Jewel of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  The corner of his mouth lifted and he pulled a lighter from his pocket. “I’m going to start a barbecue.”

  A second later, a shot rang out from the side of the boat. A single stream of red light arced over the pirates. A flare gun. Specifically, a warning shot.

  “Ten degrees northeast, Alanna,” Dean called.

  She turned the wheel and watched the navigation system closely. Standard procedure when approached by a suspicious boat on the open sea. First a warning shot, then change direction to allow enough berth for them to pass. Of course, she’d never gone through it herself, always monitored and protected by her security detail. But even her sailing lessons hadn’t taught her what came next.

  Focus on the boat. The instruments, the rhythm of the sea. God has the rest in his hands.

  Voices from a bullhorn called in the distance, but they were too muffled for Alanna to make out.

  “Keep your distance, or I’ll fire,” Dean answered through his own bullhorn, followed by cocking his shotgun.

  Alanna glanced over her shoulder and through the window. Dean pointed the gun at the other boat several hundred feet off the starboard side. Her eyes widened when Flynn crouched below the railing, holding a liquor bottle in one hand, the lighter in the other.

  “Stop the boat. Or we will sink your ship,” a heavily accented voice yelled through the bullhorn from the motorboat.

  “Like hell you will,” Dean barked. “Disassemble that thing and lower your weapons.”

  The four men glanced at each other, speaking in a language she didn’t recognize.

  “Stop the boat. Or we will sink your ship,” they repeated. The man behind the machine gun didn’t move.

  Great. They only know the one phrase in English.

  When the boat lurched closer to the yacht, Dean swore. “Light one,” he called to Flynn. The lighter flared, the rag blackening before it engulfed in fire. The eerie glow lit up Flynn’s face, reflecting in his intense eyes. He held the bottle for a second, letting the flames grow closer to the opening, before he stood and lobbed it into the air, everyone’s eyes following it until it shattered on the bow of the boat. The fire burst and spread across the pirates’ deck.

  “Good shot,” Dean called.

  Three of the men scrambled to extinguish it. The fourth man cocked the machine gun and fired.

  But there were no shots. Just a bunch of yelling.

  Flynn lit another bottle and threw it over the railing. “It jammed,” he yelled, cuing Dean to open fire with his shotgun. The bottle exploded on top of the gunman, and fire rained down everywhere. Someone ran out of the helm with an automatic weapon, but Dean fired again hitting him square in the chest, blood splattering across his torso.

  “Hard to port!” Dean bellowed.

  Alanna yanked the wheel to the left. Everything shifted to the right. She landed hard on her knee, but kept a firm hold on the wheel.

  Several pops ripped through the air, followed by more shouts. She pushed on the throttle, but the yacht was already at full speed. Alanna braved to a standing position, and straightened the ship. The shouting behind them faded and she looked back.

  “Flynn? Are you all right?”

  No one answered. When she looked at the railing, he wasn’t there.

  “Flynn!” Frantic, she found the intercom button. “Someone talk to me!”

  A loud boom rocketed through the air, the blast vibrating in her feet and hands.

  Mierde! They got us. Tingles paralyzed her fingers and spread through her limbs like a virus. Her legs turned numb.

  Get it together, girl. Focus. Abandon ship procedures. First, life jacket. Coordinates. Call a mayday.

  She reached for the radio. Flynn rounded the corner, his fiery eyes locked on hers. His chest heaved and a small trail of blood dripped down his temple. “Are you all right?”

  “What happened? Are you hit?”

  Flynn only shook his head and grabbed the radio. He pressed several buttons and wrote down their coordinates.

  “What was that blast?” Her panic morphed into anger. She’d never been ignored before, and being left in the dark infuriated her. He was bleeding and couldn’t care less.

  “Mayday, mayday, mayday,” Flynn spoke into the receiver. “This is the Breezy Dreams. We’ve been attacked by mercenaries with automatic weapons.” He relayed the coordinates, his even voice clashing with the adrenaline racing through her. “Pirate vessel on fire and fleeing southeast at twenty-five knots. Two injured. Request Palau Coast Guard assistance.”

  “Where’s Dean?” she whispered, but he held up a finger and waited for a response on the radio.

  Their mayday finally acknowledged, she bit her lip at the operator’s response. Palau Coast Guard was en route, but several hours out. A U.S. Navy Cruiser was closer and would intercept the fleeing criminals.

  Flynn finished by giving his name and boat information, then hung up. He looked at her, still breathing heavily and silent as a rock.

  “You’re bleeding.” It’s all she could think of to say.

  He blinked and touched his scalp, stunned at the red on his fingers. Still he said nothing.

  “Woohoo! ‘Atta girl!” Dean whirled into the bridge, a grin splitting his five-o’clock shadow. “Damn fine steering! You’re a seaman at heart, aren’t ya?”

  “Flynn’s hurt.”

  “Eh, just a flesh wound.” Dean waved it off. “Nothing to worry about. How’d that happen?”

  “Bumped my head on the railing when we veered portside.”

  Dean chuckled and set the bullhorn on the counter. “Well, this’ll certainly get your blood pumping. Stronger than coffee.”

  “Wh-what was that blast? It shook the whole ship.”

  Dean grinned. “Flynn’s bottle of tequila. Landed right on top of the extra fuel bins on their deck. Damn morons. Lit ‘em up like the Fourth of July.”

  “I’m going to clean myself off.” Flynn turned away.

  “I’ll help you.” Alanna followed.

  “I can take care of myself.” Flynn didn’t break his stride. But she kept following along the sideboard and into the galley.

  “I’m the one who caused you to bump your head. Let me help you.”

  Flynn took out a first aid kit from the pantry. “I said I’ve got this.” The muscles in his temple flexed, blood trickling from the wound.

  Alanna swiped the kit from his hands. “I’m perfectly capable of dressing a wound. Sit down.” Volunteering at the hospital taught me that much.

  “Why are you doing this?” He still refused to sit.

  “First, it gives me something to do instead of panicking. Second, it’s a small way of saying thank you for saving my life. Twice.”

  His eyes softened a bit, but he still hesitated. “I don’t usually let people…touch me.”

  “Are you scared tiny-old me will hurt you?” She tapped on a chair. Flynn cut a glance at her and sat, his frame sinking a bit. Reluctance dripped off him in torrents. Alanna pulled a chair next to him. “Besides, you’re more like a demi-god. I doubt anything could phase you, let alone hurt you.”

  “You did.”

  Alanna paused in ripping open an alcohol swab. Her mouth fell open. I hurt him?

  “You literally knocked me on my ass,” he explained, almost as stunned as she.

  She bit her lip. “This will sting a bit. Hold still.”

  He leaned forward and she cleaned his wound. If he felt any pain, he didn’t show it. The cut wasn’t deep or long, but it bled like an artery tear. She peeled open another gauze packet and held it to his scalp.

  “Was there any damage to the ship?” she asked, hoping to distract them both.

  “Not that I noticed. Most of their shots hit the water.”

  “Their aim was that bad?” Hard to believe anyone could miss from such close range.

  “Clearly amateurs. Which means they haven’t been pirating long.”

  Alanna clenched her teeth together. Or they wanted to capture me i
nstead. She dabbed antiseptic cream across his cut.

  This close, his manly scent washed over her frazzled senses. The only sign of discomfort was his clenched fist on the table. She could still taste the coconut rum on her tongue, her insides warm. As her fingers smoothed the last piece of medical tape, the urge to be closer churned in her mind. Her body on autopilot, she leaned in further and pressed her lips to his cheek. Dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.

  She licked her lips to savor the taste of his flushed skin. Salty, but exquisite, like caviar with a zing. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Flynn’s eyes widened. Then fixated on her, hard and captivating.

  It was hard to read him. Is he mad, or just as shocked at my reaction as I am? Alanna stood and stuffed everything in the kit. How stupid. I know better than to lose my cool. How could I possibly slip like this and let a ridiculous fancy abduct my better judgment? What was worse, he didn’t even want it.

  A firm grip on her hand stopped her. Flynn held on with a gentle strength, warm and igniting, as he held her gaze captive. Everything about him was firm. Strong. “Thank you.” His lowered, sultry voice mixed with the alcohol in a perfect cocktail.

  Maybe that’s what a sex-on-the-beach drink tastes like.

  “For what?”

  “For saving my life.”

  “By knocking you on your ass?”

  He smiled. A boyish, too-handsome-for-his-own-good grin. The rapid thump in her chest increased at his flush of embarrassment. Only angels smiled like that, and he’d done everything short of moving heaven and earth to save her.

  “Do you play cards?” he asked.

  Alanna blanched “Cards? Um…not really. Why?”

  “We’re about an hour out. I need to check on the engines to see how they faired during the full throttle. But then it’ll be my turn on the bridge. Playing cards passes the time. Will you play with me?”

  She couldn’t help but grin. “Will you teach me?”

  IN HER FIRST DAY OUT from the watchful eyes of her Royal Guardsmen, Alanna Peralta had been in two gun battles, slept in a stranger’s bed, driven a yacht solo, taken her first swig of hard liquor, and become an expert at a card game called Bullshit.

  After her sixth win at Spades against Flynn, Dean had rounded the corner with a smirk and a funny stare. All the laughing had ruined his attempt at napping, and he’d joined in for Bullshit. An hour later, she’d beaten both men multiple times. Apparently, she had a knack for spotting tells. And an even keener ability at hiding her own.

  “God help anyone who plays poker against you.” Dean poured himself a glass of whiskey. “Or negotiates in a war room with you.”

  Flynn set another coconut rum and soda in front of her. There were only two bottles left from the attack: whiskey for Dean and rum for her. Alanna doubted that was an accident. The man noticed details, was so attentive, and looked at her like she was the only person on the boat. Or in the entire South Pacific.

  The sun drifted lower on the horizon, and the late afternoon rays bounced off the calm sea like laser beams. In the distance, a dark smudge spread across the waters, wider with every mile.

  Palau.

  “Well, kids,” Dean stood and stretched his back. “We have work to do for port. Let’s pack this up and prepare for an inquisition.”

  With that, Dean took the helm while Flynn disappeared below deck. Alanna retreated to the guest cabin and freshened up. The necklace was still safely concealed under her collar, though her braid had unraveled quite a bit. She redid it as best she could without a brush, and then checked her phone in case they were close enough to shore.

  Still no signal.

  Finally, she returned to the galley, hoping to see Flynn, with no luck. So she straightened the counters and cabinets, including washing the dishes in the sink. Granted, it wasn’t her responsibility, but she could be useful for something other than dinner parties and representing a symbol of Solanian royalty. The salon was mostly clean. They’d hardly touched it on their twenty-four-hour voyage. Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat.

  This was the last time she’d ever see this yacht.

  The last time she’d ever see Flynn.

  The lush and busy coast of Palau grew in the window, and with it the amount of boat traffic. Mostly fishing vessels and small motorboats. She knew from her geography lessons that the island was considerably poorer than Solana. Yet the green hills and crystal sea were similar.

  Maybe Flynn tended too closely to his “duties” to avoid saying goodbye to her. Men didn’t like addressing feelings, especially her father and brothers. They were conditioned to hide them at all costs. Which was partially why André had rebelled after their mother’s death, eventually forcing her father to exile him. But she’d be damned if she’d let Flynn get away with avoiding her. Not after everything they’d lived through.

  She climbed downstairs for the engine room. No Flynn. Then to the staff quarters on the other side. They were smaller than the guest cabin, and less fancy. Still no emerald-eyed savior.

  Heading toward the main deck, she turned the corner and ran straight into a broad chest.

  And that divine, musky cologne.

  “What are you doing down here?” His hair was rumpled, like he’d run his hands through it several times, and the gauze on his head was gone.

  “I wanted to make sure…” No, don’t sound desperate. She lifted her chin. “To see if you needed any help. Earn my keep, as it were.”

  “I have everything under control down here. See if Dean needs anything while I check the tender. Don’t let him finish off that whiskey bottle. That’s the last thing we need for inspection.”

  Her sweet attentive savior had turned back into the methodical, no-nonsense worker. He marched her down the hallway, careful to keep his distance. But when she reached the stairs, he laid his hand on her lower back. A shiver zinged up her spine as he guided her, his palm never moving as they climbed. She’d been surrounded by an army of protectors since birth, but as her earlier fear uncoiled at his firm touch, she realized she’d never felt safer.

  The angel was still there, peeking through the shell of the hard sailor.

  A short time later, a Customs boat arrived, flanked by a Palau Coast Guard ship. Dean and Flynn welcomed the inspectors aboard, recounting the incident. Like battling pirates was as common as seasickness. A U.S. Navy cruiser had intercepted the criminals, but hadn’t provided Palau officials additional intel. Like where they were from, what they were after, or where they would be tried. But at least they were no longer a threat.

  Then, the chief inspector turned to her. She gave him her practiced smile, hoping his gaze didn’t dip to the wild thump of her pulse on her neck. Will they recognize me?

  When asked, she handed over her passport and focused on slowing her heart.

  Keep the royal charm at all times. It will take you far. Her mother’s advice from eight years before had always served her well. It was one of the last things the queen had said before she died. Though Alanna doubted the queen ever expected her daughter to need it for this kind of predicament.

  The customs officer looked her over several times, but didn’t say anything else. Just returned the passport. Finally, they were cleared for port, if the firearms stayed on board and locked up. They docked in the one slip big enough for their ship.

  The sun dangled just above the hilly island, the tang of the salty sea air blended with the pungent odor of raw fish. Standing on the yacht’s bow with bag in-hand, Alanna drew her shoulders back, the strength of the Peralta line rallying in her veins. About an hour of daylight remained, and she’d be left on this unfamiliar island alone. Suddenly, the idea of disembarking felt like a bad move. Nevertheless, she had to check on her family.

  With the engines off, Flynn came up beside her. His fingers slipped through hers, his strong grip shoring up her unease. He was a silent and steady rock, to which she drew comfort. “Would you like me to come with you?”

  Yes, I
do. But I won’t endanger anyone else. If for nothing more than her pride and need for self-reliance. She barely knew this man, yet she was sure her heart would crack when he left. Might as well stop delaying the inevitable.

  The words nearly choked her. “I don’t want to burden you any further.” His head dropped forward, but not before she caught the disappointment on his face.

  Seeming to regain the hardened sailor exterior, he handed her a folded piece of paper. “Here’s a list of a few motels and restaurants in safer areas. That’s my satellite number, in case you need help.”

  Suddenly, the paper became more important. Of more personal value than the jewels around her neck. A lifeline. No matter how small, she still had some connection to her angel on the docks. Now her task seemed achievable. “Thank you, Flynn.”

  He smiled and held out his hand. Slipping her fingers in his, Alanna followed him off the yacht and down the dock. When they reached the end of the marina, he stopped and squeezed her hand. This was it. The last time she’d look into those green irises of heaven.

  “Please convey my thanks to Dean,” she said around the knot in her throat. “I’m in your debt.”

  Flynn cocked his head, the boyish smile still in place. “Such formality. All it takes is ‘Thanks for the ride. See you later.’” He tugged on her hand, reeling her in, his carefree grin transforming into something more serious. Slowly, he pressed his lips against her knuckles, and her knees weakened. “It’s been a pleasure, Alanna Kalani.”

  Her heart hiccupped. Without another thought, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips against his. Soft, open a hair’s breath, and minty. This was how she’d remember him. Especially when he kissed her back. Rather than pull away like she should, her other hand curved around his neck.

  She broke the kiss, her cheeks both tingly and burning. His eyes darkened and skin glistened in the dying sunlight.

  “What’s your last name?” she asked.

  “Flynn.”

  “Your full name, then.”

  “Gabriel Flynn.”

  She reached up and traced her finger down the hard line of his jaw. “You’re my savior, Gabriel Flynn.”