by Rebecca York
Camille eyed the boats. “Can we use one of those to get out of here?” she asked.
“It would be hard for one man to row something that big.”
“I could help.”
“It would still be a hard pull. And we’d be sitting ducks if someone saw us from the shore. I think we’re better off swimming. If we have to, we can dive.”
She answered with a little nod.
“When these guys move into the interior, that should distract Zanov’s men enough for us to get away.”
Nick grasped his weapon, waiting. Then he caught his breath as a woman stepped out of the jungle.
Beside him, Camille made a strangled sound.
“Who is that?” he whispered.
“Mary Ann, Zanov’s assistant. You saw her in the living room last night.”
“It was dark, and I didn’t get a good look at her.” The woman was waving a white flag as she approached the men from the first boat.
She spoke in a low voice to one of them, and he nodded. After a brief conversation, she led the men into the jungle—in the direction of the house.
“My God, is she giving them directions?” Camille asked. “I thought she was in love with Zanov.”
“Maybe she was, and the wedding made her really angry. Maybe she switched sides.”
“I did see her make a quick phone call in the living room.”
When Mary Ann and the invading force had passed, Camille gave him a questioning look. “Is it safe to go now?”
“Better wait a few moments,” he cautioned. “Zanov’s patrols could still be in the area.”
No sooner had he said the words than they heard gunfire—coming from one direction and then the other. The invaders had encountered the island’s security force, and the two groups were engaging each other.
“Okay. We get the hell out of here now,” Nick said, handing her the transponder. “Clip this to your shirt, then make a run for the water, and I’ll cover you. After you’ve cleared the breakers, kick off your shoes and pants, and swim straight out.”
“Okay.” She bent low, running for the water. But when she’d gotten halfway across the sand, a party of men rounded a curve in the island. They were wearing the uniforms of Zanov’s security force, all except one of them, and Nick saw that it was the Big Z himself, personally supervising the frantic search.
His face was a mask of anger as he focused on the bride who had escaped his clutches. He said something to his men, who pulled up in formation around him. Then he addressed Camille.
“You bitch,” he shouted, his Russian accent thicker as fury overwhelmed him. “If you think you’re getting away from me, you’re wrong.”
“If you think you can kidnap a woman and force her to marry you, you’re crazy,” she shouted back.
His eyes flashed as he studied her and Nick, taking in their rough appearance. “What were you doing, fucking your lover—Nick Cassidy—in the bushes last night?”
He heard her draw in a quick breath, but she answered, “He’s not my lover. He never has been.”
Zanov laughed. “My contact at the estate says you’ve been intimate with him for months.”
“Your contact is dead wrong,” Nick corrected.
Zanov laughed. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I know you were hot for each other. I know you must have been doing it. Maybe not in the house—but out on the estate grounds. Like last night.” He went on, his face reddening and his rage building as he addressed Camille. “I was willing to overlook your indiscretion when we married. But now, if I can’t have you, nobody can.”
Camille blanched as she listened to the threatening words from the man who had wed her the day before—and claimed he loved her.
“Go,” Nick shouted to her, firing his automatic rifle at the security force. He didn’t think he had much chance of getting out of this alive. But Camille could make it to the Minerva.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nick stayed between Zanov and Camille, standing in the open, firing at the approaching men who were now running down the beach toward them. As bullets hit the ground only a few feet in front of him, he reached in his pack, pulled out a grenade and lobbed it at the advancing guards.
It exploded with a loud crack, knocking the men in front to the ground.
When Nick saw that Camille had turned and was running toward him, he felt his whole body go cold. “Get in the goddamned water. Get out of here,” he shouted.
“I’m not leaving you.” She still had the weapon he’d given her last night, and she started shooting at the advancing force, the handgun not much competition for the automatic rifles.
Then from the jungle, more gunfire erupted, and some of the men who had been shooting at Nick turned toward the unexpected threat. It must be the invaders, drawn by the firefight.
Some of the cammy-clad newcomers burst out of the foliage, firing at the defending force.
The rest of the security force focused on the new threat, and the two groups blasted away at each other.
Nick saw some of the men on each side fall, and he helped the cause along with another grenade. Then Zanov himself went down. The newcomers converged on him, firing as they went, and Nick saw the man’s body jerk as bullets hit him.
Camille ran to Nick, and he turned toward her, his face fierce.
“I told you to get into the water.”
“Not without you.”
She looked at his arm and gasped.
“What?”
“You’re hit.”
“It’s not bad.”
“How do you know?”
Because I can still move my arm. He winced as he proved the point. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the breakers. Looking behind him, he saw that the gunfire had stopped.
Zanov and his men lay on the beach, blood soaking into the tropical white sand. Some of the assault team were also down, and some of them had turned and were headed into the jungle. Moments after they disappeared, Nick heard more weapons fire.
One side or the other was winning, but he didn’t give a damn who it was, as long as he got Camille out of here. He kicked off his shoes, and she did the same. They both plunged into a cresting wave, emerging into deeper water.
“Get rid of your pants,” he told her.
They both did, before they began swimming away from the island.
Nick gritted his teeth, then turned over on his back, kicking with his strong legs as he propelled himself farther into the ocean.
“You still have the transponder?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, good.” But just in case, he pulled out a flare gun and shot a missile into the air.
They kept going, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the island. But Camille stayed beside him. He looked at his arm, thinking that yesterday he’d tossed a bleeding man into the water to attract sharks. So far his wound wasn’t bloody enough to draw them. Still, he wanted some distance between himself and Camille.
“I’m slowing you down,” he said in a grating voice.
“We’re almost there.”
“Can’t be.” Then he looked up and saw the Minerva closing in on them, open water behind it.
The yacht slowed, then came to a stop. Bobby lowered a ladder over the side, and Nick waited while Camille climbed up. Then he hauled himself up the rungs and they both stood half-dressed on the deck.
Bobby looked at the blood that had soaked his shirtsleeve.
“You’re hit.”
“It’s a flesh wound.”
“I’m going to take care of him,” Camille said.
Nick paused to question Teddy. “Who were those guys that attacked the island?”
“My best guess is that it’s Stanis Ivanov.”
“Who?”
“One of the wedding guests.”
“His men killed Zanov,” Nick said.
Bobby gave him a critical look. “We were watching the action. They almost killed you.”
“I had to make sure Zanov didn’t get Camille.”
Camille turned to the sloppy-looking man. “Who are you?”
“Teddy Granada. Decorah Security, technical support.”
“Nice to meet you. But we’ve got to get out of these wet clothes. And I have to tend to Nick’s arm.”
“Okay.”
“Nick and I will be back, . .” She paused at the entrance to the lounge. “Later.”
Bobby had been standing with his arms rigidly at his sides. Now he turned to Camille, his face etched with apology. “Camille, I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are. We’ll talk—later,” she reiterated, then ushered Nick across the lounge and down the companionway. This was one of her father’s boats, and she knew the layout.
Now that the crisis was over, Nick let her take charge, and she ushered him to the owner’s cabin in the bow, seeing from the unmade bunk that someone had slept there.
“You used this cabin?”
“Yeah.”
Turning on the light, she gave him a critical look.
“Take off your shirt.”
He did as she asked, and she examined his arm. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Like I said. How do you know?”
“Because I volunteered in a local hospital when I was a teenager.”
“Your dad let you do that?”
“He let me do a lot of things before he got hyper about security. But back to your arm. I’m sure the salt water made it feel like hell.”
“Yeah.”
“Wash off in the shower, and then I’ll bandage you up.”
He disappeared into the bathroom without protest, and she took the opportunity to grab a white terrycloth robe from the closet and rush down the hall to another bathroom where she washed the seawater out of her hair and off her body, then hurried back before Nick emerged from the more luxurious head in the owner’s suite, wearing a similar robe.
She pulled out the chair at the dressing table.
“Slip your arm out of the sleeve and sit down.”
Again he did as she asked, and she opened a sterile pack of disinfectant, which she carefully applied to the wound. Then she pressed a bandage in place and secured it with strips of gauze wound around the arm.
“You were up all night,” she said. “You need some sleep.”
“You’re in charge?” he asked.
“For now,” she answered.
He wasn’t quite steady on his feet as he crossed to the wide bunk, pulled back the rumpled covers and climbed under.
“I’m going to call Dad,” she said. “After I get dressed.”
Nick’s eyes were already closed, but they snapped open again.
“Tell him what happened to Zanov.”
“I will.”
He closed his eyes again, and she saw him give up the fight to hang on to consciousness.
Turning, she opened drawers and found underwear and a knit shirt and loose white pants.
After seeing that Nick was asleep, she kicked her feet into sandals and went back to the men who had brought the yacht to her rescue.
“I’d better call my father,” she said.
“We already did. And told him you were safe.”
“That’s good, but I need to talk to him, too.”
She took the cell phone from the holder near the helm and called her father’s private line. He answered on the first ring.
“Dad.”
“Camille. Are you all right?” he asked, his voice filled with relief.
“Yes. Thanks to Nick. He got me out of there when nobody else could.”
“Frank Decorah said he was the best man for the job of getting you back.”
“He was.”
“I’m very grateful to him.”
“So am I.”
She walked away from the two men who were probably tuning in on the conversation and stepped out on the wide deck.
“I don’t know how long it will take to get back to Florida, but when we get there, I want some time alone with Nick.”
“You do?” he asked, his surprise evident.
“Yes. I do. After we dock, I’m going to tell the crew to clear off. And you’ll confirm that, if they call you.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Why?”
“Because after what we’ve been through together, Nick and I need some time together.”
When he said nothing, she continued, “You heard that?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Something I’ve been waiting to say to you. Camille I’m sorry. I didn’t read Zanov correctly. I knew he was dangerous, but I was still trying to do business with him.”
“Apparently that was a mistake.”
Her father made a low sound as he processed the frank assessment.
“They told you he’s dead?” she asked.
“Yes.”
And while she had his attention, she added, “And it didn’t work out so well to keep me and Eden under guard. She found a way around your security.”
He winced. “I can see that now.”
“We can have a long talk later—about how things are going to change from now on.”
“Camille.”
“A serious discussion with you will have to wait until I get some things straight with Nick.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you about it—later.”
Before he could ask any more questions, she clicked off and brought the phone back to the helm. Feeling the two men watching her, she walked to the galley, where she took out a couple of the sandwiches the crew had brought along and carried them down to the owner’s cabin, along with some bottles of water.
Nick was still sleeping, and she didn’t wake him. Instead she went into the head and dried her hair. Then she changed back into the robe she’d been wearing and sat down in the comfortable easy chair across from the bunk where she could eat a sandwich, drink some water and watch Nick sleep.
She had never seen him more peaceful, and she liked the change that sleep brought to the harsh lines of his face. He’d always looked like he was ready for any emergency. Now his features were relaxed, and she let her gaze slide over the sexy curve of his lips, the blade of his nose, the hard line of his jaw. She took in the way his dark lashes lay against the tanned skin of his cheek, pretty sure he hadn’t gotten any sleep the whole time she was gone. And then at the end, he’d almost gotten killed trying to save her. The image of him standing on the beach with his automatic rifle, firing at Zanov’s men, made her insides clench and at the same time brought a surge of deep emotion. Sure, he’d been doing his job, but it was a lot more than that. He’d faced almost certain death so she could get off of Zanov’s island.
She sat in the chair for a long time, watching him sleep, feeling peaceful for the first time in ages. She’d been at the estate, wondering if she was going to be confined for the rest of her life. Then the worst had happened, and she’d felt like she’d been hit in the chest with a wrecking ball when she realized Zanov had captured her.
The only thing that had saved her sanity was knowing Nick Cassidy would get her out of there. She’d felt it on a bone-deep level, even when the conviction wasn’t quite rational.
Against all odds, he’d done it. She was safe. But she was exhausted too, and finally she dozed off.
A change in the engine noise woke her. She got up, pulled aside one of the curtains and looked out a window to see that they had slowed and were docking at the Norland estate. A few minutes later, she saw Bobby and the big shambling guy named Teddy Granada get off and take the path to the house. He wasn’t very impressive looking, but she got the feeling he’d played a key part in her rescue.
When she turned back to Nick, he was looking at her.
“Where are we?”
“Back in Norland country.”
“I have to talk to Teddy.”
“He’s gotten off the yacht.”
“Why?”
“Because I said I wanted to be alone with
you.”
The words hung in the air between them. After a long moment, Camille reached for the belt of her robe and untied it. She let the garment drop to the deck, her gaze challenging Nick as she stood naked before him.
Nick couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her body was perfect with high breasts crested by rosy nipples, a narrow waist, hips that flared invitingly and a triangle of blond hair at the juncture of her legs.
As he watched, she crossed the cabin. When she paused beside the bed, his breath caught. Then she quickly pulled back the covers and slipped into the bunk with him.
“You shouldn’t be in bed with me.”
“You don’t want me?” she asked.
He heard the raw need in his own voice. “Christ. You know I do.”
“Then stop fighting what you want.”
“All the reasons why I stayed away from you are still valid. I work for your father. I’m not the right man for you.”
She pressed two fingers to his lips. “A lot of guys thought they knew what was best for me. My father. Zanov. Guys who wanted to marry me for my money. Maybe you should let me be the judge of what’s best for me.”
Under the covers she reached for the tie of his robe, loosening it and spreading the front apart.
“Don’t.”
He heard a laugh in her voice as she answered, “Okay,” and settled down beside him, pressing her arms to her sides.
He should get out of the damn bed, but he couldn’t make himself do it. He wanted her, had wanted her for eons, and this might be his only chance to make love with her—before she came to her senses.
Wordlessly, he reached to brush back her hair so his lips could find the tender place where her jawline met her neck.
“Nice,” she murmured, then, “More.”
His finger moved to her mouth, where he touched her with a feather-light stroke.
He felt her smile. Then her lips parted, and she nibbled at his fingers, sending darts of sensation along his nerve endings.
He played with the line of her teeth, then moved his finger so that he could stroke the sensitive tissue of her inner lips.
She raised up, looking down at him, her heated gaze robbing him of breath.
Moving over him, she pressed her breasts to his chest. When he felt the hard points of her nipples stab into him, his own body tightened.
