour winds, so he wasn’t worried. Cindi might be ferocious, but not that ferocious.
Jiggs woofed, a high-pitched call to do something.
These two were going to gasp and woof and worry throughout the night. He might as well get them into the shelter to save his ears. Perhaps he’d settle them there and leave them, coming back to the house by himself.
Riq glanced at his dog.
The blue eyes looked at him with complete confidence and devotion.
Nah. He couldn’t desert his best bud. He was stuck for the night.
“Come on,” he said, with gruff resignation. “Let’s go before the storm gets worse.”
“I need a pin for my shorts.”
“Actually, they’re my shorts.” For some reason, with this girl, he constantly found himself prodding and teasing. His usual pattern with women was to let them come to him—whether because of his bulk, his SEAL past, or his money—and his focus was sex. Not teasing.
The thought made him surlier.
Taking a step, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to his side.
“Hey,” she yelped.
Riq tugged her—no wait, his—T-shirt up until he could see the waistband of the gym shorts. “Hold this and this.”
Grabbing the offered flashlight and the edge of the T-shirt, she grimaced. “A pin would be easier.”
“I don’t have any, though, so we’ll do this my way.”
“That’s your thing, isn’t it?” Her eyes narrowed. “Having it your way.”
“Yeah.” He eyed her back. “What’s wrong with that?”
They stared at each other. An odd hush fell between them, covering them in some sort of connection he had no intention of defining. To his relief, another brutal whoosh of rain slammed into the house, rocking it again.
Her eyes widened in immediate distress.
“Shine the light on your waist,” he ordered, forcin
g himself to focus on the mission before him. Thinking it was getting her shorts in a knot, he lost the objective when he pulled the edge of the material off her. In the white light, her skin was a gloss of pearled perfection. He spotted the tan line near her hip and the silk of her panties right below.
His cock stood to attention once more, bouncing with eager anticipation.
“Coño,” he muttered under his breath.
Jiggs barked, as if he sensed his owner was in trouble.
“Why are you swearing?” she asked, apparently not sensing how close he was to pulling her back into his arms with an entirely different agenda.
Refocusing on his real mission, he twisted the end of the waistline in an overhand knot he used on his boat. With a snap to her waist, he let her go.
“Wow.” She glanced down. “It works.”
He stepped back, letting out a quiet sigh of relief at the distance. “Now that we’ve dressed you, Your Highness, can we get going?”
Instead of huffing in offense, as he expected, she tilted her head up, her eyes twinkling in the scant light. A real smile crossed her pretty mouth. “Sure, Mr. Caveman. Lead on.”
Disturbed at her surprising response, he stalked off toward the rear of the house. “Jiggs.”
The dog panted to his side. The hallway narrowed before he arrived at the steps leading to the ground floor. A gravel path led from one of two back doors to the shelter. Knowing they had enough supplies for the night, even though he’d planned on it being only he and his faithful companion, he didn’t grab any extras.
“You’re not limping anymore.” Her voice came from right behind him.
He didn’t think that needed a response. His family spent far too much time commenting on his injury, and he’d become good at ignoring. Another boom of wind banged into the house. His dog woofed by his side, a high, anxious sound.
“Soon, boy, soon.” He leaned down to pat Jiggs on his head before pushing the door open.
The hurricane was almost on his doorstep. Tilting his head and the flashlight, he took in the angle of the palm trees flapping in the wind. By his calculation the wind wasn’t at its peak. It blew from the south, not directly from the east, as the forecasters had predicted. Cindi was still positioning herself.
