Children of Destiny Books 4-6 (Texas: Children of Destiny Book 10)

by Ann Major

  Nicholas was furious with himself. By sleeping with her he had complicated the hell out of an already complex situation. He had planned to spend a week with her at most and be done with her forever.

  She was still asleep. Thank God for that. If only there was some way he could erase their lovemaking, do as she'd asked and let her go in some safe harbor—but she didn't really understand the full extent of the danger. If she returned to London, one of Otto's men might kill her. If she fled, Otto would track her.

  Nicholas had no choice but to stay with her and wait out the crisis until he was sure she would be safe. Once Otto failed to make his interest payments later in the week, he would be receiving so much notoriety that he'd be afraid to make a false move.

  Last night Eva had felt so good, Nicholas got aroused just thinking about it. The memory of her arms and legs wrapped around him, of her muted cry of passion at the end, had driven him wild.

  Not wanting to remember what should never have happened, he grimly turned the wheel hard alee so he could sail around the island and make sure there were no other unwanted visitors moored offshore. When the main sail swung across the deck, he tightened the sheet.

  As he got closer to shore, he forced himself to concentrate on the island, noting how the rare sheltered folds of ground where Marcos cultivated the vines were unusually lush and green. But instead of the island, Nicholas kept remembering the erotic vision of Eva in his bed with her bright hair fanning across his pillows, with the sheet molding her curves.

  His throat went dry with fresh need.

  The ruin of the Roman village at the foot of the cliffs came into view. He scarcely gave it a thought. Nor was he in any mood to admire his stunning house, which had been designed by one of the most famous architects in the world. The top floor of the mansion capped the island; the lower floors were carved into the side of the cliff.

  Nicholas had chosen the island as the perfect hiding place because no one knew that he owned it. The house was equipped with sophisticated electronics—telexes, computers, fax machines, a network of telephone lines and cables—everything he needed to conduct his business and stay abreast of what was happening globally.

  The house was easily accessible to the water; paths led down from the terraces of the house to the beaches and natural swimming pools. More importantly, there was a magnificent cave beneath his home that covered the deepest of these natural pools. There was a hidden elevator cut through solid rock cliff inside the cave. The cave's ceiling was high enough to moor and conceal Rogue Wave even with her tall masts. A narrow cliff path within the cave led to the house so that a man could go up and come down without being seen from the water or air.

  Nicholas always came here alone. The island was a very romantic setting, the worst kind of environment to spend time with a woman a man wanted to avoid.

  Not that Nicholas hadn't anticipated this problem. From the moment he'd seen Eva bathing in Otto's stateroom, she’d stirred every repressed erotic male fantasy he’d ever had of her these past few years.

  Last night when he'd gone to bed, it had taken a superhuman effort to leave her alone. Then she'd sobbed, and her heartbreak had lured him into her arms. Once there, he'd been lost.

  Had she deliberately enticed him? Did she now think she had the upper hand?

  He couldn’t let her dominate him as she had before when he’d longed for her love and a normal life so much he’d allowed her to remold him in the image she had of the ideal man.

  Had she been satisfied? No. She'd shown him then that no matter how he changed, he would never be acceptable. If he hadn't been good enough for her then, he damned sure wasn't now. He was too old to change, too old to risk his heart again—if he still had one.

  The entrance of the cave was very close. Nicholas started the auxiliary engine and switched on the depth finder. When he put the engine in gear, the clutch slipped. Damn. He'd have to get Zak to check that.

  Nicholas pointed the bow into the wind and hollered down below for Zak, who leapt up at once, racing to the foredeck to roll in the jib while Nicholas rolled in the main. Then they pulled out anchors and lines and made them ready. Zak grabbed the boat hook to fend off from the walls of the cave as Nicholas slowed the yacht and headed it toward the tunnel of limestone walls.

  The narrow channel into the cave had been cut through rock reef, its depth so uncertain in places that Zak had to call out constant readings from the depth finder.

  "Twenty feet."

  Rock walls on either side of the cave's entrance jutted dangerously close on both sides.

  "Fifteen."

  Nicholas cut the power.

  "Seven!"

  The Rogue drew five. Nicholas had to steer carefully to keep her in the center of the channel so her keel wouldn't scrape bottom.

  "Six!"

  His breathing stopped when Eva emerged from the cabin to distract him.

  "Five and a half!"

  "Good morning," she whispered dreamily, looking lovely and sleep-mussed, her eyes softly aglow as she smiled, her red, tangled hair glistening in the sunshine as the breeze blew it about her shoulders. She was wearing that bathing suit again that fit—what damned little of her body it covered!—like a silky lavender glove. Nicholas could see jutting nipples, everything—except where the hell to steer. Standing amidships, her exquisite body completely blocked his vision. He felt a warm jolt of pleasure at the sight of her and then fury and panic.

  "Five and a quarter," Zak yelled.

  "Damn it! I can't see through you! Get below," he yelled, cold anger in his voice, "before I wreck her."

  Her radiance dimming, Eva went white. Then her bright tousled head disappeared below.

  Zak shot him a knowing look, further infuriating him.

  "Five and a half. Seven."

  They were over the reef. Safe. Inside the shady concealing coolness of thick limestone walls, the ship's white hull seemed to hang suspended over the crystal-clear waters.

  "Twenty-five."

  Nicholas saw Eva hovering uncertainly halfway down the stairs, her beautiful face ashen, her lovely eyes luminous.

  Nicholas made his voice rougher. "Well, don't just stand there. Come up and help Zak with the dinghy while I set the anchors."

  Without a word, she darted above deck, turned her back on him and helped Zak lower the dinghy at the stern and tie and secure the painter. Zak was unusually kind as he told her what to do.

  Zak’s behavior grated, too. Especially when Zak called her to the foredeck to help stow the jib. Not that Nicholas thought she could be of much real help. But Zak was so patient and instructive that soon she was hanking the halyard to the mast like an expert, with Zak complimenting everything she did so excessively he had Eva beaming and Nicholas scowling.

  Zak went below and helped her prepare breakfast. At the easy camaraderie between them, Nicholas ground his teeth. If Zak were going to cook, he'd have to see to the clutch himself.

  Nicholas's bad leg throbbed from the awkwardness of squeezing himself into a tiny corner of the aft cabin so he could get to the engine. In the galley, Zak and Eva laughed and talked.

  Nicholas tried not to watch them or listen, but every time Zak smiled, every time she laughed at something he said, the knot inside Nicholas's gut wound tighter.

  By the time the three of them sat down to breakfast, Nicholas felt green with jealousy. He’d wanted her to ignore him, but as she passed Zak the marmalade without noticing he hadn't had any, Nicholas felt churlish and sulky.

  Silently eating his unburned eggs, he noted how much better her cooking was. She was a quick learner, and for some reason that made him even madder. As Nicholas endured the constant chatter of his woman and his best friend, his grim tension built.

  As the morning wore on, things got worse.

  No matter how Nicholas wanted to ignore her, he couldn’t. She sang a French love song as she washed the dishes, and her beautiful voice was such a distraction he couldn't do a thing with the transmission. Th
rowing his wrench down in frustration, he cursed when it banged his toe. Not that she so much as looked at him.

  No, she never missed a note. In utter frustration, he gave up on the engine and called Zak over to help him.

  "Hey, don't act so riled. It's just the fluid, man. Here's the leak," Zak purred, his tone superior.

  It nettled Nicholas that she’d stopped singing and had caught every word.

  "If it's so damn easy to fix, you do it," Nicholas growled.

  Wisely Eva disappeared into the forepeak cabin, but Nicholas could hear her bustling about and found it impossible to forget she was there.

  "So what are you going to do about her?"

  Nicholas flashed Zak a dark look.

  "I asked you a question."

  Nicholas grimaced. "Mind your own damn business."

  "Hey, I am. I have to live with the two of you. She cries. You sulk."

  "That's not your problem."

  "It is if I have to live with it."

  Nicholas threw his oil rag to the floor, strode up the stairs and went outside, but Eva, who had opened the forward hatch and climbed out, was already up on the foredeck stretched out on a towel reading a paperback.

  Not that she even looked up.

  Well, he damn sure wouldn't go back below just because she was there.

  Nicholas lowered a bucket and began to wash the cockpit with salt water and a brush. He was scrubbing so furiously he didn't hear her soft approach.

  "Maybe it would help if I went ashore."

  His black head jerked up. "What?"

  The sunlight came from behind her, so he couldn't see how much her boldness was costing her—the color in her cheeks, the over bright flare of hope in her eyes. All he saw was the dark outline of her body, her perfect female shape. All he felt was the unforgivable urge to drag her into his arms and make love to her again. But that was a weakness he was determined not to give in to again.

  "You heard me." Her voice was whispery, nervous. "My presence is obviously driving you crazy."

  "The hell it is." A savage pulse had begun in his throat. "I don't give a damn about you one way or the other."

  The sun blinded him, so he couldn't see her whiten. "Well, then," she said with a studied calmness that infuriated him, "since you don’t have a problem with me, maybe we can start the morning over and try to have a normal conversation."

  "I thought you were reading a book."

  "With you banging about and scowling, I can't seem to get into it." Her voice was slow, husky, and somehow more unnerving than ever.

  "Maybe you haven't tried hard enough."

  "Oh, I’ve tried. I give up. It’s definitely time to surrender." She tossed her book down and sank on her knees beside him, mindless of the book's pages fluttering in the wind. "Is this your private island? Or are we trespassing?"

  Never had she shown him more naked golden skin...except last night. Damn it! He wasn't going to think about that. But her beautiful body was a soft coil of thighs, breasts arms, and he couldn't ignore her. What was she trying to do to him?

  "Yes. It's mine."

  "It's wonderful. Do you come here often?"

  "Only in the summer."

  "With friends?"

  "Alone."

  "Always alone?" she persisted.

  "Damn it. I said it once, didn't I? I like being alone." His last sentence was a careful insult.

  "Oh, you do?"

  Her voice was naive, innocent. It compelled him to look at her. When he did, he felt the golden-brown dazzle of her eyes seeking his. His blood began to beat again, violently. "Look..."

  "You could be alone if I went ashore," she said composedly, looking at him through her lashes.

  "No!"

  "Why do you care, if you want to be alone so much?"

  "I don't, damn it!" What was he saying? "You're to stay because I said so." Even to himself, his sharp answer sounded unreasonable, like that of a child.

  She wouldn't drop it. "I thought I saw a house on top of the island."

  "The house is mine," he snarled.

  "Can't we stay there?"

  "No! A family lives there. Caretakers. A man, a woman, and a child. Stay away from them."

  "I've been on this boat for two nights and two days. I want to go ashore. I want to stand up straight without having to hold on to something. I want to walk on solid ground."

  It was a reasonable request, but he wasn't feeling reasonable.

  "Look. This isn't some pleasure cruise. Otto will be scouring the Mediterranean for us. If he sees you, or any of us, everyone on the island could die— including those people at the house. I want you near me, where I can watch you."

  "I thought I saw a path through the cave."

  "It's too steep and slippery. If you don't know it well, you could fall. One of us would have to go with you." He didn't mention that the cave had a hidden elevator that only he had a key to.

  "Then I'll ask Zak."

  "Leave Zak the hell alone!"

  "Why are you doing this?"

  "Because of the danger."

  "No. I—I don't mean that. I mean why are you being so deliberately hateful? You've been awful all morning. Is all this...because of what happened last night?"

  He couldn't see her tear-laden eyes, but the hurt in her voice cut him dead. Then he told himself that she was doing it again, what she'd done last night, acting vulnerable, bringing out some insane masculine urge in him to protect her.

  He wanted to take her in his arms again, to kiss away the tears, to ease the terrible pain he was inflicting and admit how much he wanted her. But when he spoke his voice was low and hard. "I told you my feelings on the subject. Don't make last night something it wasn't."

  "Then you just used me—to satisfy an appetite?"

  He knew her softness could destroy him. He heard the break in her voice…but he made no denial.

  “Don’t make me say things that will hurt you.”

  He flinched at her sudden intake of breath.

  "And I thought..." Her voice trailed away, bleak, pain-filled.

  "Why are you surprised, when you've always considered me a scoundrel?"

  "No, I never did. And I don't think I ever really believed Otto. Last night, when you were kind, I almost believed that I'd been right about you all along, that I do have the instincts to judge good from evil in men. That there is some remnant of a decent human being left inside you. But I guess… I was wrong…again."

  The heartbreak and anguish in her voice cut him like a knife.

  "You want to be alone!" she cried. "Well, fine—be alone!"

  He heard her misery through the mists of his own pain. He reached toward her, but he was too late. She leapt up, and before he could stop her, she climbed over the lifelines and sprang, her slim form arched in a perfect swan dive into the clear green water.

  "Eva!"

  There was a splash and she disappeared into the crystal depths. Then her bright head broke the surface, and she swam with swift deliberate strokes away from Rogue Wave toward the island—in deliberate defiance. She could have gotten out at a nearby rocky ledge in the cave, but she was too upset to notice. She was swimming through the channel for the beach outside the cave, the only other place a swimmer could emerge safely. It was a long swim, much of it through deep water. There were currents around the island and dangerous undertows. He remembered her terror of deep water and how close she had once come to drowning. She would never have jumped in if she hadn't felt desperate to escape him.

  If anything happened to her...

  He pulled off his shoes and tossed them into the boat. Then he dived in after her. He swam through the channel into open water, but she was nowhere in sight. When he reached the beach there was still no sign of her. He fought against the first flicker of panic. Where was she? She had to be somewhere near.

  He yelled for her. Not a sound from her. Only the echo of his own voice. Nothing but empty beach and a great wall of bleached rock towering above h
im on one side and an endless expanse of blue sea stretching away from him on the other.

  "Eva!" He called her name, and when she didn't answer, his mindless fear mushroomed. He hadn't seen her emerge from the water. Dear God. He squinted hard, staring out at the turquoise water sparkling beneath a brilliant sun. Finally he sank to his knees in despair. Had she already drowned? Surely not, but if she had, he would never forgive himself.

  "I'm up here," she called down to him after a long time.

  She was standing above him on a narrow ledge next to another opening to the cave.

  She had been deliberately hiding from him!

  He was furious all over again. "Come down, damn you!"

  She glared down at him mutinously. When he started to come up, she slipped back inside the cave.

  Wild with anger, he hurled himself up the rocks so fast he cut his feet, his hands, his legs. When he reached the path, he followed her into the cave which was cool and dark. Momentarily blinded, he called to her.

  "I'm right here," she said softly.

  He whirled.

  She stood mere inches from him on a shelf of rock. Behind her the ledge narrowed dangerously, trapping her.

  Gripping her shoulders so hard she cried out, he pulled her into the safety of his arms.

  "What the hell kind of game are you playing?" His voice cracked like a whip in the hush of the cave.

  Rage, relief that she was all right, passion—all these things were burning in him as he held her nearly naked body against his own.

  A tremor went through her.

  So—she was not immune to him either. Slowly she moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. “Who says it’s a game?” Her whiskey-dark eyes blazed with a need as fierce as his own.

  With soft, heated fingertips she traced the outline of his jaw, sending a frisson of desire through him.