by Rebecca York
Well, a major hurdle crossed, Jack thought as he and Maddy submitted themselves to the body inspection.
Even though he knew there should be no problems, Jack fought to stay cool as the man’s hands moved up and down his body.
“You’re free to go in,” the guard informed him. “Enjoy your stay with us.”
“Thank you.”
He reached for Maddy’s hand, and they strolled toward a door at the far side of the room where the other cleared passengers had exited.
As he pushed it open and stepped through, he had the sensation of walking from a station on the way to hell into a portal to heaven. Or at least as closely as a tropical paradise could duplicate heaven. The door led directly from the customs area to a covered flagstone patio bordered by manicured planters edged with lava rock. A delicate green carpet crawled across the earth and onto the rocks. Rising from the ground cover were arrangements of small palms and pink and red bougainvillea that climbed wooden posts and wound gracefully through vertical supports overhead.
In one corner of the patio, a small combo clad in red-and-yellow costumes was playing soft island music. Opposite them, a buffet table took up one whole side of the area, heaped with a spread that put the one at JFK to shame.
Jack heard Maddy let out a rush of breath as if she were finally free to relax. Of course she wasn’t.
That was probably what Reynard wanted everyone to think when they took in the contrast between the customs area and this outpost from Bali Ha’i. They’d passed the test—and now they were being rewarded.
But he was sure they were probably still being videotaped. And he’d better remind Maddy of that fact. As he gave her an expansive grin, he said, “A lot of potential for home movies here.”
“Yes,” she murmured, and he gave her points for not trying to spot the cameras.
“Happy?” he asked, aware that the question carried several meanings. Anybody listening would assume it was Jack Craig making small talk with his lady while they waited for the party to begin. But Jack Connors was also asking Maddy Guthrie how she was feeling now about having come on this mission.
“Deliriously happy,” she answered without missing a beat.
“Glad to hear it.” He casually stroked a finger up her arm, feeling gooseflesh bloom under his touch.
She might look cool, he thought. But she was strung tight as a Nashville banjo. Which she should be. Because they were about to put their charade to the ultimate test.
A waiter wearing black pants, a white shirt and a red sash offered them planter’s punch, and they each accepted a tall glass. Maddy took a large swallow. Jack sipped at his while he waited for something memorable to happen.
He didn’t have long to wait. The last of the passengers were nibbling shrimp and tiny crab cakes or sipping their drinks when the combo stopped in the middle of “Yellow Bird” and played a little flourish.
As the band members glanced toward their right, Jack followed their gaze. When he saw a sleek black panther glide onto the patio, he thrust Maddy protectively behind him.
Then he relaxed a fraction as he realized that the large cat wore a rhinestone-studded collar to which a stout leather leash was attached. A man followed along behind the animal, holding the other end of the lead firmly in his right hand.
It was Reynard, Jack knew from the photographs he’d studied.
The Master of Orchid Island. The man who could do anything here he wanted. With anybody.
Dawn. Or himself and Maddy.
And if he decided to bring a jungle cat to a social gathering—so be it. The cat appeared to have learned some manners, but if the animal sprang at anyone, Reynard would simply be dragged along behind it.
Or more likely, he’d let go, Jack thought as he shifted his position slightly, still keeping Maddy close, but trying not to act as if he thought their lives were being threatened.
Would the guards shoot if the beast started mauling guests? Or would that just be part of the entertainment?
Aware that he’d very effectively garnered everyone’s attention, Reynard stepped onto the patio, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. His gaze noted Jack and Maddy, moved on, then came back to them.
Apparently they were of special interest.
Jack would have liked to take that as a good sign, but he couldn’t muster any real enthusiasm for the assumption.
As Reynard studied them, he returned the interest, sure that Maddy was taking the same opportunity.
Somehow mere photographs hadn’t caught the essence of the man, the subtle atmosphere of evil and depravity that wafted around him like a cloud of poison gas.
Jack pulled back from the fanciful notion and tried to be objective. For example, the pictures had conveyed an aura of power that had made him look larger than he really was. In fact, the man was only slightly over medium height, trim and lithe, with dark hair just beginning to gray at the temples, a healthy-looking tan and deep-set gray eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He was dressed in navy trousers and a brilliant white shirt open at the neck. In the V of his collar, several heavy gold chains nestled in crisp salt-and-pepper hair. A smile flickered at the corners of his well-shaped mouth as he observed the reactions of his guests to the pet he’d chosen to bring along to the party.
“I assure you, Sabina is a very well-trained kitty. She only mauls guests who try to bring weapons or other contraband into my island paradise.”
Silence greeted the pronouncement.
He gave a small laugh that grated along Jack’s nerve endings. “Please, that’s supposed to be a joke. Mr. Sandstrom and his lady have not been punished for breaking my rules. The only penalty is expulsion. They will be returning to the U.S. as soon as my jet refuels; and since they’ll have the whole cabin to themselves, they can have sex right in their seats.” He laughed, letting everyone know he was fully aware of the incident on the plane. Then he stretched out his arm. “If we haven’t already met, I am Oliver Reynard, and I welcome you to my home.”
Jack was relieved when he hooked the end of the leash over a metal post and snapped a ring into place, securing the animal. Sabina lay down on a straw mat and began to lick her paw. But when Reynard wandered over to the buffet table, forked up a wad of roast beef and tossed it to her, she caught it in midair, her curved claws shooting out as she speared the morsel and conveyed it to her mouth.
The crowd flicked their attention back to the cat’s owner as he began speaking again. “I want you all to have a wonderful time while you are my guests,” he continued. “In your rooms you’ll find a leather-bound loose-leaf book describing some of the attractions here and the hours of operation. The Greek outdoor pool. The Roman indoor baths. The ladies’ spa. The gym. The golf course. The shooting range. You can read up on them later. Right now, I want you to unwind. I watched your arrival on video. And I understand why you might be reluctant to introduce yourselves. You are business rivals of sorts.” He turned his palms up. “But there are no business rivals here. We’re all friends. So I’ll break the ice.” He pointed to the couple on his right. “Arnold Ving and his charming lady, Cynthia.” Then he went on to name the others. “Don Fowler and Rosalie. Jormo Kardofski and Buffy.”
None of the women appeared to have last names because in Reynard’s world equality of the sexes hadn’t yet been invented. Jack had known that, of course. But hearing it in person was chilling.
He and Maddy were the last to be named, so that Reynard was standing next to them when he finished the introductions and bade his guests mingle.
“I was so looking forward to meeting you and discussing business,” he said to Jack. “But I had no idea your lady was so lovely. Let me extend a special welcome to you, my dear.” He reached for her hand, and there was no way Maddy could refuse the contact.
He held her hand for several seconds too long, then stroked a beautifully manicured thumb over her knuckles before releasing her.
“Maddy. Is that short for Madeleine?”
“No. My parents were
just plain folks, with just plain tastes,” she answered.
“So where did you and Jack meet?”
She gave the answer they’d rehearsed. “Las Vegas.”
“Were you a showgirl?”
“Oh my, no. I’m not that talented. I was a lounge hostess.”
“I’m sure you’re very talented,” Reynard answered, continuing to eye her with a sexually predatory look that sent a zing of alarm knifing through Jack. She might not be the most beautiful woman in the room, but she had a feminine quality that apparently attracted Reynard.
The man’s eyes flicked back to Jack. “It would be delightful to get together for some fun and games—just the three of us,” he murmured.
Jack was pretty sure he wasn’t suggesting a private session of “Name that Tune.”
Hoping the sudden knot of ice in the pit of his stomach didn’t show on his face, he stepped closer to Maddy and slipped an arm possessively around her shoulder. “My lady and I have a very special relationship. I don’t share her with anyone else.”
Reynard smiled, but the smile didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s always a challenge to encounter a man who stands on his principles.”
“Um,” Jack answered, deliberately running his hand up and down Maddy’s bare arm, feeling the fine hairs ripple. Not from his touch, he surmised. From Reynard’s obvious interest.
Just great! It was clear the man had taken a fancy to her.
Reynard kept his pale eyes on her for several more seconds, then gestured to the rest of the patio. “Well, I should personally greet my other guests. My welcoming cocktail party is at seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“We won’t. And I deeply appreciate your having asked us here,” Jack added, the words almost sticking in his throat. Then he murmured, “We had to get up early to catch your flight. Would it be possible to relax in our room for the afternoon?”
“Certainly. Your checked luggage has already been sent to your villa.” He flicked a hand toward one of the uniformed attendants stationed around the room, and the man trotted over.
“Sir?”
“Henri, show Mr. Craig and his companion to their quarters.”
“Yes, sir.”
As their host strolled toward Fowler and his woman, Maddy let out a little breath. Jack slid his hand down and caught her fingers in his.
“I’ve been looking forward to getting you alone,” he whispered as Henri took their carry-on luggage.
She gave him a grateful nod, and they followed Henri out of the patio area and into a landscaped garden that would have taken his breath away if he’d had any to spare.
How many men did it take to maintain the island’s grounds, he wondered as he spotted several gardeners in green overalls. One was plucking yellowed vegetation from plants. Another was raking up leaves that had fallen on the ground. And a third was planting masses of small pink flowers.
He looked up as they passed, his interest more than casual. Well, that was logical, since some of the gardeners were probably from the security force—dressed in workmen’s uniforms.
The path, made of flat limestone rocks cemented together, wound across a golf-course-quality lawn bordered by a riot of flowers, then into the cool shade of a manicured tropical forest where parrots watched them from perches scattered through the foliage.
“Leg or breast man?” one of the parrots squawked.
Jack laughed, glad the bird’s off-color comment had broken some of the tension.
“Bedroom eyes,” another chimed in.
“Naughty birds!” Maddy said, the comment imitated by one of the feathered commentators.
“I guess he’s got them trained the way he wants them,” Jack answered. Like the rest of his minions, he silently added.
There were side paths with signs pointing to various structures whose pastel stucco walls and red tile roofs were vaguely visible beyond the foliage. “Hibiscus Cottage. Jasmine Cottage. Plumbago Cottage.”
Henri took a path toward “Agapanthus Cottage.”
Lily of the Nile, Jack thought as he caught sight of the lavender flowers on their tall stalks—planted in beds along the front of a large one-story Spanish-style house.
“Here you are, sir,” Henri said, bending to unlock the door, then handing the key to Jack.
Maddy was quiet as the attendant showed them around the sumptuous interior—pointing out the well-stocked bar and the VCR in the large living room, the lighting controls at the built-in bedside tables, the king-sized marble bathroom with its separate glass-enclosed shower and huge soaking tub.
Did the VCR come with a supply of tapes like the one from the plane, Jack wondered, unable to snuff out a stab of arousal as he remembered the scene he and Maddy had watched together.
His attention snapped back to Henri who was flipping through the Orchid Island brag book, showing off the glossy photographs.
He closed the leather cover and swept his hand around the room. “Is everything satisfactory, sir?”
“Perfectly.” Reaching into his pocket, Jack brought out his wallet and extracted a twenty-dollar bill, but it was quickly waved away.
“No need to tip here, sir. Mr. Reynard takes excellent care of the staff. Is there anything else I can get you? If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call. My pager number is 53.”
“Will do,” Jack answered heartily as he watched Henri head toward the door.
THE RECEPTION WAS STILL in full swing when Oliver excused himself, pleased with the way his guests were loosening up. Two stunning women had been flagrantly offered to him, and he might have accepted the offers, if he wasn’t lusting after Maddy Griffin.
Taking hold of Sabina’s leash, he led her back to the small zoo he’d had stocked with interesting animals from around the world—all in facsimiles of their natural habitats.
After turning his pet over to the zoologist who ran the place, he headed back to his private quarters, thinking about how well everything had gone at the reception. In his mind’s eye, he pictured the setting and the people, then narrowed his focus to Jack Craig. The man was a tough customer. And he seemed to have developed a strong attachment to his sweet little companion.
Still, there must be a way to persuade him to share, because one thing Oliver knew: he was going to have Maddy Griffin before she left the island.
So what were Craig’s weaknesses? He went back to the folders on his desk, finding nothing he’d overlooked. Well, there was more he could discover on the man. He just had to keep asking questions of the right people. He debated booting his computer and getting in touch with some of his contacts on the mainland.
No, there would be time enough for that later. It might be more interesting to see how they were enjoying their first few minutes of privacy on the island.
He walked down a short hall and into a darkened room that looked much like the control room of a television studio.
There was a duplicate room in the security building, where his men were randomly monitoring the activities in the guest quarters, as well as in selected public areas of the complex. All of the feeds were being recorded on videotape. And all of the screens could be controlled independently at this location and the security monitoring station.
In addition, there were microphones he could switch on independently, in case the video monitors went down—which had happened on occasions.
Some of the screens on the opposite wall were blank. Others showed views of rooms in the guest cottages and visitor’s wing of the main house. Jack Craig and Maddy Griffin had been assigned to Agapanthus Villa, one of the most luxurious. Sitting down at the console, he flicked several switches and brought in a view of the living room—where he found the occupants standing, facing each other.
Leaning back, he watched the scene with interest. Too bad Maddy was facing away from the camera.
THE MOMENT SHE HEARD the front door close behind the man who had shown them to the villa, Maddy turned toward Jack, opened her mouth to speak. He wasn’t sure what she
was going to say. But the look of distress in her blue eyes told him that he couldn’t risk any hidden microphones picking up her comments. Or any hidden cameras catching him clamping a hand over her lips.
So before she could get any words out, he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms, his mouth coming down over hers.
The kiss was a calculated strategy to keep her from giving away any information to security guards who might be listening, but he wasn’t prepared for the bolt of sensation that shot through him.
Before this morning, he hadn’t touched her in days, and as soon as they’d stepped into the sexually charged atmosphere of the airport waiting room, he’d known he’d made a mistake. The admission had taken on clarity as they’d viewed the erotic video. Not exactly porn. It was more suave than that. At least until the woman had gone down on her knees and started giving the guy head.
That had been too damn much for him. Way too much, under the circumstances.
The movie had primed his pump. But not as much as the feel and the taste of Maddy. Greedy for more, he gathered her in, reveling in the sensation of rubbing his mouth back and forth against hers, sipping, stroking, then taking her lower lip between his teeth and nibbling.
It was gratifying to discover that she was as caught up in the kiss as he. He heard a little sound well from deep in her throat, a sound that incited him to riot.
The kiss went from smoldering to flash point in the space of heartbeats. He angled his head, his mouth hungry and demanding, his hands sliding down her back to cup her bottom and pull her middle against his aching erection.
He felt her small hands anchor themselves against his shoulders so that she could press her body more tightly to his.
It seemed that wasn’t enough. For either one of them. When he felt her grind her hips against him, he went from civilized man to primitive male. A male hell-bent on claiming his mate.
