by Cherry Adair
"He didn't say anything else?"
"Lots of really complimentary stuff." Her sarcasm made him feel better. She might look like hell, but she was still Tally. "But he never did get around to saying exactly why he was so bent on killing me."
"Christ. You must have a hell of a life insurance policy."
"Not that great, and I can promise you, Bouchard's name is nowhere on it."
"Who, then? Your father?"
"My two goddaughters. If I were to die, everything I own goes to my best friend, Marty's, two girls."
Michael bet whatever Bouchard was up to had everything to do with Trevor Church. The man had a knack for bringing out a person's homicidal tendencies.
"Sorry. This is going to hurt." He dabbed the wet cloth on the cut on Tally's forehead. She remained stoic beneath his hand, but he could tell by the way the skin beneath her eyes flinched it hurt like hell. His jaw hurt from grinding his teeth, but he kept his hands businesslike and gentle.
The bastard had really done a number on her. Michael was more concerned with the look in her eyes and her bewilderment than with the numerous scrapes and scratches on her otherwise creamy skin. She had a fat lip, but the bleeding had stopped. She bore faint finger marks on her throat—Bouchard would pay for those—and had a knob rising on her forehead.
"Get these panic attacks often?" he asked, running his hand through her dark, silky curls to massage her scalp. She leaned into him, trying valiantly to regulate her breathing.
"I used to get them a lot as a kid." She dropped her head to give him better access to her neck, her breath still a little huffy. "Not so much anymore. They're terrifying. I hate having them."
"Why don't you take something for them?"
"I thought I'd grown out of them. Damn, I'd hoped I'd grown out of them."
"I'd say circumstances lately have helped bring 'em back with a vengeance."
"No kidding! God, I should write my memoirs when I get home." She rotated her neck, and he continued stroking until he felt her muscles ease a little.
"You want to know what it feels like?" Tally asked, rubbing her clammy forehead against his chest like a cat. "It's as if you were dead asleep, and woke up in the middle of the night to find the monster under your bed standing right there. Looking at you. About to eat you whole." She shuddered. "You know monsters don't exist, but your body does that whole fight-or-flight thing."
Monsters existed, all right. You just had to know where to look. "Floods your system with adrenaline," Michael murmured. He surreptitiously glanced at his watch. It felt as though a full day had passed, but it was barely eleven in the morning. Sunlight from the porthole filtered through the blinds, striping the bed and Tally's smooth, olive skin.
Smooth skin that was bleeding, abraded, and bruised. His jaw ached with suppressed anger. "How you doing now?"
"Okay. Thanks."
He tossed the rag in the bowl of water. "I think it would be quicker, and more efficient, if you took a shower. Half the beach is glued in the blood on some of these cuts and scrapes. Stand under the spray for a while, soak everything clean. Then I can see to doctoring up the damage."
"Good idea." Tally struggled to sit up.
"Want me to come help you?" Michael asked, helping her swing her legs over the side of the bed.
"Yes." Her lopsided smile was like a punch in the gut. "But there isn't room for both of us in there. I'll be okay. Ow. Ow. Ow!" She limped over, and opened the narrow door into the head. Even her small, heart-shaped ass had a bruise and several scrapes on it.
He clenched his teeth. "Use plenty of soap."
She gave him a weak salute before shutting the door. A few seconds later he heard the shower turn on.
Michael looked at his watch. Christ, the timing couldn't be worse. Church would be arriving soon.
What the hell was he going to do with Tally? He grabbed up the control detonator and took it topside.
The original plan didn't seem nearly as appealing as it had several days ago. She'd already been beaten to a pulp physically. Was he really so far gone he'd use her to make what he'd planned for her father that much sweeter?
Shit. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around, trying to decide where to secure the control. Man. He was tempted to throw the sucker far and deep. But one never knew when something like this might come in handy.
He opened the hidden compartment where he'd secreted the satchel and set the small box far in the back. No one would find it there.
She was humming in the shower. Not a happy tune. An off-key, rather pathetic little dirge that, inexplicably, made him want to laugh. He shook his head.
She hadn't been part of his original plan. It would be simple to exclude her from the updated version. He didn't need her. He didn't have to use her. Fuck. He didn't want to use her. Simple as that. It would make him no better than the piss-faced bastard who'd tried to kill her.
Michael took what he needed from the first-aid kit and laid the supplies on the table with a surgeon's precision. Next, he needed ice. And plenty of it.
A towel wrapped around her, Tally emerged from the shower ten minutes later, damp and dewy. Her nose was pink, her eyes a little more puffy than before. The adrenaline still pumped through her system.
He scanned her pinched features as he handed her a can of cola. "Take a shot of sugar and caffeine."
"Thanks." Her fingers trembled slightly as she took the can. She might be scared out of her gourd, she might've bawled in the privacy of the shower, but she wasn't going to fall apart like a wet Kleenex.
She chugged half the can, then rested the cold metal against her swollen lip. "I didn't notice before—you're all dressed up."
"Jeans are dressed up?"
"On you, yeah. What's the occasion?"
"Only thing clean in my wardrobe." The long pants and untucked Hawaiian shirt would soon cover an arsenal of weapons. Now that T-Day had arrived, he'd be loaded for bear. "Come back here and lie down."
She put the can down on the table. "You know what I'd really like before I do?"
"What?"
"I'd like you to hold me. Tight."
"Honey, I'm scared I'll hurt you."
She slid her arms about his waist and pressed her face against his chest. "You won't hurt me. And I don't care. I just need to know I'm alive." She used one hand to unbutton his shirt, then rested her hot cheek against his bare skin. Michael felt the dampness of her tears, and wanted to howl.
Very carefully he wrapped both arms around Tally's slender body and pulled her as close as he dared.
She lifted her face, and he placed his mouth on hers. Gently, softly.
Tally stood on her toes for better access. He slid his tongue inside the warm cavern of her mouth, and resisted pulling her up hard against his body as he felt her moan vibrate from her lips to his.
The towel, wrapped around her, slipped to the floor. Instead of touching her bare body, Michael cupped her face in both hands. Her skin was baby smooth, warm to the touch, and damp from her tears. He ran his thumbs across her cheekbones and gently swirled his tongue around hers. Tally pressed closer, returning the kiss with more urgency. He tried to slow it down. She'd taken a real licking, and he was afraid he'd hurt her more than she was already.
She slid her hands up his back, giving him goose bumps as she rubbed her palms erotically up and down under his shirt. Her mouth slid from his, and she peppered his chin with kisses. "Make love to me, Michael."
"Tally—"
"Please?" She stepped away from him. Gloriously, un-self-consciously naked, Tally took his hand and led him back to the bed. "I want your hands on me. I want to feel the way you make me feel. I want to wipe away the fear."
"Making love isn't going to make that go away."
"It will for a little while."
Michael allowed her to draw him onto the bed. Tally wiggled down to lie flat, and he braced a knee next to her on the mattress. "Don't let me hurt you."
"You won't. Come to me."
She held up her arms, and he lay down beside her, wrapping her in his strong embrace.
Her heart swelled with emotion strong enough to bring tears to her eyes. She pressed her face to the center of his chest, breathing in the musky, familiar smell of him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.
Oh, God. I really do love him!
She snuck a small taste with a snake-like dart of her tongue. His skin was salty. She experimented with a longer lick. Deliciously salty.
Moisture pooled between her legs. She lifted her face and searched for his mouth, kissing him with growing desperation. She wanted to consume him. She wanted him to consume her. Their tongues twirled and stroked, imitating the mating dance, until Tally had to take a break for air. She sucked oxygen into her lungs, her face buried against his neck, and blindly reached for his belt buckle.
Which happened to be undone, thank you very much, saving her a step. She skimmed her palm down his washboard abs, down inside the front of his jeans. From smooth, taut skin to crisp hair. He sucked in a ragged breath as her fingers slid under his BVDs to close around his pulsing shaft.
"It's mind-boggling that something this size can fit inside me so perfectly," Tally told him, her eyes gleaming avariciously. That look made him pulse and twitch in her hand.
He wanted a glib comeback: "One size fits all." His heart refused to lie. They were perfect in bed, and if he lived through one more day, he'd miss her for the rest of his life.
Tally wiggled down to lie next to him, arm draped across his chest as she started kissing him. Anyplace she could reach was fair game. She licked and nibbled on his earlobe, loving the way his body shuddered. She nipped and tasted the muscular curve of his shoulder and the smooth skin between shoulder and neck.
And all the while the lady had her small hand neatly tucked down his pants. Michael just about came up off the bed as her fingers slid over the head of his penis and, finding moisture there, used it to lubricate her hand's slide and glide. She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw as he gritted his teeth. She met his gaze and gave him a slow, wicked smile, increasing the pressure until his eyes almost crossed.
"I figure," Tally told him with a saucy smile, "as long as I'm holding on to your dipstick, I am the boss of you."
Michael chuckled as he skimmed his jeans down his legs, kicked them to the floor, and then turned back to Tally. She was more than ready for him. Slick and wet, and close to finishing without him. "Hurry!"
He handed her a rubber. With trembling fingers, Tally glided the lubricated sheath over the head of his penis, then unrolled it down the curved length.
He wasted no time. As soon as the job was done, he slid over her and, with one hand, guided himself, with excruciating slowness, deep inside her, before he supported his weight on his arms.
Tally tilted her hips, then sucked in a breath. For a few seconds, neither of them moved. The sensation of Michael filling her, stretching her, was so sweet, the feeling so sharp, she couldn't bear to move.
"Okay?" he asked.
In answer, she drew up her knees and felt the glide of him deep inside until he almost touched her cervix. Tally muffled a scream of pleasure against his shoulder.
He stroked slowly, once, twice. Her body clenched, and she dug her nails into his back as every particle of her body coiled tight as a spring. Tighter. Higher. Impossibly higher.
She wrapped her ankles around his hips, and felt the bunch and clench of his butt under her heels as he pistoned his hips and nailed her to the mattress.
Her release was stunning in its intensity; Michael covered her mouth with his and swallowed her scream.
In the next instant, his body stiffened, every muscle rigid. He wrenched his mouth away from hers and, head back, grit his teeth. Tally held tightly on to his bucking body with her arms and legs as he came.
She slept against his side, their slick bodies glued together. Michael resisted cupping the gentle swell of her breast, pressed against him, and looked at his watch instead.
Twelve-thirty.
He couldn't lie here all day. He had things to do and places more important to be. And he knew Tally could have no part in any of it.
It was too damn late to ship her off to one of the neighboring islands. He ran through who was left on the island. Anyone he might trust with her safety.
Auntie and Henri.
Maybe.
Dare he risk her safety, perhaps her life, on a "maybe"?
Hell, no.
He stroked her hair off her face, and she woke up immediately and gave him a soft smile. "Is it morning?"
"It's lunchtime, same day. We need to be heading back in."
Her eyes clouded, and she gave him a worried look. "I've got to tell you, I don't feel really great about confronting Arnaud again. He wasn't kidding around. If it hadn't been for Leli'a thinking we were having sex on the beach, I'd be a floater like poor Lu. And Brian."
"If I showed you how, do you think you could handle the Nemesis?" The idea was preposterous. Fatu Hiva was several hundred miles away across open water.
"Handle it to do what?"
"I think you should go to one of the other islands until you can get a flight out."
"As much as I'd love to take you up on the offer, there're two things preventing it. One, I haven't a clue how to steer a boat. Two, I'm here to see my father." She rose and went to dig through his clothes for something to wear.
She found a pair of black shorts and a black T-shirt. Held up a clean pair of BVDs and, when he nodded, pulled them on.
Seeing Tally in nothing but his underwear made Michael hard all over again. She pulled the black shorts up her legs, covering the sight, then yanked the T-shirt over her head.
"I didn't come all this way to not see him. Whether my father expects me or not, I'm here now. I think—God, I hope—Trevor will be happy to see me. I have to find out."
"Will you at least agree to stay aboard the Nemesis while I search out Bouchard?"
"Gladly."
Michael still weighed the risk of trusting Henri to get her away safely. Goddamn it. He shouldn't have been such a stubborn, self-serving prick. He should've gotten rid of Tally from the start.
He stretched above her head and opened a narrow door in the teak paneling she hadn't noticed before, and removed an object. "Know how to use this?"
Tally stared at the big black gun, making no effort to take it. The weapon looked far too at home in Michael's big hand. She glanced from the gun to Michael and back again. "Not only do I not know how to use a gun, I wouldn't. I hate those things."
"Let's go topside. I want to show you how to use it. If Bouchard comes anywhere near you, point and shoot."
"Better show me how to pull the trigger with my eyes closed," Tally said with a grimace. "I don't think I can actually shoot anyone. Okay, maybe Arnaud. Unfortu—"
With a warning look, Michael clamped a hand across her mouth. She stared up at him wide-eyed, heart in her throat, as the lights flickered, then dimmed, then flickered again.
He brought a finger to his mouth for silence, then jabbed it toward the deck above their heads. "Someone's coming," he said on a mere breath. The lights flickered faster.
Tally listened. She couldn't hear a thing.
She'd never seen him move so fast. In seconds he had another gun in his hand, as well as other assorted weapons. She stared at him.
Who was this man?
Not the lazy sail bum she'd thought.
This Michael was cold-eyed and efficient as he checked his weapons. His eye narrowed, his jaw tightened. Tally decided if she were a bad guy she'd be running for the hills about now. He didn't so much as glance at her as he swiftly opened the same hidden locker, and removed a knife in its sheath, and strapped it to his ankle beneath his jeans.
He tucked another gun into the back of his waistband, under his loose shirt, and motioned with the one in his hand for her to go back into the bedroom. "Lock the door," he mouthed.
Tally darted into the st
ateroom, watching his stealthy progress across the galley for a second or two before she softly closed the door. And locked it.
Chapter Seventeen
« ^ »
Michael stood in the wheelhouse of the Nemesis. The sleek Italian lines of the hundred-foot Mangusta motor yacht looked familiar as she cut through the water on a fast approach starboard. Michael didn't need to see the name on the prow. They'd been refitting the Beautiful Dreamer the day he'd arrived on Paradise. She now sported a discreet gun deck, and four high-powered speedboats hanging from the lifeboat stations.
Because of his brother-in-law's electronic genius, the Nemesis was capable of outracing the twin-engine, 1,450 HP diesel engine of the motor yacht. Just. But Beautiful Dreamer was too close to make a clean getaway. And those gun turrets were a hefty deterrent.
Shit.
There was only one reason the other vessel wasn't opening fire.
The pulse generator detonator.
Arnaud would have searched for the device on the beach. Not finding it, he would have realized Tally had picked it up. And since Michael had Tally onboard with him, the bad guys wouldn't blow up the Nemesis. At least not until they had the detonator in hand. As long as he and Tally knew the location of the control device, they had a chance of staying alive.
Unknowingly, Tally had saved their asses.
Michael opened the door from the wheelhouse. Arms crossed, he waited for their arrival with forced casualness.
The Beautiful Dreamer was a sight to behold as she approached, her white paint gleaming in the sun. Michael had visited a friend on his Mangusta years ago, and now he tried to visualize the interior floor plan and deck configuration as he waited.
Two men efficiently sent over grappling hooks, pulling the two boats snugly side by side. The deck of the Beautiful Dreamer loomed several feet above the deck of the Nemesis.
