by Cherry Adair
“After three. You slept for twelve hours straight.”
“I wish you’d woken me.” Tory clasped the warm cup between her hands, settling the container on her drawn-up knees. “I had a dream last night.” Her dark hair fell over her shoulder and she set the cup down on the sand, absently fiddling with the long strand. “Alex is badly hurt, Marc. He’s almost dead. I can feel it.” She gazed over his shoulder without focusing, swallowing hard.
In her dream, her brother’s face had been beaten so badly it was totally unrecognizable. The dream had left her shaken and frightened to death that they might be too late.
“I’ll go in after dark and bring him out.” His lips tightened. “I did a quick reconnoiter this morning in Pescarna. If that’s where they’re holding Lynx, then they’re doing a damn good job of covering their tracks. It’ll save hours of time if you can pinpoint exactly where he is.” Marc swallowed the last of his coffee and poured the rest of the pot into his cup. “Whatever his condition, I’ll get him out. Angelo will be waiting for my signal.”
She didn’t like the way Marc said, “whatever his condition.” Her throat was tight when she spoke. “How long do we have to wait before we can find him?”
“Can you give me his exact coordinates?”
She shook her head.
“How about a specific location?”
“Pescarna. I need to be closer…”
“No.”
“You brought me all this way for exactly that purpose.”
“That was before I knew they’d already gotten hold of you and beat the shit out of you.”
“Oh.” Did she think he couldn’t figure that one out?
“Yes. Oh. Can you make contact with your brother and get an accurate location?”
“I’ll try again.” She closed her eyes, using every shred of concentration to reach out for Alex. Nothing. She tried again. And again. Finally she opened her eyes. “N-nothing. I’m sorry. He must be very weak not to pick up my call. I need to be closer.”
“I hate like hell having to take you at all. Once you locate him, I’ll bring you back here. We have a few hours to kill until dark.” He tossed her a towel and a small bar of soap. “If you turn left and go about a hundred feet you’ll find your hot bath. Take your time.”
He pulled her to her feet. “I’ll be at the main entrance, keeping a lookout.”
Tory set her cup next to his on a rock ledge. “To tell the truth, I’d be more excited if you told me there was a bathroom around here.” Flushing, she picked up the wet, folded clothes, adding them to the soap and towel.
“Your every wish is my command. Follow me.”
The cavern was about the size of two football fields, the walls pale in the eerie glow. The sapphire water was crystal clear, casting shimmering waves on the walls.
Tory walked beside Marc as they circled the lake on the far side. “How do all these plants live in here?” she asked as they passed a shrub covered with tiny white flowers. Ferns and moss grew right to the water’s edge.
“There’s plenty of natural light and freshwater.” Marc plucked one of the flowers and stuck it in her braid. “Let me know if you want to swim, though. The water here is over forty-five feet deep. Its clarity is deceptive.”
Circling around a huge fern that was as tall as he was, he turned back to look at her. “See that whirlpool at the end?”
In this light, with the reflection from the lake, his eyes were crystal clear and looked blue. “What is it?”
“A natural drain.” He pointed back the way they’d come. “The hot spring is back there in the gut of the mountain. The water pools in the depression near camp and then runs into this lake. By then it’s cold. The water drains down a forty-foot tunnel directly into the sea below. Don’t swim here unless I’m with you. That drain hole is wide enough to suck you right down to the rocks below.” Tory shivered. She’d had enough of deep water yesterday when he’d dragged her overboard.
He pointed out the cement enclosed bathroom standing sentinel discreetly around the corner from the entrance. “Only the one on the left still works. They were stuck in here for the tourists, but there haven’t been any visitors to the grotto in years.”
“Why not? The cavern is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Remember the rocks we climbed to get here yesterday? Those crashed down from the cliffs. It isn’t safe for tourists at the moment. Besides, since the terrorists claimed Marezzo, they’ve discouraged tourism to a certain extent. A few tour groups are allowed in every now and then to preserve their cover. But it’s pretty much their island. The locals are all basically keeping a conspiracy of silence. Their lives depend on it.”
Marc pulled the Walther from the small of his back and checked it, ignoring the way Victoria’s eyes widened at the sight of the weapon. “I’ll be just outside if you need me. The hot spring is back the way we came.”
THE POOL WAS ABOUT six feet across and surrounded by water-smoothed rock. The bottom was a powdery sand. Tory stripped quickly, then stepped into the hot water, keeping her arm out and dry. The heat felt wonderful as she sank in up to her chin, her hair floating around her. Sighing deeply as her aching muscles relaxed in the warmth, she closed her eyes against the steam.
It felt like minutes, but was probably more like half an hour when the sound of his footsteps was followed by his irritated voice. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Tory shrieked as she blinked her eyes open to see Marc Savin emerge through the steam. Water splashed over the side of the pool as she slithered upright, her hand to her throat.
“What are you doing here?” she gasped. She’d fallen asleep and it took a moment for her brain to kick into gear. Her cheeks flamed as his cold gaze drifted down to where her wet hair clung to her bare skin.
“What’s taking you so long?”
One arm was useless as a cover. Tory quickly whipped the towel off the rocks and into the water and slapped it over her chest; her knees made little islands above the water as she drew them up to cover as much of herself as she could. “I must have fallen asleep. Look, I’ll just finish up here and…Would you please leave?” Mortification made her voice choke. She flushed from her hair to her toes.
He came closer. Tory licked her lips and slid farther under the water with a one-handed death grip on the towel. “Please. Just go.” She was afraid to blink. He was already far too close.
He was wearing jeans. Just jeans. His naked chest was darkly tanned, a thick trail of crisp black hair ran in a V down the center. He crouched beside the pool, his knees spread for balance. Flushing even more, Tory ripped her gaze away from what was now at eye level. If she’d reached out her hand she could have touched him, he was that close.
Her heart rose to her throat. She didn’t know where to look. Tory stifled a whimper.
Steam moved in lazy swirls around him. His hair was still loose, hanging to his shoulders in a dark shiny drift that was disconcerting. She stared at a distant point on the other side of the cave. The wet terry across her chest felt heavy, forcing her to take deeper breaths. She could feel his stare like fingers sliding down her naked skin, and she shivered.
Managing to look him in the eye she again said in a small voice, “Please. Will you just go away?”
Marc stared down at the woman in the water. The steam shimmered on her pink skin. It looked smooth and soft. Her wet hair effectively blanketed her body, trailing in the water like seaweed. A fragrant blob of soapsuds slid down her silky shoulder, and dropped to float on top of the water. He knew he should leave. It was absolutely crazy to have come looking for her in the first place.
Even the center part in her hair was pink with embarrassment.
“We’ll be leaving as soon as it’s dark,” he said briskly, shifting to his feet. Her face went even redder as he turned back to look at her.
“Fine,” she managed, eyeing him warily. He could see the frantic pulse in her throat. Christ. He was going to have a
hell of a time with her. She was such a little mouse. She quivered if he even looked at her.
“I’ll get you a dry towel.” He glanced at the wet material molded to her breasts as she shifted restlessly.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
Perversely, Marc stayed. He couldn’t afford to have her fold like a wet tissue when they found her brother. He couldn’t afford for her to get all weepy and terrified every time he snapped out an order. An order that could very well mean life or death. He needed her tough. He needed her mad. He needed her to grow a spine. Fast.
Tory hating him for being a sadistic bully might just be a perk, he thought wryly, watching the heat spread across her cheeks. Since he was having a hard time keeping his hands off her, it worked to his advantage if she loathed him. Yeah. This might work out just fine.
“You sound like a prim little schoolgirl,” he said mockingly. “Can’t you say anything other than ‘Thank you’?”
Her head tilted regally. “Yes. I can say go away!”
“Princess, there’s nothing here that would make me want to stay.” The way she tilted that chin irritated the hell out of him. He wanted to see just how far he would have to push her for her to fight back. He sighed. It was a useless endeavor. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she was a coward.
“I hate you,” she said in her quiet little voice, looking at anything but him.
“Say it louder.”
Her eyes shot back to his face. “Wh-what?”
“Say it louder and with feeling. Let me see how much you hate me.”
“You’re crazy.”
Marc took the three steps required to reach her side again. He crouched down and took her chin in his hand. Her eyes were wide and frightened. “Let me see some grit and backbone, lady. I’m already having second thoughts about hauling your ass to Marezzo.”
“I told you I didn’t want to come.”
“Yeah, you did,” he said roughly. He dropped his hand from the damp heat of her face and levered himself to his feet. “I’d feel a little more confident if you showed some guts. Hell, I’d settle for spunk.”
“You want spunk?” Her eyes blazed. “How’s this for spunk?” Whipping the soaking towel off her chest, she threw it at him with all her strength.
The soaking fabric flopped down harmlessly into the sand. Marc kept his gaze on her face with effort. Her eyes shot emerald sparks at him, and her jaw was rigid. “I’m here on Marezzo with you. I’m here, but I don’t like it.” Her voice rose. “And I certainly don’t like you.” She threw the soap next; it glanced off a button on his fly and dropped behind a fern.
“I’ll give you spunk!” She picked up a small smooth stone, throwing that, too.
Marc grinned as it missed his head by two feet. “Atta girl.”
“You’re a loathsome man.”
“Yeah?” Marc smiled. There was hope for her yet.
“Yes! Stop taunting me…and go…away!”
“Or what?”
Victoria looked at him. He was cocky and arrogant and just too blasted sure of himself. She’d read about men like this. She might need him to find Alex, but that didn’t mean that she had to like him. She stared at his insolent face. She needed to establish right now that she wasn’t just going to take everything he dished out. But how?
He loomed over her, bare feet spread, arms folded over his naked chest. He knew that she was rattled and he was having a fine old time at her expense. What could she do that would rattle his cage?
Before she could really think the action all the way through, Tory rose from the water. Keeping her gaze fixed at a point to the left and behind Marc, she stepped onto the rocks on the rim and then moved around him. Water sluiced down the goose bumps on her skin. Every nerve and cell in her body was embarrassed, but she kept her back straight and her head high as she walked past him covered in nothing but her long hair and what was left of her dignity. Her face burned, but not for anything in the world would she let him see how shaken she was and how much courage it had taken for her to get out of that pool naked.
She felt totally exposed and more vulnerable than she’d ever felt before. But she wouldn’t back down. Mingled with her embarrassment was the sudden realization of the guts it had taken.
Oh, my God, she thought incredulously as she heard his startled gasp behind her. I did it! Her spine rigid, Tory forced her footsteps to stay even and refused to give in to the temptation to run and cover herself. There was no sound from behind her, but she would have been hard-pressed to hear anything over the thundering of her heart. She was five steps from the entrance to the camp when a hand gripped her upper arm. She bit back a scream. Marc swung her around to face him. There was a nasty glitter in his pale eyes. “Sex doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. Got that? So don’t throw that delectable little body in front of me anymore, because I’m just not buying.”
Without a blink, Tory stood frozen in his grasp. His lips were a hard thin line and his eyes were narrowed on her face. Inwardly she flinched at the iciness of his expression. Her heart was beating hard enough to make her body shudder.
What a nasty excuse for a human being he was. “How dare you! I wasn’t throw—” She’d been trying to prove a point, but in doing so she’d left her actions up for interpretation. And Marc Savin being Marc Savin had taken it as sexual instead of as a show of…independence? No, Tory thought with a lump in her throat. Stupidity. She dropped her eyes, fighting back tears of embarrassment. After a few moments she forced herself to look up at him.
His face was as inscrutable as the Sphinx. She swallowed. “I wasn’t trying to…I didn’t mean…I…I don’t like being bullied.”
“I told you I wanted to see a little backbone. I didn’t mean I wanted to see you buck naked.”
She was gritting her teeth so hard her jaw ached. “I’m going to get dressed now.”
“Do that.”
Marc gave her a good fifteen minutes to get her emotional shit together. Hell, to be honest with himself, he needed a minute to get his own shit together. Lord. What a body. She was luscious from head to toe. And it wasn’t bruises he’d been looking at this time.
Victoria Jones was the sister of his best friend, Marc reminded himself. Off-limits. Out-of-bounds. Besides, she wasn’t his type.
Yeah? he mocked, all that silky long hair? The firm, creamy skin? Those long legs? Those beautiful, pink-tipped full breasts? The mouth that would tempt a saint? Right. Not his type at all.
When he went back into their small camp she was sitting in the middle of the makeshift bed, cradling her arm, wet hair soaking the shirt she’d pulled on over her damp naked body. She wasn’t giving an inch. From the little he knew of her, he was astounded that she’d dredged up the nerve to pull that stunt. His eyes narrowed in speculation.
He’d known before they started out that she’d be a pain in the ass. But damn it, he needed her to find her brother. He didn’t have a choice. On the other hand, he mused with great annoyance, he hadn’t given her any choice, either. The coffee in the metal cup was cold. Marc drank it anyway, irritated as she gave a little sniff. Good. Back to her usual modus operandi. Marc didn’t acknowledge the relief he felt. Victoria Jones, the wimp, he could handle.
He crouched down beside her. His soap smelled completely different on her skin. “What happened? Does something hurt?” When she didn’t respond, he lifted her chin to look into her face. “Are you sick? Does your arm hurt? Are you embarrassed that I saw you naked? What?” Her eyes filled with tears. Great. “Talk to me.” His voice came out a little harsher than it should have.
“Leave me alone.” She glared at him, the tears making her green eyes glitter. “I broke the comb. Okay? I broke the blasted comb!”
Marc stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You’re crying because you broke a damn comb? Christ, lady, it’s a fine day when that’s the worst thing that happens to you.”
He got to his feet impatiently, paced to the back of the cave and pulled out
the sat phone. If she was going to freak out over something as ridiculous as a broken comb, they were in big trouble.
He’d been delusional to think he could get her to grow some kind of backbone. He couldn’t make her something that she wasn’t. Not her fault, damn it.
Pushing her hair aside she looked over her shoulder. “What are…are you doing?”
“Calling Angelo. He can come and get you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
MARC WAITED for Angelo to pick up the phone. Damn fool woman. He’d schlepped her halfway around the world because he needed her to find Alex. Fast. Faster than he could do it himself. But she was proving to be more of a liability than an asset.
“No!” Tory jumped up, tears forgotten. “No, d-don’t do that.” She grabbed the phone and disconnected. “I’m the only one who can find my brother. You said so.”
“Lady, I must have been out of my ever-loving mind to think you’d be any help.” He took the phone from her, deliberated for a second, then stuck it in his back pocket. “Look at you. You’re already falling apart and we haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet.”
“You don’t understand.” She bit her lip. “It’s not…I can’t get the knots out of my hair. The comb broke, and I…The comb’s broken.”
He’d known her for little more than a day and in that short time he had her figured. She was a lousy liar, which he liked. She was too damned sexy without being aware of it, which he didn’t like. Marc remembered the prissy, navy suit and sensible heels she’d worn when he’d first met her. He had a sudden mental image of her straightening her collar and striving to neaten her hair when she’d awakened in his den the other night.
He might not know her well, but one thing he did know was that she was obsessive about being neat and right now her bare feet were sandy, the T-shirt she wore was crumpled from being in the pack, and her hair was wildly tangled. She was a mess.
He liked her this way. Rumpled and untidy. But clearly it wasn’t a look she was comfortable with.
“Come here,” he said gently. With a hand on her shoulder, he pushed her down on the blanket and settled behind her. “Give me the comb.”
