It seemed once again she had no choice. Once when she was but a child of eight, her father, Madelyne, and herself went on a holiday, visiting her father's friend in a distant parish. Madelyne had taken her to a lake for a picnic and there she had witnessed a father teaching his son to swim. She would never forget the boy's scream as his father quite literally tossed him in deep water to sink or swim. The boy nearly drowned too; he splashed and splashed, desperately trying to keep above water. It was actually Madelyne's frantic cries that finally convinced the bewildered father that his boy was going to sink rather than swim.
Her own experience of being submerged beneath water and unable to breathe pressed on her consciousness as well. She had imagined Justin tossing her into deep water like that father had done to his son. But he did no such thing.
Justin first showed her how to float. She was startled by this. She didn't even realize the first time he slipped his hands from her and yet there she was— floating on the surface of the water and effortlessly too! After a few times, she came up laughing and, instantly, his hands were there to hold her up again.
He showed her how the muscles in his body were too heavy and therefore prevented him from floating. Yet he could still swim. She had a definite advantage, which he taught her to use. Within a hour he had her gliding from the shallows to him and back again. She began moving her arms and legs and soon she was swimming.
After the longest distance, Christina stepped up on shore and turned back to him. Oh, Justin." She smiled with a different kind of triumph. "It is fun! I never thought I could do it... I thought... well, I just never knew it would be so easy."
Justin was hardly listening. After two short weeks, her petticoat had long since been torn irreparably. All she wore was the chemise cut to a short skirt and, wet now, it was transparent. Every ounce of her was revealed.
He stepped back a few paces but then saw her apprehension. "Come on now, you can do it," he encouraged. "This will be the last time."
She bit her lip nervously, but with a courageous dip, she glided out and began kicking and kicking and kicking. Just as she was about to panic, she felt his hands reach under her arms and she was pulled safely to him. She came up laughing, breathless and laughing, as she braced her hands against his broad shoulders. But then his strong arms wrapped around her and he pulled her hard against the smooth muscles of his body, shocking her with the hard swell of him on her body.
Justin chuckled lightly at her response, knowing somehow that no matter how many times he made love to her, he would always see that look of innocent surprise at his desire. Which had nothing to do with what followed, for in all his years never had a woman's desire met his own like Christina's. It was all so unexpected from her. Her innocence mixed with a hidden sensuality and, taken together, it was an alarmingly potent mixture.
It was just a moment but in that small space of time she was aware of everything. The setting sun cast them in an unearthly glow and the cool water seemed to warm in stages. She was aware of him, of the power and strength of the hands gently caressing her back, of his gaze darkening with intensity and bearing into her.
His arms crossed over her back as his hands brushed through her wet hair. He pulled gently, and her head tilted back with the offering of her lips, parted and inviting.
Then his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her with a raw animallike passion. Their tongues met, played, teased. Her arms tightened around him to draw him closer and, in acknowledgment, he pressed his mouth to hers even harder. Fire swept through him as she yielded to the hunger of his kiss, her entire being at once melting into him.
She had not a thought, only feeling, emotions, sensations. His passion radiated from his huge frame, engulfing her, then sweeping through her. Her blood raced and her heart pounded; she was lost to him.
"God, how I want you," he whispered, his lips brushing against hers, stopping to catch, then gently biting hers. The feeling was definitely reciprocated but she could not for her life speak through the force of all she felt. She wanted his lips again and desperately but they were suddenly elusive, brushing over the contours of her face, moving down along her neck.
She closed her eyes, washed in sweet shivers of heated anticipation. His lips never left her skin, except as he unraveled the laces of her chemise and pulled it over her head. He tossed it to the shore. Through the veil of water he watched a flush of anticipation rise visibly over her. He pulled her makeshift undergarments from her legs, and these too were tossed to the shore.
Desire burst into a crescendo of need. His hands came over her form, keeping her to him while he caressed the inviting curves. Her flesh ignited beneath the hunger of his hands and the insistence of his lips drank the moisture of her skin.
She cried softly for him, arching her slender hips against him where he now held her, lifting her higher. His lips traveled over her skin, sparking small chills, yet she felt her blood would burn through her skin. His mouth found her breast and he played there softly at first but then with a pressing hunger that sent shudders through her.
Warmth gushed through her in waves. The loving assault of his knowing hands and mouth continued until she was crying, crying for all of him. He would not deny her. His arms crossed over her back again, pinning her soft body to him, pressing her breasts against the wide expanse of his chest, then lifting her legs around his waist. She tensed as he parted her, felt a swirl of water rush into her before he lifted her hips for his entry. She wrapped her arms and legs around him tightly and cried softly as she felt the smooth hot pressure of him sliding back and forth over her. That exquisite pleasure pulsated through her, rising, cresting, falling, only to rise again and again.
He finally answered her soft maddening cries and slipped long and hard into her. Instantly he stopped, and for one long unbelievable moment, they clung to each other desperately, startled by the intensity of feeling brought by their joining. Then he shifted, moving with a deliberate slowness, lifting her all the way from him before slowly filling her.
There was a wild untamed carnal element to this love, coming less from the surrounding jungle and more from the sudden unleashing of desire. The force of unleashing intensified and she was crying, clinging, trying to keep him to her, afraid of what was over- whelming her. But he was kissing her and she him, with a kiss that did not stop until breathing was all but impossible. His own desire forced a harder and faster pace and finally, mercifully, ripples of pleasure exploded in her, washing mind, body, and soul and she was swooning, drowning, unaware of his last thrust, the violent shudder of his huge body in her.
The sun had sunk beneath the horizon, leaving them amidst the soft darkening colors of twilight. She could not, would not, let go of him. She knew only that the feel of his body on hers was as essential as air. And there was no other thought.
For a long while Justin held her gently, caressing her back, staring at her intently. Despite the great warmth between them, a warmth that defied both elements and explanation, he knew she'd be chilled soon, and without a word, he led her out of the water.
Justin pulled on his breeches and went to fetch her clothes. She felt his gaze still watching her and feeling suddenly shy, blushing because of it. She looked up with a start when he chuckled.
"Christina, it's not as though seeing any part of you is... ah, novel to me."
She couldn't meet his eyes as he fitted the still damp chemise over her, first pulling her wet hair from beneath, then tying the tattered laces of the front. He couldn't tell what she was thinking until she said in a frightened whisper, "You must think I'm terribly... forward."
"Forward?" He searched her face incredulously, then chuckled warmly.
She turned from him, embarrassed, wishing she had never said anything, but Justin caught her arm and while he was obviously amused by her train of thought, he apologized. "I'm sorry, Christina, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just that I think of you as anything but forward."
She hardly knew what this meant and she would li
ke to know what he did think of her, of how easily she succumbed to his touch, his kisses. She had learned she could not stop herself and now wondered why she would even want to, for nothing in the whole of her world meant as much to her as the intimacy of his lovemaking.
She wondered if all women felt this way, if she was different... or special to him. Sometimes she felt his love wrap around her, enclosing her to him with a near tangible force, and yet he had never declared it.
Justin watched the play of emotions across her face and read the uncertainty of her thoughts. "Come here." He smiled as he sat against a large boulder alongside the waterfall on the mossy bank. She came to him, fitted perfectly between his legs. She leaned against his warmth, waiting for what he would say.
"I too easily forget the limits of your background," he first said. "Nothing in your life could have prepared you for what has happened; it is all so new to you.
She nodded slowly. This was true.
Thinking of this made him smile. He had three older half-sisters and he knew how proper young English girls were raised—in a prison of ignorance. They were given books to read with titles like, Every Christian Wife's Duty, books that alluded to the "unpleasant" price a woman must bear for her husband's sanity. Unless the girl caught sight of a chambermaid tumbling with the stablehand, she wasn't going to know just what this unpleasant aspect of her duty was until the very night of her wedding. He supposed this was all very well for those women who— either owing to their nature or their husbands—were never going to experience the pleasure of love.
Obviously this was not Christina's case.
"Yes," he said, more to himself, "you were raised to be courted by some well-intentioned and honest young man, to be married before you gave yourself, all those things I'm not in a position to give you now. The odd thing is," he mused thoughtfully, "had I met you under normal circumstances it would never have happened. I would never have known to find you in a shy, very proper young lady. I know it's hard for you." His voice softened as his hand tenderly brushed her face. "I know I forced you to love me—"
She looked away, wanting to deny the truth but unable to.
"Don't worry." He chuckled affectionately at this. "I'm not apologizing for it. I'd have to regret it to apologize and I don't; not for a minute. I do hope to someday make it up to you but, until then, you should know that, yes, I have fallen very much in love with you."
She searched his face to ascertain the truth of this and when she did, love swiftly, forcibly filled her. Her arms fitted around his neck and he held her tightly.
For what seemed an eternity, they remained in each other's arms, content with the completeness of the moment. These moments made her forget the harsh reality of another Justin. A reality that would continue to come back to her like a hard slap in the face.
Nightfall began to encroach on the soft colors of twilight. The first stars appeared in the violet sky and sounds of the jungle gradually diminished. The silence was broken only by the barest whisper of a breeze, the steady trickle of the waterfall and, in the far distance, the sounds of everyone gathering on the beach for supper.
"Justin!"
They both sat up to see Jacob standing at the edge of the pond's clearing beneath the light of a torch.
"It's Diego," he said, his face masked with pained concern. "He's worse and Cajun's afraid to knock him out again. I think we should move him for a while."
Christina watched Justin rise and leave with Jacob, without a glance back. Diego Santiago was not a subject anyone mentioned, especially to Justin, though now she knew why. Once she had overheard one of Justin's men say that it was beyond his comprehension how Justin could stand to keep Diego alive, that the man should be killed. But Justin, she knew, could not harbor such cruel sentiments, for obviously Diego's horrible agony was retribution enough for any crime the poor man had committed. Justin rose above his personal animosity to exercise mercy.
Christina pulled herself into a tight ball, watching the darkness descend around her and selfishly not wanting to leave the quiet sanctity of the pond for the beach where she would witness Diego Santiago's suffering. She wanted to escape into the preciousness of those last moments with Justin.
It was too late. The thought of Diego Santiago sent her thoughts in tumult. How many times had they all been awakened in the middle of the night to hear his agonized cries? And how many times had she desperately sought a means, any means, of easing that poor man's agony? But as Cajun said, nothing could be done. There were no medicines or pain killers and, indeed, no one even knew the cause of his suffering. He grew weaker each day and as he grew weaker, his pain seemed to grow stronger. It was the dark side of the island and at times unbearable for her. The worst thing she ever felt was the helplessness of watching someone suffer and not being able to do anything about it.
Though, oddly, no one was tormented by Diego as Justin was. He often spent long hours alone with him and he cared for Diego himself, all this despite the mysterious crime Diego had committed against him. They had once been friends too, she knew, for Justin often alluded to Diego when he told her stories from his past. He had met Diego at a boarding school for the sons of European wealthy aristocratic families and, when he was but fourteen, he and Diego ran away to seek the romantic adventures they had read about of a life at sea. They had remained together ever since until—
Until what? What had Diego done that Justin and his men refused to talk about? It must have been horrible if they could not even name it. She had once asked Justin what crime Diego committed. She would never forget Justin's face then; he took on a strange haunted look. "As long as I live," he had finally answered, "I will be asking that question. Why Diego—" He never finished and, instead, had suddenly got up and left their tent.
A dark shape suddenly appeared in front of her and she started, then cried, "Beau! You scared me!" Beau whimpered and thumped his tail as though in apology. She accepted and reached out to pet him. The second she touched his fur, she withdrew. He was covered with a sticky substance.
"Oh, Beau! What did you catch?" she asked, half scolding, as she stood up. "Go on, get in the water." She pointed. Beau barked but complied and pranced over to the pond, plunging ungracefully into the water. He then assumed a sitting position in the shallows, waiting her next instruction.
Christina stepped to his side and gently pushed his head under the water, rinsing his coat of the blood. She could not imagine how a dog of his size could catch anything. One would think creatures knew he was coming for miles around.
She rinsed her hand off and looked apprehensively toward the beach. "Come on," she said. "We should be going back."
At night everyone congregated in a large circle around the blazing campfire for supper. A half dozen tall torches stuck in the sand and threw bright light over the area to give a festive air to the congregational site. Christina found dinner well on its way; all of Justin's men gathered round the pit, talking, eating, drinking.
Justin and Cajun were noticeably absent. Upon seeing her, both Hanna and Elsie jumped up to greet her with the exciting news.
"We were just on our way ta find ye," Elsie first said.
"Did Justin tell you?" Hanna asked. Christina shook her head and Hanna grabbed her hand to lead her away from the fire to the treasure. "They got your trunk up today! All our things: brushes and clothes, two blankets, and even a glass!"
"My books!"
Upon inspection though, it seemed most of the books were ruined by the salt water. The clothes, too, would need a good rinsing or two before they could ascertain the extent of their damage. Jacob cautioned them against unpacking that night, for on the morrow they were all moving to the caves.
Since they were finished salvaging from the sunken ship, they were going to move about three miles south. Christina had not yet seen the caves, but Jacob had taken Hanna one day and the way Hanna described the lagoon and caves and waterfalls made their new home sound like the royal palace. Whether grand or not, it would
certainly be an improvement over the makeshift tents.
The three women joined the circle around the campfire and Christina had just finished serving up a healthy portion of the fish stew when Justin and Cajun returned. She felt his tension and one look at the sharp features of his face outlined in the firelight spoke of trouble. She quickly fetched two more large shells, served up the fish stew, and handed the food to Justin and Cajun both.
The men sensed the tension as well and the din of conversation seemed to quiet somewhat for a while. Christina finished eating and leaned forward, kneeling on her hands and knees to snatch a coconut from the pile. Justin suddenly cursed and her gaze lifted to find herself the recipient of his angry stare. Instinctively, not knowing what she had done to deserve it, she started back, but he dropped his food and caught her retreat, pulling her in front of him.
"For a young lady who was all blushes and confusion over her immodest state just two weeks ago, you have come far, too far," he said in a low voice so as not to be overheard by anyone, save Cajun at his side. "The only reason I spent two days to bring up your trunk was to see you in something that doesn't solicit lascivious stares from my men. And I want to see you in that something else no later than the morrow."
Feeling blood rush to her face and her lip start to tremble, Christina barely managed a nod. Justin saw this and made no move to comfort her. He wanted to frighten her. Lascivious hardly described the stares of the three men across the fire upon seeing her provocative, all too innocent pose in that flimsy costume. It was a simple matter—either get her clothed or start knocking off his men.
The hot sting of tears filled her eyes and she desperately tried to recover enough to retreat. She could not believe it was him, that he would speak to her like that, and she wished fervently she owned the strength to voice the hundred defensive rebukes in her mind. She had gotten used to immodesty, everyone had, and neither Hanna nor Elsie were any less indecent than she. She didn't think anyone stared at her like that. He made it sound as though she was a... a—
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