Tempestuous Eden

by Heather Graham

  “Quée pasa?” the captain queried back, not twenty feet from her.

  She opened her mouth for an explanation, but Craig was upon her by then, dragging her back with a jerked, violent force. “Let go of me!” Blair hissed desperately, struggling against him as she quickly rasped loudly in Spanish, “I’m being kidnapped, I’m an American, I need to get to an embassy—”

  The stabbing wrench of his arm against her midriff cut off her breath and Blair gasped against the pain. He wasn’t playing with her now, she realized dully … “Mi esposa!” he shouted in Spanish, and she could hear the fury in his voice even as he apologized to the captain. “Mi esposa, she has gone un poco loco in la cabeza, saben …” His voice trailed away sadly; only she could feel the tension of his viselike grip upon her. “Get down in the hold, damn you!” he gritted through clenched teeth.

  Blair gasped for air and stared up into his innocent features, stunned. How could he think he could get away with such a thing? Despite the pain of his hold she desperately struggled against him, shouting in Spanish. “This man is not my husband! He is a criminal, he is holding me against my will ….” Her voice simply ran out with a cry as Craig jerked her tightly again, his eyes denoting barely contained wrath.

  It didn’t matter, Blair thought brokenly. The men aboard the other vessel, captain included, were laughing. They were telling Craig he had asked for trouble when he had married a norteamericana.

  “But a fine-looking one!” A particularly swarthy pot-belly called out. “I’d give you two cows and ten chickens for a single hour. Tell me, amigo, is she a fireball in bed?”

  Craig’s eyes turned down to her. His amusement still did not quell the fury. His arms came around her like bars, he drew her to his chest, the painful spike of his fingers a warning to her ribs as he spoke to the men over the top of her head. “Si, señores,” he replied with a broad grin well feigned, “mi esposa is definitely a fireball. But she is not for sale, not even for a minute.”

  “Ah, a wild one!” the captain raucously replied, slapping his thigh with enjoyment. “But watch it, amigo—these redheads try to wear the pants in the household, especially these norteamericanas, sí? Put your foot down now, son, or you will find yourself in mucho trouble!”

  Craig smiled over clenched teeth grimly and agreed with the men.

  Blair thought she had previously known humiliation, but nothing like this. Nor had she ever believed Craig could hold her with such harsh, cold ruthlessness.

  She was tiring from fighting him, but her instinct for survival warned her this might be her last chance. With all her might she dug an elbow into his ribs, granting herself the satisfaction of hearing him grunt now in pain.

  But her satisfaction was short-lived. Since no local could possibly allow his wife to make a fool of him long, and still hold his head high, these men would expect Craig’s treatment of her to be humiliating, even brutal.

  He bent low and rasped in her ear. A stranger’s voice. A dangerous, warning voice. “Stop it, Blair. I really don’t want to have to hurt you.”

  “It’s the bambino!” he called to their amused audience. “They say women are worse at these times.”

  It was apparent that every man aboard the fishing barge was a father. And all probably had wives who scolded around the roost. They were more than happy to give Craig complete empathy and advice.

  “It is a crazy time,” the captain called. “But it will pass. Felicidades! May your child be a strong son.”

  “Bambino!” A shriek rent the air and Blair realized it was herself, shouting against all caution. It had simply been the final straw. “I am not having any bambino and this man is not my hus—”

  “Blair!” She was sure her ribs would shortly disintegrate. “I do not want to hurt you.”

  She was simply too incensed to heed his growl; she was almost oblivious to the stifling pressure of his arms. “I am not crazy,” she shouted out in Spanish “I’m not his wife, damn it. Don’t you understand …”

  “Mrs. Teile”—this time she couldn’t help but be entirely aware of the growl of his voice—“I have warned you.”

  Suddenly she was spinning around. She heard a loud crack and realized that Craig had slapped her face—with cold expertise, as usual. The pain was hardly a sting, and yet it was loud and staggering. Dazed, she found herself crushed into his arms, her mind unable to keep up with the whirlwind of her body. She was clamped fully to him, with a force that truly threatened to crush bone. A handful of terse fingers were threaded into her hair, drawing her head irrevocably back. It was a hold from which she could neither twist nor turn as he dragged her toward the hold. Stunned and shaken, helpless and infuriated at that very helplessness, Blair struggled against his bruising punishment to no avail. She was the hostage to be subdued.

  It was the ultimate warning. He could do anything. His kindnesses to her were just that. She must learn to obey him.

  It was also a hell of a show—one greeted with lavish applause, the entertainment clearly condoned by their audience.

  Blair couldn’t breathe. The strength seemed to be sapping from her body to his. She was mad enough to kill, she thought faintly, betrayed again in the worst way possible. But now, even now, her soul ransacked and robbed, she could not feel revulsion. As she stumbled along through the acrid taste of her salt tears and the blood of bruised lips, she wondered if it would matter if she could really hate him. He wasn’t seeking any type of surrender, she thought, vaguely noticing the male aroma she had come to know so well, and just a while ago—love.

  This was merely a well-executed and deliberate piece of showmanship, and just to make the show complete, he moved his crushing hand from the small of her back to bring it with firm possession in a slow slide over her breast, waist, and hip, and down to her thigh.

  By the time he released her, she was trembling in desperate spasms, half with rage and humiliation, and—God help her—half with excitement. Even now he had the unique power to stimulate her senses no matter what the circumstances.

  Still, she was determined not to give herself away. Not that that mattered either—the world was spinning, and even as she attempted to stumble away from him, she collapsed against him.

  “Below, mi esposa,” Craig whispered in low warning as he half supported her, half shoved her toward the hatch. “One more word out of your mouth, and I will sell you to that old fisherman and I’ll give him a damn cow and chicken to boot.”

  Instinctively she tried to wrench away from him, although she had every intention of disappearing down the hatch. Unfortunately Craig didn’t realize that. His arm came for hers once again and a swift jerk brought her moving quickly. Too quickly. She stumbled and her foot touched down hard on rough planking. The shriek that tore from her mouth was one of pure agony. “Craig … my foot …” she gasped out.

  Craig felt his entire body go stiff as he winced with her pain. God, the last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt her. If she had only listened to him, damn it. Now he had caused her to open the entire gash.

  He was torn in two, speared by guilt, then further infuriated that she had caused him such a terrible guilty feeling. Didn’t she know what the repercussions of her foolishness might have been?

  She was instantly in his arms, lifted effortlessly off both feet. “Un momentito, por favor,” he called to the tolerant fishing captain. Supporting her over a shoulder, he brought her swiftly down the ladder.

  In the cabin they were hit with the foul smell of Blair’s burning eggs. Cursing beneath his breath, Craig paused a second to shut the gas and move the skillet, then he carried her to the bed, tension and anger tightening in his muscles, but his touch still gentle as he lowered her down and captured her ankle to look at her foot.

  “Damn you!” he murmured, his voice a cross between anger and tortured resignation. Blood was soaking through the gauze, and he bit imperceptibly into his lip before meeting her eyes. “You really are an idiot,” he continued harshly to keep himself from
pleading that she not force him to cause her pain again. It hurt him so much more. “What the hell did you think you were doing? You saw those men, you heard them. Do you really think you would have gotten to a city? You may have gotten somewhere eventually, but you would have been used by ten men ten times before …”

  “Craig!” she cried out with misery.

  His tone softened. “I am sorry I had to hurt you, Blair. Christ! Don’t make me do this again. Stay here now, and stay off that foot! I mean it.”

  He did indeed mean it. She had seen that particular look in his eyes before. Twice, in fact. Both times had proceeded apologetic blows to her jaw.

  He was awaiting a response from her, and she slowly nodded, miserably biting at her lip. He glanced back to her foot and his fingers touched the gauze as he assured himself the fresh bleeding had stopped.

  And then they both suddenly became aware that the rough cloth skirt had bunched and risen high on Blair’s thigh. A static tension rippled between them; her limb appeared so long, pale, and vulnerable—gracefully shaped and so inviting. And the hiking up of her skirt left so very little to the imagination.

  Craig abruptly pulled her skirt back down and turned from her to head out of the cabin. “Stay right there until I come back,” he commanded curtly.

  Blair allowed her head to fall to the pillow. How was it possible to feel so many emotions within minutes? She had been so mad, she felt like a blazing torch, but just moments later, when he had responded so fleetly to her pain, she had felt an overwhelming urge to reach up and touch the tawny hair and tell him that she was all right with him near.

  And again, even when he had held her in violence, she had felt that intense sensation of hot, stirring excitement.

  God, what was the matter with her? she wondered, pressing her fingers against bruised lips. How could she be so foolish?

  Because he wasn’t innately a violent man; his power was that of mind more than body. Although dangerous, it was always clearly apparent to Blair that a gentleness toward her lurked beneath Craig’s seeming roughness. A tenderness.

  And then she was recalling his eyes, the lightness of his touch as he adjusted her skirt. And God, she could remember his touch of just a few nights ago, sometimes rough and always demanding, rough only when he had swept her to a passion to equal his own.

  “Don’t!” she whispered aloud to herself, “Don’t!” She couldn’t allow her mind to wander that way.

  Cows and chickens! she reminded herself with a clench of the teeth. Think of the humiliation. Think of the anger.

  The boat suddenly jarred. A long sucking sound issued through the cabin as the earth released its grip upon the hull. She could hear Craig calling thanks to the captain who had given them the tow. And then they were on their way.

  She didn’t have the strength or energy to disobey Craig and move. In time, she knew, he would come to her. She closed her eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE MUST HAVE SLEPT a long while, because when she opened her eyes again, it was with the realization that though the boat was swaying, she wasn’t moving forward. There was movement in the cabin, and as she focused sleep-fogged eyes, she saw Craig once more at work in the galley.

  With that sixth sense of his, he knew she had wakened. He turned to her with a scowl. “I hope you realize you almost burned us up this morning.”

  Automatically smoothing her hair, Blair sat up in the bed. “Am I supposed to be sorry?”

  “Yes!” he snapped, moving toward her with what at first appeared to be menace, but then she realized he was merely handing her a plate of something that looked like stew. “I value my hide, Mrs. Teile, and I assume that you value yours. Grow up a little. You aren’t getting away from me, and it seems you’re determined to kill one of us with your escape attempts.”

  Blair accepted the plate he handed her because she was ravenous. “Taylor, trying to get away from you has nothing to do with growing up. Someone neglected to tell you that kidnap victims were not necessarily cheerful and cooperative.”

  “You could trust me,” he said quietly.

  It was tempting, so tempting that it hurt. “Sorry,” she said coolly, turning her attention to her food.

  He sighed and moved into the galley, then returned and sat across from her at the table. Suddenly feeling ridiculous and vulnerable sitting on the bed, Blair shifted to join him at the table.

  “No,” he ordered quickly, “you’re not getting out of bed today. You do any more to that foot and we really will be in trouble.”

  “I can’t just sit in a bed all day.”

  “Well, today you will,” he told her firmly. Both fell silent as they finished eating, then Craig rose, took both plates, and put them in the sink. He returned to Blair’s side and sat beside her, grasping her injured foot without a word. He unwound the bandages, cursed softly, and rose once more to return with the first-aid kit. Blair stiffened and dug her fingers into the bedding as he again cleaned and bound it.

  “You will stay off it today,” he repeated softly. Then he was rising and left her behind as he climbed the ladder topside.

  Blair couldn’t remember a longer day in her life. The sun had dropped low before Craig returned to the cabin, having cast anchor for the night. By that time Blair was thoroughly irritated and edgy.

  She watched as he came directly to her. “How does it feel?” he inquired.

  “Fine,” she snapped shortly.

  He shrugged and moved away. “I thought you might like to go up on deck for dinner,” he murmured indifferently. “But …”

  He seemed so capable of so easily dismissing her! Blair thought with a sudden fury. She swung both legs over the side of the bed and grasped the paneling for support.

  “I can go topside,” she insisted, then felt her fury drain as he looked at her with quelling eyes. “Really. All right, I was stupid this morning, but I’ll be careful, I won’t put any weight on it.” He was silent and she suddenly found herself pleading, bargaining. “I’ll cook dinner; I won’t really have to move, I’ll balance—”

  “You have a deal, Mrs. Teile,” Craig interrupted her.

  She had a deal all right, but she hadn’t counted on his hovering right next to her, determined to support her. Blair was amazed that she was eventually able to turn out a meal of well-seasoned pork and vegetables with his constant proximity.

  “Stay here,” he ordered her when two plates had been prepared. “I’ll be back for you.”

  After taking their meals and another cask of the rather acidic burgundy topside, he did return, and she found herself being carried up the ladder. “After you sleep on that a night,” he said huskily, setting her down and referring to her foot, “it will begin to heal. And then you can move around a little.”

  It was strangely peaceful on the river that night; the water moved in slow, hypnotic ripples. The breeze was faint, carrying the soft rustle of jungle foliage and the easy lap of the river. If she were just clothed differently, Blair thought as she glanced at Craig and he smiled, causing her heart to skip a beat, and if the sailboat were something other than this downtrodden tub, they could have been any couple out for the peace and beauty of the evening. Mr. and Mrs. Handsome America. The scene was mocking; Craig was a mockery, a man so secure in his masculinity that he afforded himself a vast sensitivity.

  He lifted his cup of wine to her. “To a very pleasant meal, Mrs. Teile. Thanks.”

  Blair shrugged, unwilling to accept the compliment. “You seem to do all right yourself. You can cook.”

  “I can cook,” he shrugged, “but not well.”

  A little pain tugged at Blair’s heart as he grinned ruefully. Why? The question exploded in her mind. She had found a man who had effortlessly invaded her very soul; a man nothing less than incredible, and he was either a brilliant crook or a political fanatic.

  “It surprises me that you’re not a marvelous cook, Taylor,” she murmured caustically. “After all, cooking is easil
y achieved by reading directions, and you seem to be adept at following instructions.”

  She felt his stiffening withdrawal and was pleased that she seemed to have struck a nerve.

  “I do follow orders, Mrs. Teile,” he said coolly.

  “Whose orders?” Blair pounced immediately.

  “We call him Chief,” he said blandly.

  “Very droll,” Blair murmured acidly. “You’re a waste, Taylor.”

  “Oh, really?” He picked up his burgundy and rolled it within the cup. “Would you care to explain that?”

  “No,” Blair rasped, picking up her own glass and draining the wine. Damn! Why had she let that slip? Because she was feeling reckless, the hours of solitude in the cabin below had left her … what? The time had left her craving his presence, his tenderness when he worried over the gash in her foot.

  He was simply too right a man to be so wrong.

  “I’d like to hear an explanation,” Craig demanded, his cup connecting with the deck as he brought it sharply down beside him.

  Explanation? If she tried, would he understand? Blair reached for the wine and refilled her cup. Keeping her hands from shaking through sheer will power, she once more drained her cup. Acidic or not, it had a marvelous effect. She couldn’t feel her foot; she could ignore the tension that radiated from him. She could draw upon a false courage.

  “You’re a yes man, Taylor,” she said with brash disdain. “You’re a fool and I hate watching it. You’re made of all the right stuff, but you’re sending it in all the wrong directions.” She paused for a second, realizing that her head was starting to reel but not caring as his hazel gaze narrowed to that sharp, piercing yellow that signified she had wandered into dangerous ground. She was adding fuel to a combustible furnace. “You are nothing more than a lackey. You have no mind of your own. If you’re not after money, you’re a terrorist, but you’re not even the brains of the action. They found a prime subject with you, Taylor. You’re just yes all the way, even if you disagree. You’re sorry, you don’t want to hit me, but they told you to get me away and so you did it. Yes, I’ll keep a captive. Yes, yes, yes. Damn it, Taylor, you idiot, what you’re doing is wrong! Can’t you manage to think on your own? Christ, you obviously have brains somewhere, but evidently you sit on them!”