“Why don’t you pull over and let me drive?”
Romario looked over his shoulder and said, “Balance, mon. Mi got dis.” When he turned back around, he shouted, “Cat!” The Porsche swerved to the right, back to the left, and then to the right again. The kid got the car under control just in time to crash through the wooden fence at the end of the road. The shocks strained as the car shuddered and bumped over sandy beach toward a two-story whitewashed house. Jimmy threw his arm over the Duchess to keep her from being ejected from the automobile and braced himself for impact.
They crashed through the wall. Plywood scattered and a flimsy wooden dining room table and chairs shattered to pieces. The car kept going, punching through an interior wall before rolling to a stop in the middle of a living room.
A Jamaican man with tied-back dreads sat crossed legged on the sofa in his underwear. There was a large bowl of popcorn in his lap. He was either stunned stupid, or his slow reaction might have had something to do with the heavy scent of ganja that clung to the air like Febreze. Above his head, a giant portrait of Haile Selassie, the Rasta messiah incarnate, looked down benignly over the chaos in his disciple’s living room.
The car sat between the insomniac and the huge flat screen TV on the opposite wall. The late, late movie he was watching came back from commercial.
Jimmy opened the door opposite the stunned Rasta while Romario climbed out of the driver’s side window and stood on the frame looking across the roof at him. Two more half-dressed Rastas stumbled down the stairs, shoving each other out of the way. They stopped on the lower steps, their sleepy eyes widening as they took in the mess.
“Wa dis bangarang?” the skinny one said. His dreadlocks skimmed his elbows as his head turned to track the path of destruction through the house.
His big baldheaded buddy, who looked as if he could wrestle a bull with his bare hands and win, stood beside him flaring his nostrils.
“Naa be vex, mon,” Romario said from his perch. “Naa worries. Yu can keep de car.”
In the stunned silence that followed, the bolts holding up the 60-inch flat screen cracked and the television crashed to the ground, shattering its screen and plastic casing and spitting out parts that were probably important. The insomniac on the couch leaped to his feet with a resounding roar, tossing his popcorn up in the air.
Jimmy grabbed the Duchess’ hand and his duffel and followed Romario through the back door.
The first inkling of daylight was peeking over the horizon as they ran along the beach. Romario, who was out ahead of them by thirty yards and widening the gap, waved his hand. “Mi link yu up layta, sah!” he shouted as he veered off to the left and darted between two houses.
“What now, Jimmy?”
He glanced back at the Duchess and spotted the three pissed Rastas gaining on them. “Shit!” He let go of her hand, tossed the duffel at her, and braced himself to fight. “Run, Duchess, keep running and don’t stop.”
“What about you—” Her words turned into a shriek as the insomniac took a flying leap and landed on Jimmy. They rolled across the ground, kicking up sand as Jimmy struggled to loosen the death grip around his throat. The insomniac’s dreads came loose from their binding, slapping him in the face like the legs of an overgrown tarantula. Jimmy gathered his strength, flipped the guy over and pinned his arms to the ground. When he wailed in frustration, his skinny friend kicked Jimmy in the ribs so hard it sent him rolling into the surf.
Salt water stung his eyes and filled his mouth. The current pulled at him like the suckers on an octopus’ arm. Digging his fingers into the sand to anchor himself, he rubbed the salt from his eyes with the back of his free hand and scanned the beach for the Duchess. She was holding the heavy duffel in front of her like a shield to protect herself from the big bald guy who was threatening her with a knife.
Jimmy’s gut clenched. “Sophie!” he yelled, just as a rogue wave smacked him in the head and Bob Marley and the Wailer jumped on him again.
They hauled Jimmy to his feet and dragged him back to the beach. He pretended to stagger until they’d dragged him far enough out of the water. The instant his feet were on dry land, he grabbed Bob Marley’s dreads and introduced the skinny dude’s chin to his knee. The Wailer wailed again and Jimmy swung around on him with a side kick that sent him splashing into the ocean. A moment later, he floated to the surface like a wet doobie.
Jimmy took two steps toward the Duchess, intending to help her, but stopped short when she tossed the duffel at Baldie’s knife hand and kicked him in the balls. When the big man doubled over, she grabbed a plank of driftwood and smashed it across the back of his skull. He landed face first in the sand, out for the count.
“Nice work, Duchess.” Jimmy grinned. He was truly impressed.
“Behind you!” she shouted just before the Wailer let out a battle cry and beelined for Jimmy’s solar plexus.
He took the tackle, skidding on his back in the sand. They grappled for the upper hand, evenly matched until Jimmy dug deep and rolled them both over with a roar of his own. He reared his fist back and punched the guy in the jaw multiple times until he was certain the dude was out cold.
Then Jimmy sat back, planting his ass in the sand for a second to catch his breath.
“Bloody hell. Stay down!”
He turned just in time to see the Duchess take another swing at Baldie’s head with the plank.
When he flopped over onto his face again, she shouted, “Piss off, you big plonker!”
Breathless and disheveled in her white tank top and blue jeans, the Duchess tossed the wood aside. Jimmy wanted to chuckle at the sight she made, but didn’t dare because she might have brained him too. His delicate English flower was anything but. With the golden rays of the morning sun rising behind her, she was Athena, Goddess of Kicking Ass and Taking Names.
She was Mad Dog Mitch Thompson’s daughter all right. Without a doubt.
Beautiful Athena’s face scrunched up with irritation when she noticed him grinning at her. “What?”
Jimmy let out the bark of laughter he was holding back and climbed to his feet. “Nothing. Let’s roll, Duchess, we’ve got a boat to catch.”
“No more boats!”
He picked up his duffel and took her hand. “We can discuss it along the way.”
“I mean it, Jimmy,” she said, but let him lead her down the beach toward the harbor.
“‘Big plonker,’ huh? Doesn’t sound like a very ladylike expression?”
“It’s not one I’ve been called upon to use often.”
Jimmy laughed and let go of her hand to put his arm around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head. “I sure hope not, darlin’. You’ve got a mean swing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A well-muscled shoulder pressed into Sophie’s cheek, squashing the soft inner flesh against her teeth. She reached up to swipe away the drool leaking from the corner of her mouth and met the warm, hard body attached to the shoulder. Her hand slid across the wide chest and settled on a flat belly. A humid breeze ruffled her hair and clothing, providing some relief from the oppressive heat. She moistened her parched lips and tasted salt.
Salt?
She sat up straight, blinking against the glimmering sunshine. “What time is it?”
“About four o’clock in the afternoon,” Jimmy murmured. They lounged in the shade of one of the car-sized crates stacked three stories high on the cargo ship’s deck. “You’ve been asleep for a while.”
“Oh.” She wiped the rest of the drool from her chin. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to use you as a pillow.”
“I ain’t complaining.”
Sophie’s bum ached from sitting too long on hard wood and her neck was sore from the way she’d rested. She shivered as another gusty breeze carried a gritty salt spray across the deck. She looked at Jimmy, longing to curl up against his body again, but refrained.
They’d had sex last night. Why was she not going mental about it? She knew the answer
to that question. Something about Jimmy made her feel brazen and womanly and powerful, and she was hot to feel that way again. Her lower belly quivered at the thought of doing it again with Jimmy Panama. Heat pooled between her legs where a slow, incessant pulse began to throb. She pressed her thighs together in a useless attempt to ease her discomfort. No, she simply could not regret having sex with him. Not sex like that.
If her voice was husky when she spoke, it was his fault for looking so deliciously rumpled. “When will we reach Saba?”
His head rested back against the crate. His eyes were closed. His square jaw was shaded with a new growth of beard. “Maybe another hour, give or take.”
A pair of seagulls cawed and swarmed overhead. They landed on the railing nearby.
What would he do if she straddled him just now and started kissing his neck? How long would he remain indifferent? Despite his claims to the contrary, he’d wanted her back in that hotel room. She’d seen the evidence of his desire tenting his boxers. Perhaps calling him a coward had been unfair, but he was afraid of something. She sensed his fear just as strongly as she sensed his attraction.
Her body ached for him. How could he not feel this way too?
She wet her lips and rose to her knees.
The wail of the ship’s horn set her back on her bum, and she covered her ears to muffle the deafening sound.
Jimmy sprang to his feet. He slipped his duffel over his shoulder and reached down to offer her a hand up.
Before the horn died away, Sophie had gained her feet too. “What’s happening?”
“Time to go.”
“But—We’re in the middle of the ocean!”
“Close enough. We’re gonna have to swim for it.”
Sophie dug in her heals. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not going into the water. You know I can’t swim.”
Jimmy kept moving toward the railing. “I told you before, I won’t let you drown.” He glanced back, let out a long-suffering sigh, and came back and got her.
“I’m serious, Jimmy.”
Bending down, he grabbed her legs and flung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The world went topsy-turvy as her face dangled near his high, tight bum.
“Please, don’t do this. I’ll drown.”
“Stop struggling and hold still.” He slapped her on the ass.
She squeaked in surprise and froze, stunned just long enough for him to reach the railing. The angle of the world tilted again as he shifted her in his arms to cradle her like a bride on her wedding night. A bride who wanted to claw out the groom’s eyes. She gave one last good struggle before she ran out of steam.
“Are you done? We only have a small window here.” He nodded toward the island.
The rays from the setting sun streaked across the churning ocean waves below. In the distance, Saba rose up out of the sea like a great green pyramid adrift in an aquatic desert.
Sophie grabbed Jimmy’s neck and clung to him. “This can’t be a good time of day to go into the water. Don’t sharks feed at sunset?”
“Are you bleeding anywhere?”
“No.”
“Then don’t get cut on the way down and you’ll be all right. I mean it, Duchess. You’re only going to hurt yourself if you fight me and that won’t be good for anybody.”
“There has to be another way.”
“This boat ain’t stopping until it reaches Africa. If you want to explain to a third-world government why you’re a stowaway on a foreign vessel with no money and no identification, you go right ahead. I have a feeling twenty minutes in that water will be a hell of a lot less frightening than a decade in a Liberian prison cell.”
His logic made sense, but fear was sometimes illogical.
Her pleas dissolved into squeaky babble as she tried to dislodge herself from his hold one last time. He leaned forward over the railing and shifted her weight in his arms. “Hold your nose and try to hit the water feet first. I’ll be right behind you. I make an excellent flotation device.”
She stopped struggling for a moment and looked into his dark blue eyes, desperate to make him see reason. “Don’t do this to me, Jimmy. I’m begging you. Don’t do it.”
He swung her up and out, tossing her away from the ship. Suddenly, she was falling. Falling feet first toward the open mouth of the monster.
“Hold your nose, Duchess!” The wind carried his voice away.
Her hand went to her nose a split-second before she plunged into shockingly cold water. She clawed desperately with her free hand as the frigid blackness sucked her down. Down, down, down, she went without slowing. She was beginning to wonder if she would keep going until she reached the bottom. As time ticked by, her chest swelled like a balloon threatening to pop. The need to open her mouth and suck in oxygen became vital.
This time, death wasn’t going home empty-handed.
This time, she would drown.
Her eyes burned.
Her body went limp.
She let go of her nose.
Something banded around her waist and pulled her against a solid object.
A man.
Jimmy.
His fingers clamped over her nose and his mouth pressed against hers. For a sickening moment, she thought he was kissing her good-bye, but then his lips forced hers apart and precious, life-giving air filled her deprived lungs. She held on to it greedily, held on to him, as he kicked out and moved them both toward the white hazy circle above their heads.
When they broke the surface, she inhaled with a ragged gasp and a whoosh of air filled her lungs. She coughed and sputtered, struggling to catch her breath. Jimmy held her, waiting patiently, treading water for them both until her breathing evened and her heart rate calmed.
She pressed her forehead against his and smiled weakly.
The realization of what he’d done to save her life touched her deeply. He’d given her oxygen. Shared his own precious supply to keep her alive. He hadn’t let her drown.
“You sank like a stone,” he said huskily.
“I tried to tell you.”
“I know you did. I know.” He kissed her briefly, chastely, but her greedy lips sought more. He obliged, tentative for a moment, before his tongue pushed inside her mouth and he took over the kiss, becoming the aggressor. The invasion felt almost like a punishment, but she groaned with pleasure as adrenaline surged through her veins again.
He pulled away abruptly. His expression grim. His voice grimmer. “Loop one arm through the duffel straps and hold on to my shoulder with your free hand. That should keep you afloat.”
She spotted the duffel bobbing in the water beside her head. She’d completely forgotten about the dark, choppy water, the rapidly descending sun, and the looming threat of sharks. They were making out in the middle of the bloody ocean a great distance from shore. “But—”
“Don’t argue with me.” His sharp tone shut her up. “We’re not out of trouble yet. Do as I say and we’ll both survive this.” He shoved the duffel at her and offered her his back.
As Jimmy began the grueling swim toward the island, three-foot high swells slowed their progress. Rogue waves smacked Sophie in the face, but he swam right through them. When one made her lose her grip and go under, he was right there to pull her up. Resecuring her hand on his shoulder, he carried on with a determination that was a testimony to his SEAL background. Forty minutes later, just as the sun was dipping beyond the horizon in a fiery display of reds and yellows, they reached the shallows.
Knowing Jimmy had to be exhausted from the swim, Sophie insisted on wading through the water the rest of the way on her own. His focused expression never wavered. His broad shoulders never slumped and his gait never slowed as he took the duffel straps from her hand and trudged toward the beach.
They came to shore at the base of a steeply sloped mountain. Thick rainforest covered the vertical climb, but the beach, which was littered with volcanic rock and was treacherous in spots, did not necessarily look like the better option. They
would have to traverse one of those paths to reach civilization, but for now, Sophie was just happy to be back on dry land.
She dropped to her knees and rolled onto her back in the sand.
Jimmy stood over her with his hands on his hips, looking big and formidable, and incredibly gorgeous. “Get comfortable,” he said. “We’ll camp here for the night.”
Only a ten-foot wide strip of beach separated the shoreline from the dramatic incline and the waves continued to crash and spread, reaching for her feet. “Won’t we be underwater when the tide comes in?”
“It’s high tide now. We’ll be all right. There’s a bedroll in my bag. Dig it out along with a lighter and a couple of MREs.”
“MR whats?”
“Meals, ready-to-eat. It’s sort of a TV dinner for sailors.”
“I’m a sailor now, am I?” Sophie grinned.
“Eat it, don’t eat it. I don’t give a fuck.”
She sobered as Jimmy stomped off. She watched him find a natural staircase in the jagged, vine-covered slope and disappear into the jungle.
What had gotten into him, she wondered? If anyone should be pissed, it should be her. He was the one who’d tossed her into the sea knowing she couldn’t swim.
She changed out of her wet things and donned one of Jimmy’s T-shirts before spreading out the bedroll and making herself as comfortable as a person could be on a bed of sand and shells. She was just setting out the lighter and two MREs when Jimmy returned with a small pile of wood.
While he went about building a fire and preparing their meals, she waited for him to reveal the reason for his dour mood. He maintained his stony silence throughout dinner. Afterward, when he stripped out of his sodden clothes and removed his wet boxers, she turned her back on him and laid down on the bedroll. “You can’t talk to me, but you can walk around in the nude?”
“Move over, Duchess.”
Before she could protest, he nudged her over and stretched out behind her on the narrow pallet.
“You think I’m going to share my bed with you after the way you’ve been acting?”
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