by Joanna Wayne
And then his hands slipped beneath her nightshirt and he cupped both breasts before pushing the wet fabric out of his way and backing her against the wall.
His fingers singed a burning trail up and down her thighs, and she raised her right leg, wrapping it around him so he’d reach higher. When his fingers finally grazed her most private parts, she buried her lips in the smooth flesh of his shoulder to help hold back her orgasm.
It was no use. She moaned loudly as she filled his hand with a rush of slick wetness that didn’t even begin to satisfy. And then he was inside her, filling her and thrusting hard and fast. It was wild and unbridled.
Too passionate. Too hot. Too damn good to last.
He was shaking when the ride was over, his breathing quick and shallow. Her heart was pounding, the pleasure that was trapped inside her showing no signs of letting up.
When her heart slowed enough that she could manage to speak, she looked up and met his smoky gaze. “Is that the best you can do?” she teased, not daring to go anywhere serious in the state she was in.
“No, that was just for starters.”
He kissed her again, this time slowly and sweetly and her legs seemed to dissolve beneath her. She wasn’t sure exactly what had happened between them except that they’d made love with more passion and raw hunger than she’d ever experienced.
Maybe it was the timing, coming on the heels of all she’d been through the last few days. Maybe it was the isolation and the haunting aura of Cape Diablo. Maybe it was…
No. She wouldn’t deal with the L word. It was enough that the lovemaking had been perfect in every way. It was too soon to try and make it anything more.
Still, she was filled with a new sweet yearning when Raoul swooped her into his arms and carried her to her bed. The secluded, haunted island had never felt as safe as it did that night in the storm.
JACI WOKE WITH A START IN the middle of the night, instantly sensing that she was not alone. And then she heard Raoul’s rhythmic breathing and felt the tenderness between her thighs. It all came back to her in a heated rush, and impulsively she slid a hand between her legs.
She was reacting like a schoolgirl, as if it had been her very first time with a man. It wasn’t. She’d made love before. She’d just never made love the way she had last night.
And it hadn’t been just a one-time thrill.
They’d brought each other to orgasm three times before Raoul had finally fallen asleep in her bed. Each time had been amazing. Each time the foreplay had been different. Each time had been nothing short of fantastic.
Raoul moved in his sleep and started to mumble something about a collapse and air and…
Allison.
The name was mumbled, but clear enough that there was no mistaking it. Jaci’s heart plunged, and the warmth that had coursed through her body a few seconds earlier turned frigid.
She had no right to feel hurt. Raoul hadn’t pushed himself on her or made any declarations of affection. He’d given her what she wanted, what she’d needed. They’d made love on a stormy night. It was as simple as that.
Besides, what had she expected from a man who still had his fiancée’s picture in a prominent place more than two years after her death?
Still, traitorous tears burned at the back of Jaci’s eyelids. Twenty-four years old and she’d finally found the magic people always talked about. Ironically, she’d found it with a man who was still emotionally tied to someone else.
Who’d have thought it could feel so right—yet be so wrong?
RAOUL PULLED ON HIS OLD gray sweatshirt and walked into the courtyard. The sun was brilliant, the air brisk and twenty degrees cooler than it had been before the cold front came blowing in on the heels of the storm.
The temperature, however, was not nearly as chilling as Jaci’s mood.
She’d been up and dressed before he woke, and had pulled away when he’d tried to coax her back into bed with him. Obviously she was having serious second thoughts about having been with him.
He didn’t blame her. He’d come on too strong, especially the first time. He’d forgotten tenderness, just came at her like a sex-starved maniac.
In a way he had been, but last night wasn’t just about sex. It was about Jaci, and the attraction that had been building since the first moment he’d met her. He should have told her that, but then what?
He didn’t know if he could handle an intimate relationship no matter how much he wanted to. The guilt pushed so hard that sometimes he didn’t want to move on, couldn’t convince himself that he deserved love and happiness when Allison didn’t even have a life.
Only he was still alive. So where the hell did that leave him?
This was getting him nowhere. He walked over and picked up the piece of metal he’d untangled from Tamale’s paw last night. A strange looking contraption, it was almost a foot long and about six inches wide, with some kind of scrolled design. Part of it looked like a Q, but the tail of the letter was twisted into a sharp, jagged edge.
Raoul held it at one angle, then another, trying to get some sense of what it had been. Whatever, it was of no use now.
He started to walk over and toss it in the trash can, then hesitated when he heard Jaci’s door open, and saw her step out into the courtyard.
“Can I talk to you a minute?”
“Sure,” he answered, knowing from the look on her face this wasn’t something he wanted to hear.
She stopped a good foot away from him and kept her gaze downward. “It’s about last night.”
“What about it?”
“I was… We were…”
“Yeah, we were and we did. I must have done it all wrong if you can’t even look me in the eye.”
“No, it’s not that. You were great.” Finally she met his gaze. He could have drowned in the emerald depths of her eyes, but he couldn’t read them.
“I was great, but—”
“It’s just that, considering the circumstances, I think we should forget last night happened.”
“What circumstances would those be?”
She looked away again. “We’re just not in the same place. I still want us to—” She switched directions midsentence. “Where did you get that?” She put out her hand and ran a finger over the piece of metal he was holding.
“It’s what brought me out in the rain last night. Tamale’s right front paw was caught in here,” Raoul said, running his fingers around the narrow opening. “And this piece was looped around the trunk of the palm tree nearest the gate.”
“Let me see that.”
“Okay, but careful, it’s got some sharp edges.”
She held the metal in front of her, running her fingers over the indentations. “Do you know what this is?”
“Some kind of design, I guess. Seems like it might be part of a word. Look, we don’t have to stand here and make conversation.”
“I’m not making conversation. I’m telling you that came off the side of Andres Santiago’s boat.”
“What boat?”
“The one he kept for his personal use. The one that disappeared the same night he and his family did. See, there’s the q and the u. And this bent piece was part of the t. The rest is missing, but the name of his boat was Conquiste.”
Conquer. That made sense. Raoul studied the scrap of metal again. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure,” she said. “There’s a picture in the villa of Andres, Medina, Pilar and Reyna standing beside his boat. Even in the photo I could tell the nameplate was a filigreelike metal and not paint.” Her voice rose in excitement. “Do you realize what a breakthrough this might be?”
Actually, he was way ahead of her, but didn’t care to steal her thunder. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“If this is off Andres’s boat, then the yacht must have been sunk that night, so Andres couldn’t have used it to escape with his family. That makes it a lot more likely they all met with foul play.”
And if part of the vessel had washed u
p on the island after all this time, the boat was likely in one of the channels that wound between the islands, and not the wide-open waters of the gulf.
Raoul figured Jaci was thinking the same thing or would be soon. There were plenty of places deep enough for a boat to disappear and never be found unless a search crew knew where to look. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time surfacing objects had helped locate a sunken boat.
Objects and bones. Like the one Tamale had found the other night, the one Carlos had been so quick to get rid of.
But if Carlos knew that the boat had sunk, then he knew a lot more than he’d ever admitted, the way he’d known but never said that Enrique was Medina’s brother.
“Do you still want to talk?” Raoul asked, his mind treading in a mire of dread.
Jaci fingered the piece of metal. “About the boat or about last night?”
“About last night.”
“I just hope we can still be friends.”
“Sure. Friends. I will delete last night from my hard drive.” That was a lie, of course. There was no way in heaven or hell he’d forget making love with Jaci. And no way his hard drive would, either.
But for now he knew what he had to do, and he couldn’t wait to get started.
CARLOS KICKED THROUGH THE damp sand, his path lit by moonlight, his ears filled with the sound of breaking waves. Cape Diablo. The beloved island of Andres Santiago. All the makings of paradise. All the horrors of hell.
Andres Santiago had dreamed big and gone after his dreams with a passion that knew no bounds. Smuggling. Illegal arms. Drug trafficking. They were merely the means to finance the dreams. He’d recognized no law but his own, fought only for what he’d believed in.
And he, like Carlos, had believed in General Noberto. Andres had poured much of his fortune into supplying arms to help keep the benevolent dictator in power. Carlos had nothing to give to the cause but himself.
Nothing to give up for the general but the only woman he’d ever loved.
Tears wet Carlos’s eyes as the memories took over. He let them flow. He would have never cried back then. Tears were for little boys and old men.
The sound of the waves melded into booming gunfire. The battle was raging. Carlos could hear the blood pounding in his head when the general gave the order to charge. It was all or nothing. Win or die.
The bullet that took Noberto out came from close range, probably shot by one of the general’s own men, though Carlos was glad he never knew which of his camaradas had been the traitor.
“Go to them, Carlos. Find Maria and Medina and keep them safe. I pass them into your care, my dear, dear friend.”
The enemy was already inside the general’s villa when Carlos arrived. He’d sneaked past them, praying with every heartbeat that he would be in time. He’d found Maria, shot and dying on the cold, damp floor of the secret passage where she’d run to escape. He cradled her in his arms and put his ear to her lips so that he could hear her final whispers.
“Tell me we did the right thing, Carlos. Tell me the sacrifice was worth it.”
“You were his wife, Maria. I was his friend.” That might not have been the answer she wanted, but it was all Carlos knew of the truth.
“Find Medina, Carlos. Stay with her and keep her safe. Please don’t leave my little girl all alone.”
“I promise, mi querida, I promise, my love.”
Carlos shook loose the memories and focused on the lights of a distant boat. He’d made a mess of his life, failed the people he’d cared about most.
He wouldn’t fail this time. He’d finish what he had to do and this time he’d do it right. One last task. Two more graves.
And then it would all be over.
JACI WOKE FROM A SOUND SLEEP to a room that was eerily quiet and pitch-dark. It took a few seconds for her sleep-drugged mind to realize what was wrong.
The generator was out. She’d become so used to the monotonous drone that its absence seemed deafening. The lack of a generator also explained the absolute darkness. Normally, even on moonless nights, dim light from the courtyard filtered through the gauzy white curtains.
Apparently this was a moonless night. It hadn’t been overcast earlier, but Jaci knew how quickly that could change in this part of the gulf. Storms constantly formed and dissipated over the water, so that a thunderhead could develop in a matter of minutes.
It wasn’t storming tonight. Probably a cover of low clouds was making the island so dark that even now, as her pupils started to adjust, she couldn’t see the hand she lifted in front of her face.
She wondered if Carlos had turned off the generator for some reason or if he’d simply forgotten to refuel it.
She rolled over to check the time, realizing as she did that without electricity not only would the time be wrong, but the lighted dial would be as dark as the rest of the room.
But there was no reason to panic. She had a flashlight right next to the bed. And if she needed him, Raoul was just upstairs.
If she needed him…
She didn’t. She’d told herself that all afternoon. He was a neat guy, bossy, but more sensitive then he wanted anyone to know. He’d definitely been there for her in Everglades City, and might have saved her life the other day in the villa. Even now he’d disrupted his personal plans to make sure she was safe.
So give him sensitive and thoughtful. And not boring. So totally not boring. And sex with him had been—well, on a scale of one to ten, she’d give it a hundred.
But, bottom line, his heart was already taken.
She’d deal with it. That was for the best. Cape Diablo consumed her life now, but once the project was completed, she’d move on. She’d graduate and start her career. She’d be glad she didn’t have him in her life.
She closed her eyes, blinking back tears. Who was she kidding? She’d miss Raoul. She missed him already. But the fact that he hadn’t really protested when she’d said they should forget last night was proof enough that he wasn’t ready to move past Allison. Even if he’d wanted to, Jaci wasn’t sure he could.
She rolled over and caught the scent of him on the pillow next to hers. Grabbing it, she punched it hard, then pulled it into her arms and cuddled it against her chest.
She had to get Raoul off her mind or she’d never go back to sleep. Her eyes were open now, but the blackness closed in on her. It was overwhelming, like the curse of Cape Diablo with its history of violence.
Jaci shivered and pulled the light blanket up to her neck. She was wide-awake, but the impressions taking over her consciousness were more nightmarish than real.
A boy floating in the pool, his face grotesquely misshapen. Pilar Santiago holding a doll that dripped with blood. Alma Garcia dancing in the moonlight with an imaginary partner in a dress that was yellowed and frayed. The name from Santiago’s boat washing up on the island from its watery grave.
The authentic and the imagined were equally surreal.
What had really happened on this island? What had Alma and Carlos seen? What had they done?
What had caused the island to take them prisoner? Or was the crumbling, moldy villa itself the source of the evil? Had Wilma St. Clair been painting that evil when she’d turned the flowers creeping across the decaying walls to blood?
This was crazy. Jaci had to stop letting the island’s isolation and sinister aura get to her.
Light would help. A quick beam of light so that she could at least see her hand when she put it in front of her face.
She turned and reached for the flashlight. Her hand raked across the small table. Her fingers slid over the alarm clock, then bounced against—someone else’s hand.
Jaci jerked away as her heart slammed against her chest. Someone was here in the blackness with her. Someone was standing over her bed.
Chapter Fourteen
Jaci lay perfectly still, paralyzed by fear, sensing the man’s presence in the total blackness the way you know when someone is watching you. She listened for his breathing, but
it was masked by the pounding of her heart.
Raoul was just upstairs. All she had to do was yell. Even if he was sound asleep, he would hear her and come bursting in to save her. That was Raoul.
But would he come rushing headfirst into a bullet? She couldn’t take that chance.
“Who are you?”
There was no answer. The intruder was playing a game with her, a sadistically sick game. If he was there at all.
Could she have imagined the hand resting on the bedside table the way she had the grossly distended body in the pool? The way she’d seen a bloody Pilar and even heard her voice?
Jaci took a deep breath, but the sense of terror in tensified. She couldn’t just lie here and wait. She had to make a break for it.
She started to roll to the far side of the bed, but the man was quicker. His fingers raked her arm, they locked around her wrist, jerking her back toward the center of the bed.
His other hand covered her face, then stopped at her throat. Something sharp pierced the flesh, and she felt a hot trickle of blood roll to the back of her neck.
“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered. “If you do, I’ll gut you like a hog, the same way I’ll do that gringo upstairs if he comes rushing down to save you.”
Enrique.
She was sure of it, even though she’d heard his voice only a few times. If he’d ever left the island, he was back.
“What do you want with me?”
“I told you we should get to know each other better. I never like to kill a woman before I’ve had her.”
The mattress sagged as he dropped to the bed beside her. Her stomach rolled sickeningly. He was going to rape her. His hands and his body would be all over her. And then he’d kill her. It had been his plan all along.
But why? Why would he need her dead? She was no threat to him—unless he was involved in the Santiago mystery?
That was it. He’d killed them. Murdered not just Andres, but his own sister and two innocent little girls. Killed them and somehow gotten his hands on Andres’s fortune. That would explain the fancy yacht. But why would he have ever come back to Cape Diablo, much less visited on a regular basis as he’d claimed?
