Stranded with the Captain

by Sharon Hartley

  She raised an arm, and his gaze followed hers to an angry red mark left where the straps of the bathing suit had bitten into her flesh.

  He swore harshly. “That must hurt,” he said.

  “The suit tightened as it dried,” she said, carefully brushing away dried sand. The grains left behind a pattern imprinted on her skin.

  She swiveled her neck to meet his gaze again. “Now comes the hard part.” She lay down on the floor beside him and bent her knees. “This won’t be pretty. Go ahead and laugh, if you must.”

  She pulled the bathing suit down around her waist, elevated her hips and proceeded to wiggle her way out of the clingy fabric.

  “Argh,” she said in obvious relief when the swimsuit finally came off her hips. He caught a tantalizing, shadowy view of her lower body as she kicked the material free of her feet.

  She collapsed back to the ground, breathing heavily from her efforts, totally naked and exposed to him. Light pulsated over the perfection of her skin.

  She was beautiful. And for God’s sake, he was only human.

  He swallowed again. Was he really not supposed to touch her?

  She looked over her shoulder at him, one arm over her breasts. The other shielded the most intimate parts of her anatomy.

  “Um, would you mind terribly returning my T-shirt, Captain Bligh?”

  He looked to his hands and realized he’d unconsciously wadded her shirt into a ball. He raised his gaze to her and smiled.

  He wanted to strip his own clothing and pull that gorgeous body close to him and forget all this craziness.

  He wanted to lavish attention on her body. In a bed.

  He tossed the T-shirt to her.

  * * *

  UNSURE IF SHE was relieved or sorry, Cat dropped the garment over her head, hiding her body from his probing gaze, confused by how liberating stripping in front of him had made her feel. She’d wanted him to join her in her nakedness. She’d desperately needed to forget what was happening on board Spree, if only for a short time.

  Why hadn’t she taken the initiative? She could have encouraged him.

  Because she was always too timid, too damned afraid.

  They’d stepped back from some sort of a precipice, deciding to behave responsibly. And rightly so. They had too much going on without complicating their situation further with more sex. Javi likely never had inappropriate thoughts while on a “mission.”

  She moved beside him, pulling the T-shirt long so her bare buttocks sat on fabric rather than the sandy ground, extending her legs before her. Her shoulder brushed against Javi’s as she leaned against the wall. By unspoken agreement, they didn’t lie down again.

  Even if she’d looked awkward and ridiculous while shedding her uncomfortable swimsuit, being rid of it improved her mood a hundred percent.

  She shot him a glance. He hadn’t said anything since she’d re-covered her body.

  “I can’t believe I just did that in front of you.”

  “I didn’t mind,” he said.

  She looked away, hiding a pleased smile. “I’d wanted to strip off that suit for hours.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  She shrugged, unable to admit her shyness. Besides, he knew why.

  “Now you know what women go through when they pull tight jeans on and off,” she said.

  “Crazy,” he said with a laugh.

  “Definitely,” she agreed.

  “What I don’t understand is how you ladies can walk in those stiletto heels.”

  “What? Don’t men think high heels are sexy?”

  “I don’t,” he said. “They look too much like a weapon.”

  “A weapon? Right.” Were they really having this conversation about women’s fashion? She sighed. “Too bad I don’t have a pair with me. We’d be armed and dangerous.”

  “Do you usually snorkel in stilettos?”

  “I don’t usually snorkel.”

  “What do you usually do, Irish?” he asked softly.

  “Hide in my orchid houses,” she said, realizing with a jolt how true that was. “Most of the time, anyway.”

  “You should get out more.”

  “Yeah, and look where that got me.” Aware of how naked and vulnerable she was beneath her T-shirt, she stared at the fire. “All I wanted was to learn how to sail.”

  “Do you enjoy your orchid business?” he asked after a moment.

  “Very much.”

  “Why?”

  She swiveled her head to look at him. He appeared mesmerized by the flames.

  “Why do you like going after bad guys?” she asked.

  His jaw tightened. Again she was treading into a forbidden area. She suspected something bad had happened on board Ganesh when he’d been a young man. She wondered what it was. And if he would ever tell her about it.

  “I asked first,” he said with a grin, once more her brash, sexy buccaneer.

  She examined the hem of her T-shirt, searching for a way to explain her fascination with orchids, the satisfaction it gave her to be connected to the beauty of Mother Earth, the rhythm of the seasons.

  “I love starting with a tiny seedling, nurturing it, watching it grow—sometimes for years—into a healthy plant that creates a beautiful living flower.”

  She realized she was cupping her hands as if holding a bloom and that Javi was staring. Maybe she’d gotten a little carried away.

  “Sounds like orchids require patience,” he said.

  “Definitely. All kinds of things can go wrong along the way. Fungus, snails, disease, hurricanes, mites, insects. The worst is thrip, a tiny bug that eats the bud just before it opens, which, believe me, is especially painful to the grower.”

  “I’d for sure suck at your profession.”

  “Not exciting enough for the FBI guy?” she asked.

  He grinned again. “Oh. Well, it all sounds incredibly thrilling, Irish, but I’ve been told by a certain head doctor that I have a pathological need to control my environment.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “After the shooting, the Bureau made me check in with their shrink, one Dr. Moonshine, the eminent psychiatrist.”

  “That’s really his name? Moonshine?”

  “Her. Dr. Julia Moon, but I have my special names for her. The esteemed Dr. Moonbeam informed me I’m a control freak, so I suspect cultivating orchids would drive me loco. There’s too much to spoil the final product.”

  “Come on, Javi. You can’t control what criminals do any more than I can control the weather.”

  “But we do profiling, figure out what the bad guys will do, how they might act.”

  “And I can apply pesticide and fungicide to my plants. So it’s the same. We all do our best to manage what can happen.”

  He nodded, eyes narrowed. “Risk management. But no matter what you do, you can’t always control life.”

  “Look where we are now,” she said. “What could we have done to prevent those men from boarding Spree? Keep an armed guard on the foredeck?”

  “We shouldn’t have come to these waters,” he said. “And that’s on me.”

  “Why? The Bahamas aren’t a known danger zone for pirates.”

  “No,” he said. “So this is a lesson in humility. A better learning opportunity than anything my shrink might counsel.”

  “It’s a lesson in something,” Cat said.

  “I hope this experience doesn’t turn you off future adventures,” Javi said.

  “We’ll see,” she said. If I have a future beyond tonight.

  “Do you agree with Dr. Moonpie?” Javi asked. “Am I a control freak?”

  “I think you know you are.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t want to believe it at first.”r />
  “Do you still see your shrink?”

  “I have to make one final visit before I go back on duty.”

  “Just think of all you’ll have to tell her.” And you won’t pay a bit of attention to what she says. If you survive.

  They lapsed into silence. The smell of burning wood filled the room, and Cat was hyperaware of the touch of Javi’s shoulder to hers where he leaned against the wall, apparently deep in thought. About what? They’d certainly gotten oddly philosophical about life, but maybe that’s what people did while waiting to die.

  Was this her last night on earth? She’d never felt more alive than she had on this vacation, trying new things, seeing new places, meeting new people—well, Javi, anyway.

  And yet after all that, the next few hours could be the last remaining ones of her existence.

  She didn’t want to believe that, but so many things could go wrong with each step of his plan. No matter how quiet, how careful they were, there was really no way to effectively manage the risk.

  Because there was too much risk.

  She bit back a sob. She could give in to her fears, do nothing and let Joan and Debbie die. No, she couldn’t do that.

  But if they went through with his plan, they wouldn’t survive. They couldn’t. They’d either be shot in the water while attempting to disable Spree or if the pirates came ashore. When they came ashore.

  So they’d die. She didn’t want to die. Not when she’d realized how beautiful life was.

  But she didn’t want to be a coward, either. How could she live the rest of her life knowing she’d done nothing to help her friends?

  That option—doing nothing—had never once occurred to Javi. He’d begun formulating his rescue plan even before he left Spree. Maybe because he was such a control freak he couldn’t imagine not being able to alter the outcome of a situation.

  She stared at the dying fire. The embers glowed beneath the flames, but she could do nothing to keep it burning. They were out of dry wood.

  Tired of her confused thoughts, she gazed at Javi. The movement of the flames cast some of his face into shadow. His earring glinted in the shimmering firelight. She allowed her gaze to trace his forehead, the sweep of cheek, his firm jaw, finally focusing on his mouth.

  She wanted him. Desperately. Or maybe she wanted the clarity, the single-mindedness that would take over her mind and body while they were intimate. She knew she wouldn’t be able think about anything else.

  She inhaled deeply.

  “Did you mean what you said earlier?” she asked, her breathy voice breaking into the quiet between them.

  A ghost of a smile curved his sensuous mouth, but he continued gazing at the flames.

  “I said a lot of things, Irish. Can you be specific?”

  “Something about how there wasn’t much you wouldn’t do for me.”

  He met her gaze, his dark eyes intent on hers. A shiver traced her spine.

  “What do you need?”

  “I need you to make love to me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CAT CLOSED HER eyes when Javi kissed her, his hands warm on her cheeks. His lips were gentle, not at all what she’d expected. But what did she expect?

  He pulled back, and she made a soft noise of disappointment. His thumbs stroked the skin underneath her eyes.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  She opened her eyes. His were troubled and staring into hers. Maybe he didn’t think this was such a great idea. Maybe it wasn’t.

  She released a long sigh. “If you don’t want—”

  “Shh.” He smoothed a tangle of hair away from her forehead. “Oh, I want. You must know I do.”

  “But?” she prompted.

  He shook his head. “No buts. Definitely no buts.”

  He yanked off his T-shirt and spread it on the ground.

  She pulled off her own and placed it beside his. Her nipples peaked when the rain-cooled air met her flesh. She was once again nude and exposed to him.

  As she lay down on the soft cotton, she heard the sound of a zipper releasing. When she gazed up at Javi, he’d come to his knees and stared down at her with a strange smile. He’d removed his shorts, and his tented briefs revealed all too clearly that he did indeed want her.

  Relieved and longing for his warmth, she raised her arm, beckoning him to join her on the floor.

  He lay beside her, and raised his hips to slide off his briefs. His erection sprung to life, and she reached out to touch him. He was solid and warm.

  He groaned and rolled onto his side, removing himself from her reach. Before she could worry about why, he propped his head on a bent elbow and began caressing her right breast.

  “We’re not drunk tonight,” he said. He smoothed his hand over to her left nipple.

  She inhaled deeply, pushing herself farther into his touch. “Good thing.”

  “But you’re frightened.”

  “Not of you,” she said. “Not anymore.”

  His gaze shifted to her face. “You were afraid of me?”

  She raised her hand to his earring. “My dangerous buccaneer.”

  He laughed softly, and slid his hand lower, leaving a trail of sensation across the flesh of her abdomen.

  “I need to touch you everywhere,” he said.

  She swallowed and nodded. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to fully relish the pleasure his words and hands created.

  “You know, I think I was half-afraid of you, too,” he said.

  Startled, she opened her eyes. What an outrageous concept. “You were afraid of me?” she whispered.

  He nodded. His gaze traveled lower on her anatomy, and his fingers followed in gentle inquiry.

  She took a deep breath, finding it hard to focus, yet intensely curious. “Why?”

  “You don’t know how beautiful you are, Cat. That’s a dangerous attribute in a woman.”

  A quicksilver flush of pleasure warmed her. “I like it when you use my real name,” she murmured.

  He leaned down and parted her lips with his, and she forgot whatever they’d been discussing. His tongue probed her mouth while his questing fingers did marvelous things to her insides, dissolving any last boundaries or hesitation.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  She opened her eyes and met his penetrating gaze. Surely he wouldn’t stop now. He couldn’t.

  He rolled on top of her, poised just outside her, ready for entry.

  “Javi,” she breathed. She’d beg, if she had to.

  “You aren’t going to die tonight,” he promised, his gaze locked with hers. He thrust into her, filling her totally. She closed her eyes again when he began a slow, sensual rhythm, and she lost herself completely.

  * * *

  JAVI CAME BACK to his senses gradually, becoming aware of Irish beneath him, soft and warm, the harsh quickness of their breath. The grit on the flooring beneath them.

  A strange perception of—what was it?—completion. He felt whole for the first time in—well, ever, perhaps.

  He gazed down at Cat. Her eyes remained shut. Soft light from the dying fire undulated across her face, casting a gentle shadow of her long eyelashes onto her cheeks. Another new feeling, one of protectiveness, welled up inside of him as he watched her breathing slowly return to normal.

  God, she was beautiful. And sweet. Not to mention brave and smart. A perfect match for him. He never thought he’d feel that way about a woman. He was a man who preferred to travel through life solo. Without complications.

  He wished he’d met her under any other circumstances.

  The disaster that had overtaken them slammed into his consciousness, and he slid away from her, rolling onto his back. She murmured a protest and turned to place her cheek on his chest. Sh
e wrapped an arm around him, her distinctive fragrance mingling with the smell of wood smoke.

  Staring at the dark ceiling, he stroked her hair and listened for the rain. No drops pounded on the roof. The wind had died, as well. A few charred branches over hot, glowing embers were all that remained of their fire. For a while he’d been oblivious to anything but making slow, sweet love to Cat.

  Just another day in paradise.

  How much time had passed? Would the pirates have dropped their guard yet, drifted off? For the hundredth time, he wished he’d grabbed his waterproof watch when he’d left Spree.

  But he knew he hadn’t fallen asleep, so plenty of time remained in the night to execute his plan. He glanced down to Cat. Her breathing had grown regular. She might have drifted into a deep sleep. He hoped so.

  Was it possible for him to steal away so quietly she wouldn’t notice he’d gone? He liked that idea since it would avoid the argument sure to come.

  No. She’d awaken and be frightened at his absence. She’d search for him, find him, probably interrupt the op at the worst time—yeah, that sounded like Irish—thus putting herself in danger, which is what he wanted to avoid. At all costs.

  Even if that meant making her hate him.

  He’d promised her she wouldn’t die. He intended to keep that promise, so she needed to remain behind when he made the assault on Spree. If things went south where he was concerned, at least she’d be safe and rescued within a matter of days by a passing yacht.

  But she wouldn’t agree to let him go without her. He needed to come up with a strategy to convince her. One thing for sure, she and her friends were the most stubborn women he’d ever encountered.

  He tensed at the thought of Joan and Debbie, restrained and terrified on Spree. Poor kids. He hoped they were still alive.

  “What’s wrong?” Cat asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

  She slid her hand down his chest onto his abdomen, then lower. He smiled to himself. Did she have round two in mind?

  He sobered as he realized that he’d had unprotected sex for the first time in his life. Not that there’d been any help for it. They’d needed each other too much.