Paradise Island

by Charmaine Ross

  Estelle pulled her gaze from Gregory into the fire and she watched the burning yellows and reds flicker, dance and weave upon the burning driftwood. She tucked a large piece of wood into the center of the fire and watched blue and white sparks drift upwards and twirl to the roof of the cave.

  As the shower of sparks disappeared, she saw an intricately, quite beautiful painting on the craggy ceiling of the cave. She ignited the end of a long stick and brought the flame to the roof so that she could see the image in greater detail.

  It was a line of ships. Black, with long spindly masts that reached impossibly high, so tall that they might overturn a normal ship. White froth peeled from the bows as the ships cut through the water. Impossibly high. Impossibly swift. Her mouth went dry as she recognized them. They were the ships that had attacked the Wanderlust. Jack Cutlass’s ship. But how had he managed to sail so quickly? It didn’t make sense.

  On top of the masts was a design drawn by a meticulous, talented hand. The lines had faded, barely there and were so much of the shadows it was amazing that she saw it at all. But although it had aged through the wear and tear of many years, it was a subject that made her blood pump an icy chill through frigid veins. It was the same design as that on the ring she’d taken from Gregory at the pier. She went to take the ring form her satchel, but thought better of it. Better to keep it hidden.

  The skull with a black yawning mouth looked at her as though it were mid-way through a silent scream, laughing in the face of death, joyous in the gates of hell. The hollow greedy eyes, mirthless, stared blank with the dark edge of hell locked in their black depths. The head was held into place with two crossing bones beneath the chin dripping blood. The sign of death. The sign Jack Cutlass sailed under.

  Beneath the drawing were the words Mortis Rex written on a scroll in the clasp of a skeleton’s boney hands. A dark shiver pervaded her mind. They were holed up in an old pirate’s cave, a safe haven from the pounding seas, or a hideaway from prying eyes. Estelle hoped that the cave was old enough that it wasn’t still used by one of these ‘Mortis Rex’ pirates. But pirates kept to what they knew, and this looked like a cave that had been known for a very long time.

  Estelle moved away from the painting and in doing so, tipped the flaming end of the stick in another direction. To her amazement the drawing continued. The paint here was so faded that, in parts, the painting had disappeared altogether.

  There were dots and lines in irregular patterns. The artist had gone to great lengths to create the patterns. It could almost look like a map, taking a birds view of the earth below, but no man could go that high without the aid of wings.

  The lines wound a curving path around larger mountainous swirls with line images of fish and turtles around it. Estelle followed the curving river which finished at the end of what looked like a gaping black pit. The colors blended from the earthy yellows and reds of the land to mucky browns and depthless blacks. Here the lines were straight and angled, so at odds with the sweeping lines, dots and patterns leading to it. Studying the curved lines, familiarity inexorably linked a pattern in her mind. She had sailed such a haphazard route many times. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought it was a crude drawing of the many islands that protected Paradise. But it was incomplete. There were more islands than the ones indicated here. She knew of many island countries in the world. She shook her head, sure that she was reading too much into it.

  She drew the flaming end of the stick close to the area of black. A chill settled in the pit of her stomach as she drew closer to the image, as if she were having a direct physical reaction to the drawing. She passed the flame below the black and the light threw back images of dots and lines and then disappeared when the flame passed away. She passed the flame below the black area once more and watched the subtle deepening of color in the middle of the dark patch. Her eyes adjusted to the blending of color until she determined a pattern, a deeper black under the black.

  She was engulfed by a heady wave of fear. It struck from the chill in the pit of her stomach and raced through her body. She gasped and instantly withdrew from the image, stumbling back over loose rocks that were scattered over the sandy floor. As she withdrew from the image, the intense fear receded, oozing from her head to her feet until she was left with limbs trembling. Her breath was loud in the cave and she waited for her heart to slow into a regular beat.

  The image had bombarded her with a strong emotional punch, it had taken her by surprise. She couldn’t bring herself to look behind her, should she be struck by the fear again. One thing was clear, she would wait until first light and then she would get the hell out of here.

  Gregory slept by the flickering fire light. Lying in his induced sleep had taken the harshness from the lines of his face. The curves and angles were utterly masculine, but not as harsh as when he had stared her down, trying to make her believe that her father still lived. He looked younger, as if life had not yet beaten cynicism from him as it had with her. He could still find the good in people, still believed that there was good left to give. She sighed and rested her elbows on her knees, regarding him.

  A noise outside caught her attention, the soft tink of a pebble bouncing off a larger rock. Estelle slipped through the entrance with the lit stick. The breeze from the ocean extinguished the flame and she was plunged into endless darkness.

  She was vulnerable out here alone. She went for her sword and realized her had left it on the floor of the cave. She gripped the stick with both hands and swung it in front of her. She pivoted on the balls of her feet in a slow arc.

  She waited, silent, unmoving, listening. There was no sound save for the thunder of waves beating on the sand. She crept further out from the entrance to the cave, looked back. The fire made a soft red glow. Anyone could see it through the darkness of the night. A beacon that would call attention to things hidden in the darkness of the night. She silently cursed.

  The sound must have been nothing more than the natural movement of the landscape, dislodged by the strength of the wind. Satisfied that, for now, they were safe, Estelle slipped the ring into her satchel and crawled back into the cave. She pushed as many loose rocks as she could to cover the entrance, offering a mode of safety. She sat back in her place of the floor of the cave, across the fire from Gregory and drew her discarded sword next to her. She would have it within hands reach if she were roused from sleep. She looked back to the drawing, now lost in the shadows of the dancing flames, thinking of the ring and the same skull design. Both were here for a reason and she didn’t think any of them would be good ones.

  Estelle rested her head back against the rough rocky wall. Her eyelids were heavy and she let them drop. Despite the danger they might be in, her body was weary. She needed sleep. She was filled with a foreboding, despair so despondent that she nearly gave way to tears, and that was something she hadn’t done since the death of her father. She pushed them back. They would get her nowhere. She had learnt that long ago. She let the tide of desolation wash her into sleep where she was filled with dreams of shadowy, sinister ships and the ghost of her father calling her name, but was lost in darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  “Estelle. Wake up!”

  The masculine voice slipped silkily through the veils of sleep. Estelle rose through the layers, cracked open her eyes and saw a pair of large, black leather boots in front of her. She followed the boots up over the line of tan breeches molding over solid, thick thigh muscles, upwards and over an open white shirt and fell into a black-onyx gaze.

  “I would help a lady to her feet, but … ” he gestured to his cuffed hands.

  Estelle drew herself to her feet, fully awake in an instant. She was immediately immersed in a spicy masculine smell that rode on the waves of his body heat. It reminded her of the sea, open and fresh, tinged with a good dose of earthy male. A hypnotizing thrill ran through her insides. She drank in another breath
and resisted the urge to close her eyes so that she could savor it. His bare chest was a hands width from her, his shirt had fallen open and was disheveled through sleep. It revealed the lines of his waist, tapering into the V of his lean hips. His broad chest rose with a breath, stretching and expanding defined muscle, exposing the interplay of his ribs.

  If she reached out, touched him, she could feel if his skin was as hard as it looked. Or would it be like silk and flow beneath the tip of her finger. Would he let her touch?

  Her gaze lingered on his chin, darkened with rough stubble then on his mouth. His lips were crushed into a harsh line, but she knew if he relaxed they could be full, sensual, easy to kiss. Her gaze traveled higher into the steely grip of his gaze. His face was shuttered, closed. But the gleam in his eyes was of a predator watching his prey. Watchful. Aware.

  He stirred something primitive up her, something deep and primal. She was unused to such a feeling. Had never felt such an all-consuming urge to touch. To explore. Her body answered with a physical need, but her mind told her it wasn’t a good path to go down.

  She needed to reign in this preliminary attraction. See it for what it truly was. The need for a handsome man in the face of desolation. She hadn’t had a man in a long time. Hadn’t needed the temporary comfort it might secure. She needed to get herself under control and ignore what her body was reaching for.

  “You need to unmanacle me,” Gregory said.

  Estelle lifted a sleek auburn brow. “I have already stated. No.”

  “Then I will be forced to ask you to help me with the morning necessity,” he said.

  “What morning necessity?”

  Gregory cleared his throat. “If you do not want to set my hands free then I will need to engage the help of yours with … err … ” He raised his brows meaningfully and dropped his gaze downward.

  Comprehension washed through her and to her horror, her cheeks heated. She couldn’t entertain the thought of touching him … there. Not even for the necessity of relieving himself. She tried to think of ways he could attend to the task without the need for her, or his hands.

  “Estelle, there is no other way,” he said, reading her thoughts again.

  She picked up her sword and held it to his chest. “All right, but you shall keep one hand behind your back at all times and I shall keep the sharp side of my sword trained to your back. If you so much as look the wrong way, I will have no hesitation to use it on you.”

  Gregory nodded and drew her in a glittering, unreadable stare. “I am but at your mercy, Captain.”

  She withdrew the key from her belt and unlatched the clasp. The manacles fell free. His fingers bit into her wrist and the sword fell from numbed fingers. He hooked an ankle behind hers, sweeping her feet beneath her. She had barely drawn a breath before his large frame covered hers, crushing her with his sizeable weight. He pinned her arms above her head, clamped his hips onto hers and locked his large thighs either side of hers, putting an end to her writhing.

  She hissed between her teeth, dug her nails into him, tipped her hips to buck him off, swung her trapped legs. No matter how she moved, or what she did, he held her in position with an ease that only served to increase her fury. The low chuckle that reached her ears stopped her. Ragged breath racked her body. She cracked open her eyes and his face filled her vision, watching her with a dark, uncloaked, absorbing gaze. She stilled.

  “You certainly are a hellcat,” he murmured.

  Rage swirled through her body. She struggled again which made him shift his weight more fully on top of her.

  “Will you stop moving around? It’s not going to do you any good.”

  “Go to hell.” She tipped her chin up and held his gaze, locking him in a fiery challenge.

  His eyes narrowed fractionally and his gaze slipped directly to her mouth. He dipped his head and then his lips were crushing hers. He used his lips like a weapon, pinning her down, twisting with her so that his kiss followed wherever she moved, his mouth locked against hers. She kept her mouth closed and cursed him with her mind.

  She fought him, tensed against the hard length of him, feeling every steely muscle grinding her into the sand. Her lungs started burning. She needed to breathe, but he chased her, his mouth against her closed one. She couldn’t hold on any longer. She opened her mouth and dragged in a ragged deep breath.

  He used that instant. His lips moved fractionally across hers as they opened and she was met with the fiery tip of his tongue. It swept along her lower lip then dipped slowly into her mouth. She stilled, shock riding through her. She couldn’t believe he was capable of such softness, a touch that could be termed tender.

  She let his tongue wander, barely able to breath, her whole attention wrapped with the strokes of his tongue. She was hypnotized, not used to such sensual manipulations. Her experiences had been of hard desperate men, fumbling in the dark, needing physical contact with her as much as she needed them. But she was more aware of Gregory’s touch, fell into it, delighted in it. It was nothing she had felt before. She was immediately immersed in his tongue, his lips, his mouth where it joined hers.

  He drew her out so that she needed to respond. Needed to kiss him back. He moved lazily, suckling at her mouth, drawing her lower lip into his and then covering her mouth with his. His breath fused with hers, shaking, ragged. She moved her lips, finding more purchase with his. The heat from his body oozed into hers, seeping through her insides.

  Awakening.

  She dragged her slick tongue against his, suckling him with her mouth. She needed nothing else but more of this burgeoning desire.

  He groaned.

  The low vibration shattering her defenses into a further mindless state. She answered with her mouth, moving with him, deepening their contact, senselessly swept away on a tide of growing need, pulsing desire. She arched her back, reveling in his solid length over her tall frame.

  Her leg slipped around his thigh. She drew her knee up, pressing her inner thigh against his solid outer thighs. Her hands were pinned over her head, he had not let her go, but that only served to hold her totally open to him, to lock her head between her arms so that she was at his mercy. But she accepted that, accepted his kiss, welcomed it.

  Then he abruptly moved back. It was cold where the heat of his lips had been, wet where they had met. She forced open eyes that seemed glued closed. His face was set into a grim line. His mouth gleaming from their kiss had thinned back into the harsh line that was fast becoming his mantle. Confusion swept through her mind. She still reeled from his touch, his kiss and her brain was slow to comprehend, couldn’t make sense of his unexpected withdrawal.

  There was a metal cling and he took his hands away, leaving hers positioned above her head. She drew her arms down and saw that the manacles that were once around his wrists, now bound hers together. The heat of moments before drained instantly. Her numbed brain kick started.

  “Get these off me,” she demanded, her voice was low and husky and she was angry that he had made her sound like that.

  Gregory stood, straddling her hips with his ankles, his face once again unreadable. He regarded her for a moment, “Not until you believe me about your father.”

  “I’ll never believe you. You are full of lies, and you’re still trying to lie your way out of justice.” He had tricked her and she had let herself be swept away with a simple kiss. A simmering anger heated her from within, “And that will never happen again.” She clenched her teeth and spat fire with her eyes.

  “Have it your way,” he said. His voice was low, casual. He leant down, covered her hands in his and raised her to her feet. He bowed and pressed a kiss onto her knuckles. “That is how you treat a lady,” he said.

  She tipped her chin and sent him a heated look. “You have no idea how to treat a lady. I wouldn’t be standing here in manacles if you did.”

&nbs
p; The corner of his mouth lifted and his low chuckle filled the cave. He gestured to the walled in entrance and dipped his head. “Shall we?”

  “You’ll have to move the rocks,” Estelle said.

  “In my book, it’s the prisoners that do the rock work.” He gestured again at the loose rocks. “Milady?”

  She held her hands up in front of her. The heavy manacles clinked together. “How can you expect me to move with my hands tied together?”

  “If you have noticed, I left them tied in front of you. I’m sure you’ll work out a way,” he said, bowing and stepping aside to usher her towards the wall of rocks.

  She lifted a brow, cocked her head to the side, considered him for an ample moment and sat down on a large boulder, crossing her long legs at the ankles and making a show of languishing against the cave wall. “I am but a mere woman, not able to move such heavy stones,” she said.

  She was mollified to see the muscle move at his temple as he clenched his teeth. “They were moved by someone to cover the entrance last night,” he said.

  “It’s quite nice in here, don’t you think? I could get used to being in here all day, just you and me. And with these on my wrists, well, I just don’t know how I’ll be able to help you catch fish for lunch, stock up on firewood, or find a way back to my ship, or even find out where on earth we are. I guess we’ll have to wait for my crew to find me, and I don’t know how long that could be.” She shrugged a lean shoulder. “Could be days. Or maybe even weeks. I guess you’ll get used to waiting on me hand and foot. You do know how to treat a woman, after all.” She closed her eyes and leant her head back against the cave wall.

  She was met with a wall of silence. The moments crept by. Although her body was tense, she remained in a slumped posture, controlling her body so that she did not even twitch. She heard him grunt, heard footsteps move across the sandy floor then the sound of stones rolling over each other as he started to move them aside.