by Bobbi Smith
"I'll get the limes and leaves," Jacques offered. Then he watched silently for a moment as she ministered to the stranger. Agitated, he finally turned and left the hut to search for the needed remedies.
With patient concern, Espri dipped a soft cloth into the water her father had brought and began to wipe the gore from the ugly head wound. She'd had enough experience with coral injuries to know that they were not to be taken lightly, so she cleansed the gash as thoroughly as possible, her efforts eliciting a low moan from her still-unconscious patient. Espri noted with dismay the hot, dry feel of his skin, and she longed for her father to return quickly with the supplies.
With cooling water, she washed the last remains of the grit from the man's back, wondering all the while at her father's warning that he was not like the men she knew. Outwardly, there seemed little difference. His back, abraded though it was, seemed like any other man's—deeply tanned and broad and powerful. His hips were lean; his legs, long and straight; his arms—she now bathed them with strokes that were beginning to seem more like caresses—were strong with thickly corded muscle.
Pausing in her task, she stared down at this stranger, and she felt a strange stirring in her breast as she took in the masculine line of his bearded jaw, the firmness of his chiseled lips. Intrigued and unable to resist the temptation, she reached out and lightly ran a slim finger over the leanness of his cheek, enjoying the feel of his whiskery growth. Only her father's footsteps caused her to hastily withdraw from that innocent, yet sensuous, contact.
"Did you get the limes?" Espri asked as she hurried toward Jacques.
"I think this should be enough." He handed her half a dozen limes, along with the leaves she'd requested and a pot of salve. "Has he stirred yet?"
"Only once, when I was working on the coral cut; otherwise he's been quiet." Espri turned back to the silent stranger. "I'll need a bandage for his head, something that will help hold the leaves in place."
Jacques nodded and went to search among their belongings for a suitable cloth to use for the wrapping while Espri drew out a knife and quickly cut several of the limes in half. Leaning over the man, she shielded his eyes protectively as she squeezed the fruits' caustic juice into the angry wound, cauterizing it. Then, after covering the injury with the healing purau leaves, she took the strip of material her father offered her and secured it about the wounded man's head.
"You have to cover his eyes?" Jacques asked.
"It is the only way I can be sure that the leaves will stay in place. It should hold until he comes around." As Espri spoke, she began to apply the healing salve to the welts on the stranger's back.
"Any sign of the fever yet?" Jacques knew how vicious and unpredictable the fierce fever from an infected coral wound could be.
"He feels somewhat hot, but not unbearably so."
"You've done a fine job, ma petite," her father assured her.
"I just hope I've done enough."
"You've done everything possible. Now it's just a matter of waiting."
"I know." Espri glanced worriedly at the unconscious man.
"Do you need my help with anything else right now?" Jacques asked.
"No, why?"
"I thought I'd go to the village and tell Luatu about this man you've rescued," he explained, starting out of the hut. "Maybe the villagers have heard something about the ship he was on."
Espri's heart sank, for rum and kava flowed freely in the village. She followed Jacques outside. "Give Grandfather my love," she said.
"I'll tell Luatu that you'll come to see him as soon as you can," he promised.
"Papa?" Espri's tone was hopeful.
"Yes, chérie?"
"Will you be back today?"
Jacques avoided meeting her eyes for he knew he would see the questioning/censuring look that always haunted her gaze when she was worrying about his drinking. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Though his words were reassuring, Espri knew the pattern of his behavior, so as she watched him head in the direction of the main village her heart was filled with sadness and bitterness. Though she was sure that, right now, Jacques was sincere in his intention to try to return that day, she would not count on his doing so. His need for the forgetfulness drink provided was more powerful than his desire to please her.
Shrugging off her concern, Espri turned back to the hut to check on the stranger. When she found that there had been no change in his condition, she left him to prepare herself a light breakfast of plantains and fresh coconut milk in the separate, open-sided cooking hut. Returning to the main dwelling, she ate her meal quietly as she maintained a watchful vigil over the injured man.
Sitting in the comfort of Chief Luatu's unwalled dining house, Jacques spoke in earnest to the old man who was his father-in-law. "Espri is with him now."
"Is he badly injured?" Luatu offered his son-in-law a shell of fresh coconut milk, but Jacques waved it away. He needed something more powerful to ease the pain that throbbed at his temples. Noting Jacques's distress, the chief ordered his servant to bring rum.
"The stranger has a head wound from the coral. He hasn't yet recovered consciousness," Jacques answered as he gratefully accepted the proffered cup of liquor and took a deep sustaining drink.
"What of the fever? Has it taken him?"
"No, not yet."
"Perhaps this white man will be lucky and it will pass him by."
"I don't know."
"Well, if anyone can help him, it will be Espri. She is gifted in healing, much as my daughter was," Luatu stated proudly.
For just an instant Jacques's eyes darkened at the mention of his beloved Tila. "Yes, she is."
"Yours was not the only man found today," Luatu said.
"There were others?" Jacques was astounded by the news. Such incidents were very rare, indeed.
"Just one," the old chief informed him. "Two children found him on the shore near the village."
"Is he still alive?"
"Yes. Anuitua is caring for him now."
"They must have been from the same vessel," Jacques stated thoughtfully.
"Go to Anuitua and see this man," Luatu suggested. "Maybe he will be able to talk with you."
"I will do that."
"Come, enjoy the food also," the chief urged, gesturing expansively toward the platters spread before them. "Plantains and pudding await you."
"As always, your generosity is boundless."
"You are my family." Luatu dismissed the compliment easily. "How is my granddaughter?"
"She is well and sends her love," Jacques replied.
The older man smiled contentedly as he thought of Espri. "That is good. She is the light of my days."
"As she is of mine."
"Have any of the island boys caught her eye yet?" Luatu inquired.
The answer was slow in coming. "No. She shows little interest. Konga pursues her, but she gives him no encouragement."
The chief frowned as he considered this news. "Konga is a strong warrior and has much wealth. She could do worse."
Jacques shrugged. "Who is to know a female's mind? She seems perfectly content as she is."
"It is only a matter of time," Luatu responded sagely. "She has yet to find the man who can awaken the woman in her. When she does she will love with all her heart, just as her mother did."
"It was a beautiful thing—Tila's love."
"Love freely given is always returned tenfold."
"You are right, my old friend. You are right."
Chapter 3
Espri stood in the sun-dappled shade of a grove of ironwood trees, staring at the sea. The morning hours had passed slowly as she had remained by the stranger's side, but when there had been no significant change in his condition, she'd felt the need to get outside for a while. Breathing deeply of the sweet, flower-scented island air, she turned back toward the hut, knowing that it wasn't wise to leave the man alone too long. He might waken and not know where he was.
Mitch was hot an
d thirsty and the pounding in his head was nearly unbearable. Rolling over slowly, he winced slightly as his abused back came in contact with the hard mat. His breathing became strained even from that little exertion, and he wondered vaguely at his own weakness as he struggled to subdue the wracking pain that enveloped him. Gritting his teeth, he levered himself up on his elbows and opened his eyes.
Had Mitch not been feverish, he would have understood that the blackness engulfing him was not real, but his senses were confused. Frightened by the thought that he was blind, he jerked upright and reached up to touch his eyes. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief when he discovered the bandage. Then, angered by his own feeling of helplessness, he tore off the offending wrap.
As the bright sunlight pouring through the hut's open doorway assaulted him, pain, sharp and glaring, forced him to turn quickly away. Squinting, Mitch blinked dazedly as he looked around him, but his eyes refused to focus properly and his surroundings remained an unfamiliar blur. Where am I? The question pounded through his disoriented mind as he tried to fathom his situation, but the fever drained all rationality from him. Fantasy melded with reality in his thoughts, leaving him more than a little confused. How did I get here—wherever "here" is—and where are my clothes? he wondered. Unable to think clearly, he lay back, groaned, and covered his eyes with one hand.
Espri heard him moan as she crossed the glade to the hut, and her heart caught in her throat. She rushed forward.
"Oh, no, monsieur." She was upset to find that he had torn off the protective, healing wrapping, and she hurried to his side, kneeling down.
Mitch had been so engrossed in his own misery that he hadn't heard her approach, and the unexpected sound of her voice startled him. Despite his torment, he took his hand from his eyes and looked at her; but he could not see her clearly.
"Monsieur?" Mitch frowned. Where the hell was he? The woman was speaking French to him? His head was throbbing, his thoughts were jumbled as he tried to identify the girl before him. The last time he'd heard a French accent he had been at Madame Sauvigne's Château of Pleasure . . . Was this Fifi? Of course! And that would explain, too, his current state of undress! Eager for this to be the explanation of his dilemma, he reached out and caressed the softness of the girl's shoulder, the heat of his touch branding her cool, sensitive flesh. "Ah, Fifi, how could I have forgotten that I was with you?"
"Fifi?" Espri frowned, momentarily confused until she realized that his features were flushed and that he was burning up with the fever. "Monsieur, you're mistaken. My name is . . ."
But before she could continue, his hand dipped lower, skimming with disconcerting accuracy over the soft swell of a breast covered only by her thin sarong. Never before had a man touched her so intimately and with such expertise. Gasping at the sudden, unexpected sensation that raced through her, Espri was dismayed to feel her nipples tauten invitingly against the warmth of his lingering caress.
At her sudden intake of breath, Mitch smiled confidently and moved to draw her to him. "You were saying, Fifi?"
Nervously, Espri shifted position so she would be just out of his reach. "Monsieur," she began again, stiltedly this time for she was still disturbed by the heated tingle that seemed to glow from her breast to the very center of her womanly being. "You have—"
"Missed you greatly." Having finished the sentence for her, he went on. "And, Fifi, have I ever told you how sexy I find your accent?" His voice was low and seductive, and there was a trace of humor in it.
Mesmerized briefly by his tone, Espri stared at him in mute fascination as he took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the sensitive curve of her palm. She couldn't prevent the shudder that quivered through her at the contact of his mouth on her flesh, and though she tried to pull her hand from his firm, yet gentle, grip, Mitch held her fast.
With a little effort, his failing vision had fit Fifi LaRue's dark, French beauty to this woman's blurred countenance. The peach-tinted skin, the cloud of black hair, the marvelous foreign lilt of her speech . . . yes, he truly believed he was at Madame Sauvigne's and the woman beside him was Fifi. With lazy confidence, Mitch drew the woman he thought to be a courtesan toward him, but when he felt her resistance, he frowned.
"Why are you so skittish, chérie? We've known each other far too intimately for you to pretend coyness now." Mitch started to sit up in order to pull her across his lap, but the suddenness of his movement sent a shaft of pain through his head. A groan escaped him, and he quickly lay back on the mat, his free hand pressed tentatively to his fevered brow.
"It must have been the whiskey." He tried to lighten the mood by his quip, but the agony he was experiencing had turned his slight smile to a grimace.
"Whiskey? You weren't drinking whiskey!" Espri told him hurriedly.
"That explains it then," he rationalized. "I never did have a head for any other liquor."
"Monsieur," she began.
"There's no need for you to be so formal, Fifi. Madame Sauvigne is gone and we're quite alone." He released her hand and reached up to caress her cheek. "Call me Mitch."
Nonplused by the tenderness of his touch, Espri could only repeat his name, enjoying the hard, masculine sound of it on her tongue. "Mitch."
"Ah, Fifi," he murmured seductively as the agony in his head lessened. "You are a beauty." Ever so gently, Mitch slipped his hand behind her neck, and with an easy pressure, he slowly guided her down to him.
Espri knew she should resist, knew she should tell him once and for all that she wasn't Fifi, but her resolve disappeared as his lips met hers in a first, innocent exchange. While she had been kissed before, the fumbling, pawing embraces she had experienced with the island boys held none of the magical delight of this sweetly shared moment, and she found herself relaxing against this stranger as his hands molded her to him. A low-glowing heat flamed to life deep within her, and she unconsciously nestled more closely to the hardness of his frame.
Mitch teased her with soft, quick kisses until he felt her inevitable surrender; then he deepened the embrace, his mouth slanting across hers in sudden, fierce possession as his hands traced knowing paths of excitement over her seemingly willing body.
The passion of his kiss took Espri by surprise, and she drew a quick startled breath when he reached down to cup her firm, rounded buttocks and pull her more tightly against him. A shaft of sheer delight soared through her as she felt for the first time the heat of his need pressed intimately against her thighs. Suddenly frightened by the intensity of the emotions he was arousing, Espri began to struggle in earnest to free herself from his demanding embrace.
Lost in a sensual haze of need, Mitch well remembered the real Fifi's abandoned lovemaking, and he interpreted her actions, now, as excited anticipation. Encouraged by her wriggling movements, his mouth seared hers, his tongue delving deeply between her slightly parted lips to taste more fully of her sweetness.
"Fifi . . ." Mitch intoned her name huskily as his hands grazed over her hips and thighs with knowing precision.
"Monsieur . . . Mitch . . . you have a fever," Espri protested firmly. She was not Fifi, and she did not like being mistaken for another woman—especially in a passionate embrace!
"Yes, Fifi. I'm feverish, feverish with desire for you!" Mitch's mouth took hers again, plundering it ruthlessly, as his body demanded more—much more—than intoxicating caresses.
Even through the discomfiture of his injuries, Mitch felt himself responding to the woman in his arms with a fervency he'd never before experienced, and he wanted—no, needed—to lose himself in her body, to sink within those hot, silken depths.
In spite of her desire to be free, a whirlwind of enthralling ecstasy swept through Espri as Mitch continued to caress her, and her outrage at being mistaken for someone else faded. Aware only of the pulsing warmth of his manly arousal fitted tightly against her, Espri knew an instinctive urge to wrap herself around him, to absorb him into the very depths of her body.
Mitch could wait no longer t
o possess her. His need was strong, and her willingness was now more than obvious for she was moving restlessly, hungrily. The sarong was foreign to him, but he had little trouble stripping it from her lithe form. Then, feeling completely in control, he levered himself up and turned, pinning Espri beneath him in order to enter her.
But dizziness suddenly swept over him as he moved atop her, draining all desire from his body and leaving him shaken and cold. Groaning in sudden misery, he closed his eyes and tried desperately to conquer the vertigo that refused to subside. But relief didn't come, and he was forced to roll onto his back to try to regain his equilibrium.
As reality intruded, the powerful excitement that Mitch had aroused faded and Espri grew alarmed, not only by his obvious distress but by the thought of what had almost happened between them. Angry with herself for having lost control of the situation, she got up and draped her sarong about her before moving back to his side.
"Fifi . . .?" Mitch spoke gruffly as he lay quite still, his breathing shallow, his color ashen.
Knowing that it was useless to explain her identity to him at this point, Espri reached out and laid a comforting hand on his arm. The dry, feverish heat emanating from him seemed to scorch her hand, and her embarrassed anger gave way to serious concern for his health.
"I'm here, Mitch."
"I'm sorry . . . I don't usually have these problems," Mitch explained. He tried to smile, but the throbbing in his head had become too intense. Frowning at his failure to master the pain, he shook his head as if to clear it. "That must have been some liqueur you gave me last night."
"You did have a rough night, monsieur," Espri agreed, going along with his ramblings.
Mitch turned to her, studying her hazy visage. Funny, he thought in a brief moment of clarity, he didn't remember Fifi being so agreeable. As he recalled, she had the temper of a shrew and a tongue to match. Shrugging off his feeling of confusion, he made an attempt to sit up. "I'd better be going. If you'll just bring me my clothes . . ."
"Please . . ." Espri leaned over him and pressed him back down on the mat. "Don't try to get up yet. I'll bring you something to drink and then after you rest for a while, you'll feel much better."
