by Lynn Patrick
“You don’t have to pour it. I’ll do it myself,” the stranger gruffly told Basil, taking the beer bottle and glass from the bartender. “Thanks.”
Who was he and where had he come from? Caitlin wondered, taking in the stranger’s longish hair, beard, and straight blade of a nose. Obviously he was used to spending a lot of time outdoors, possibly working at some kind of physical labor—probably giving orders rather than taking them, she thought. The man didn’t resemble the usual tourist. Caitlin squinted. He looked more like a professional sailor…a seafaring soldier of fortune…or even a pirate…
Pirate! She’d exercised her imagination too well, and now it had run wild. Caitlin shook her head, chuckling with amusement.
“People are getting jovial early. Too many rum punches?”
Was the strange man talking about her? Peering over at him, she was stunned when she met the intensity of his unsmiling, speculative gaze. His green eyes glowed fiercely against the bronze of his lean, high-cheekboned face. Blushing, Caitlin quickly looked away.
“People are happy on Hibiscus Island,” Basil replied. “They don’t need rum punch for laughter.”
The stranger didn’t speak again. Leaning back against the bar, he sipped his drink. Braving another glance in his direction, Caitlin was relieved to see that he now was observing Tom and Marilyn.
Nervously she fingered her glass. What would she have done if the man had said more? Would she have been able to talk to him? Probably not. He looked much too sexy, the type of man that turned Caitlin into a tongue-tied idiot.
Damn! Why couldn’t she have courage when she needed it? It wasn’t as if she’d had no experience with men, but her innate shyness always surfaced at the worst times. If Babs was here, she’d be batting her eyelashes a mile a minute at the stranger with the green eyes.
Carefully, making sure he was looking away, Caitlin managed to stare at the good-looking man. Was he really as gruff as he appeared? Somehow she thought…she intuitively felt there was warmth beneath his cool exterior. He was probably like the hero in swashbuckling Errol Flynn movies—the rakish but ultimately ethical buccaneer. Smiling to herself, Caitlin visualized him dressed in a leather doublet, breeches, and knee-high boots.
“See something you like?” the object of her imagination asked, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a grin.
“Uh, I thought I saw a spider on your shoulder,” she choked out. “But I was wrong.”
Good grief! The man had caught her staring at him like a kid in a candy store. Feeling herself color, Caitlin pretended to inspect her feet, then drank from her empty soda glass. What would she do if he approached the table? Unable to stand the tension, she rose, attempting to look both graceful and casual as she left the bar. Walking briskly through the doorway, however, she plunged awkwardly into the solid form of Jean Moreau. The island’s landlord put his arm around her shoulders to steady her.
“My petite dove!” Jean exclaimed with a slight French accent. “You are so excited. Is something wrong?”
“Uh, no, I’m fine.” Relieved that she’d found someone safe to buffer her against further contact with the gorgeous stranger, Caitlin added, “And I’m so happy to see you!”
Lifting one of her hands to kiss it, the Frenchman murmured appreciatively, “How flattering.”
“Can we take a walk, do you suppose?” Caitlin asked, hoping to lead Jean away from the Beach Bar.
“But of course. Whatever my pretty dove wishes.”
Smiling self-consciously as Jean kept his arm around her, Caitlin led him several paces down the path in the direction of her bungalow. She felt a pair of sea-green eyes follow her.
“I have been looking for you today, my petite,” he told her.
“Oh, really? Babs and I hoped we’d see you too. My friend was extremely impressed by your house the other night. She said it reminded her of the great old houses of the South.”
The corners of Jean’s dark, nearly black eyes crinkled with his smile. “So. And what did you think of it?”
“I thought it was beautiful too.”
Stopping on the path, he leaned closer to her. “Then why don’t you come and visit me again tonight?”
Distracted by the knowledge that the man in the bar was probably watching the encounter, Caitlin forced herself to smile pleasantly. “After dinner? Fine. Babs and I—”
“No, no.” Jean shook a finger close to her nose. “You misunderstand, chérie. Don’t bring your friend. I want you to come and see me alone. I will teach you to appreciate your own shy loveliness, the beauty you seem to hold so lightly.”
“But I can’t leave Babs behind,” Caitlin objected, flattered, yet a little annoyed, because she had no intention of being alone with the man.
It was one thing for Jean to flirt and compliment with every breath; it was another to suggest that she abandon her friend. Did he ever drop the great lover routine?
“You are a modern young lady. You don’t need a chaperone.”
“No, I don’t. I can take care of myself.” Glancing over Jean’s shoulder, Caitlin noticed the stranger staring at them. Why on earth was she suddenly getting all this male attention? She cleared her throat and told Jean, “Babs was nice enough to invite me to vacation with her. I wouldn’t want to leave her alone. It wouldn’t be polite.”
“Perhaps not, but it would be romantic. Let me see if I can change your mind,” Jean murmured huskily.
“W-what,” she managed to sputter before Jean pulled her to him, his lips smoothly covering hers. Surprised, she allowed him to kiss her, curious to see if he could make bells ring. He couldn’t. Disappointed, Caitlin broke the embrace before Jean’s tongue invaded her mouth. Placing her hands against his chest, she laughed a little self-consciously. “Do Frenchmen always move so fast? Isn’t this carrying flirtation a bit far?”
“But I am quite serious about love.”
For a minute she couldn’t reply. Looking over Jean’s shoulder, she became snared by searing green eyes that seemed to cast a spell over her. She smiled shakily.
“If you want to be serious, you’ll have to find the right woman later.” Caitlin inched away, hoping to continue down the path by herself. “But right now I have to go meet Babs for dinner.”
Seeming to make a quick decision, Jean followed her a few steps, a broad smile crossing his swarthy face. “Oh, I see how it is, petite dove. We will meet afterward, no? Then we will try moving…much more slowly.”
Smiling politely but not bothering to answer him, Caitlin beat a hasty retreat. Glancing back at the Beach Bar, she was relieved to see that the stranger was gone. And as she neared the bungalow she was delighted to see Babs coming toward her wearing a gauzy yellow sundress and matching high heels.
But the woman’s violet-blue eyes were stormy. “Are you coming to dinner?” Babs asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Or are you going to stay out here and neck with Jean Moreau all evening?”
“I wasn’t necking!”
“Oh, sure. I saw you kiss him on the path, so I started back for the bungalow. Then I decided to come back and interrupt the two of you, anyway.”
Was Babs actually jealous? “Jean kissed me, but we can’t take it seriously. He’s simply an outrageous flirt and would kiss you, too, if he got the chance. I don’t even like him…in more than a friendly way,” she hastened to add, not wanting the other woman to be insulted if Babs were indeed really interested in Jean.
“Hmm. Well, you don’t have to get so defensive.” Babs’s voice softened. “I don’t have any claims on Jean Moreau. He’s not my type, either. I guess it’s just that he’s the only eligible man around this borin’ ole island at the moment.”
Wondering how her friend could possibly have missed the man with the green eyes, Caitlin told her, “I think Jean’s going to drop by the Caribbee Longhouse and invite us for after-dinner drinks.”
“He will?” Babs’s sunny smile dimpled her cheeks. “That’ll be fun! We can both practice fl
irtin’ with him!”
But as she walked back to the bungalow to change her clothes, listening to Babs go on and on about the subtle art of romance, Caitlin couldn’t help thinking about the handsome, rather brooding man in the bar. At the moment she could hardly remember the details of Jean’s kiss.
If the stranger had kissed her in a like manner, would she ever forget?
Chapter Two
Slouched over his beer, Bryce Winslow carefully eyed Jean Moreau and his “little dove,” nonchalantly turning to watch as they strolled down the walkway.
How charmingly intimate, he thought sourly.
His piercing gaze didn’t miss a nuance of movement when the Frenchman drew closer, his wiry arm encircling the fragile woman. The landlord of Hibiscus murmured something into her ear, and the woman’s answer was accompanied by what looked like a practiced smile.
Eyes sliding away from her, Bryce gulped down his beer. It was nearly warm from the heat of the late afternoon sun, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth that reminded him of why he was there. Looking back at the couple, he narrowed his eyes and watched Moreau wrap his arms around his companion before very thoroughly kissing her.
So the rumors that the Frenchman had a young American mistress who sometimes sailed with him must be true.
This slender young woman with long, light brown hair and large, pale blue eyes perfectly fit the description Anselm had given him last night. What did it matter that she had the air of an innocent about her? Or that he had thought her charmingly shy before Moreau had shown up? When Bryce’s mate had checked out Hibiscus Island the day before, Anselm had seen her with the Frenchman and had learned that her name was Caitlin O’Connor.
Caitlin. An Irish name that meant pure. Ironic, for if she were hooked up with Moreau, this one was anything but pure, he thought sardonically as the kiss ended with the woman laughing. Then, turning his way, Caitlin smiled directly at Bryce, and something in him stirred.
Don’t be a fool, he chastised himself. Just look at her now, flirting with him over the shoulder of the man she’d just kissed. The rumors must be true, Bryce thought as she shifted her attention back to the Frenchman.
Bryce turned away and signaled the bartender to settle his bill, all the while wondering if the “little dove” could be of any use to him. Paying the islander and giving him a generous tip, Bryce headed out toward a stand of palms where he could mull things over without distractions.
How much would she know? Plenty, if she was as close to Moreau as he thought. But was she attached? Loyal? The way she’d been looking at Bryce right after Moreau had kissed her indicated otherwise.
Bryce hadn’t intended to stay on the island after dark, but some inside information might come in handy…
“Are you ready yet?” Babs asked, coming back into their bungalow after having taken a walk while Caitlin showered and changed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving from all that exercise today.”
Caitlin tried not to laugh at her friend’s exaggeration about her activity level. “I’m ready,” she said with a grin.
“You’re going to go like that?”
Checking in the mirror to see if some disaster had struck her magenta-flowered indigo sundress, Caitlin didn’t see any rips or stains. Frowning at Babs, she said, “All right. What’s wrong with me now?”
“Nothin’s wrong with you, honey. It’s your hair. If you’re going to turn down my generous offer to fix it with my curling iron, the least you could do is fancy it up a bit.” A determined gleam in her violet-blue eyes, Babs grabbed for a brush, a small hair comb, and a fragrant magenta blossom from the vase on the dressing table. “This flower will add the perfect romantic touch,” Babs assured her, separating and twisting a lock of Caitlin’s hair back from her forehead, then securing it and the hibiscus with the comb. “What do you think?”
Caitlin gazed into the mirror again and was pleased at the way the magenta flower seemed to make her eyes sparkle and her cheeks glow with color. “Perfect. Can we go now? Or is something else wrong with me?”
“You’ll do,” Babs teased. “Just remember who made you look so glamorous when all those men come rushing after you tonight.” She picked up a light shawl that was the same lemon yellow as her gauzy dress, then slipped it around her shoulders before opening the door. “Throw one or two gorgeous hunks my way, will you? If I go without a new beau much longer, I swear I’ll plumb forget what the species looks like.”
Babs exited with a dramatic swirl of her full skirts. Deciding she didn’t need a wrap herself, Caitlin immediately followed her friend out the door.
“You should learn to appreciate your surroundings as much as you bemoan the lack of men, Barbara Lee Gordon. This place is so lovely and exotic, I still can’t believe I’m here.” She stayed Babs with a firm hand and pointed to the sky. “Look at those stars and that moon. Listen to the ocean as it caresses the shore. Smell the fragrance of exotic blooms laced with the salty tang of the Caribbean.”
“How poetic. I guess you’re right. It is a beautiful setting. If only we had someone to share it with,” Babs said wistfully.
“I don’t know. It’s like having our own private paradise. Our own treasure island, like in the movie.”
“Caitlin, honey, we’re the treasures on this here island, but unfortunately there isn’t a single gorgeous pirate to captivate us!”
“Babs, honey, I do declare, you’re gettin’ to be near impossible!” Caitlin said, trying to imitate her friend’s drawl.
“Oo-ee! That was hideous. Am I goin’ to be required to teach you to speak Southern too?”
“I didn’t know I was tryin’ to speak a foreign tongue,” Caitlin murmured, her accent even worse.
They laughed together as they headed down the path toward the dining room. That was one of the things Caitlin liked best about her friend. Babs was able to laugh at anything, even herself. Barbara Lee Gordon was as refreshing as her home state.
Caitlin liked North Carolina too. She might be a Northerner by birth, but she didn’t miss Gary, Indiana, with its steel mills and smokestacks lining the sky. She did miss her family, however, all of whom still lived there.
A smile continued to curve Caitlin’s lips as she thought about her rough-and-tumble youth, spent tagging along after her two older brothers. They’d played at cowboys and Indians, swords and sorcery, pirates and hostages.
She’d been the personification of a tomboy, the exasperation of her blue-collar parents. And when she’d become a teenager, they’d sworn she’d never find a husband if she weren’t more feminine. But a husband hadn’t been the goal she’d had in mind as Caitlin had finally begun to work at becoming the lady they wanted her to be. The promise of an interesting white-collar career and a better lifestyle in a cleaner environment had seemed reward enough.
And if she’d longed for more excitement—well, there’d been books to read and movies to see.
And now that she had a good job as a university counselor and lived in a beautiful one-bedroom apartment in a modern singles complex complete with health spa, she should feel like she had it all. And she had…for a few years.
But lately she’d begun wondering what had happened to the romantic, adventurous dreams of her youth. Would she really mind having all kinds of handsome heroes dashing into and out of her life? Not wanting to live vicariously through books and movies forever, Caitlin recently decided to start making positive changes in her life.
Coming to Hibiscus Island had been the first step.
And it had been a terrific one, Caitlin thought with satisfaction as she and Babs entered the Caribbee Longhouse.
Bryce slipped behind a palm tree and waited. About to head for Caitlin O’Connor’s bungalow, he’d spotted the bartender coming up the walk toward that very same structure. Now the man was hovering at the door.
What the hell was Basil doing? Bryce wondered, anxious to get to his task.
He planned to search the bungalow, to see if he could find proo
f that Caitlin was indeed Moreau’s mistress. He’d had a moment of doubt when he’d realized that she wasn’t staying at the great house. Of course, that might only mean she was discreet. Bryce intended to find out what he could. When the bartender finally moved away from the bungalow, something white pinned to the door caught his attention.
A message?
He waited until the other man was out of sight. Then, looking around carefully, Bryce made sure the coast was clear before making his way to the stone-and-wood building. Unpinning the envelope from the door, he went inside and turned on the room light. The envelope was only sealed at the tip, so no one would be able to guess it had been opened and reglued, Bryce thought.
He slit it open carefully and read the note Moreau had written to Caitlin.
My petite dove:
How I long to hold you in my arms once more, your sweet lips under mine. But, alas, it’s not to be tonight. I must leave the island because of business. I’m sure you’ll understand and forgive. I’d like to take you with me, but it’s impossible this time. Besides, you did say you wanted to spend time with your friend. We must be content with thinking of each other. I promise I will make it up to you when I return in a few days. I will buy you something very pretty to make it up to you.
Jean
Here was the proof, then, Bryce thought, carefully folding the missive and putting it back in the envelope. There was no doubt that Caitlin was the man’s mistress, he decided with a slight sense of disappointment.
She’d probably been staying in the great house until her friend had come to visit. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted the other woman to know the exact nature of her relationship with Moreau. Or perhaps Caitlin had merely wanted to spend as much time with her friend as possible, even if it meant neglecting her lover.
After resealing the envelope and turning off the room light, Bryce slipped outside and left the message pinned to the bungalow door the way he’d found it. Then, full of purpose, he strode toward the Caribbee Longhouse.
