Tempestuous Eden (16 page)

She was faced with the unhappy realization that Craig had indeed struck a bull’s-eye. She hated him, didn’t she? Despised and scorned him. She knew him to be a cunning and devious renegade. But she still wanted him, still wanted to feel his touch. His gaze, sensuous when lazily taunting, sensuous when honed by anger still held the power to send chills racing down her spine with the anticipation of excitement.

Blair sent her teeth down cruelly into her bottom lip. He would never know. She wasn’t a witless animal, she was an intelligent human being capable of governing her physical actions with her mind. She would loathe Craig Taylor until this episode was over, and then she would happily see him behind bars, where he belonged.

Lions should be caged, she told herself.

Her mind continued to run in merry-go-round circles as she desperately tried to figure out reasonably what was happening. He kept insisting that she trust him, but how could she possibly trust a man who had so carefully planned her abduction? Even now the memory of seeing the first shocking lights streak through the jungle had the power to cripple her over with new pain.

Who was he?
her mind shrieked. And how dare he continue to behave as if she were at fault for not accepting this farce?

She sat until she thought her mind would drive her over the brink of sanity. Then she realized she had been sitting so long that her muscles were cramping. She stood, stretched, and flexed her muscles, grimacing ruefully. One thing was certain; she couldn’t spend her days just sitting.

But pacing the confines of the cabin was not much better. Her naturally fastidious eyes kept reverting to the dishes left at the circular table, and although she kept telling herself there was no way she was going to cooperate in the least with Craig, she finally succumbed to the irresistible urge to straighten up. Stacking the plates and utensils in her arms, she moved into the galley with a sigh. He had been right on a point, and so had she. She had nowhere to go—and she was here as well as he. It appeared that she would eat again tonight in the cabin and just might be eating here for quite a while. Besides, a show of cooperation might put him off-guard. When the time came, she just might be able to get away if he believed himself secure in his control over her.

Blair dumped the dishes into the sink and began to raid the cabinets beneath it for soap. It was a strange-looking tub to be so well supplied, she thought again. Craig hadn’t mentioned water conservation at all. The sailboat had to carry an impressive supply.

At the helm Craig stared unseeing at the mainsail, billowing ever so slightly in the slight breeze that carried them along at a poky four knots. But he didn’t need speed at the moment; their voyage was moving along just as planned.

As he stared absently at the sail, he was busy silently berating himself. Why did he keep losing control? It was unlikely that even the most polite, courteous manner would sway Blair into renewed trust when he couldn’t explain himself. But it was unnecessary for him to keep driving in the little stakes that were bringing her hostility upon him in full force.

Why was he doing it? He couldn’t help it. Every time her chin rose with that scathing contempt, he couldn’t control the primitive force that propelled him into reminding her that she had been his, completely his, intimately his.

He was in love with her, he reminded himself ruefully. Male instinct couldn’t allow him to let her forget how she responded to his slightest touch.

The tiller suddenly jerked with the convulsive tightening of his hand.
Damn,
he hissed to himself. He was tempted to draw in the sails, weigh anchor, and run below to satisfy his charge, to take her forcefully on the cabin floor until she cried out the realization that she did want him, loved him no matter what, trusted him.

Easy, Taylor!
his mind snapped. His eyes scanned the river. He did have a few problems, and he did need to solve them. They would be passing the village of Santa Maria Teresa before long, and the river would narrow. He wanted to make sure to pass by so that the villagers would notice nothing out of the ordinary. Hoisting a loose line around the tiller to hold the boat steady, he moved fleetly to the hatchway. “Blair!” he announced briskly. “Topside, I want to talk to you.”

There was no reply, and Craig grimaced, a twitch of amusement pulling at his lips. He hadn’t really expected the princess to come bounding obediently to the deck. Leaning down to the hatch, he was pleasantly surprised to hear the trickle of running water. He didn’t kid himself into suspecting that she might be about to take him on trust. He was sure that her caged exile had just left her desperate for something to do, a way to pass the time.

“Blair,” he called down sweetly, “could you please come up here? I’d hate like hell to have to cast anchor just to come to you.” Though tauntingly pleasant, he made sure his voice implied that she too would hate for him to have to come to her.

Blair listened to the sound of his request with her teeth grating. She glanced around the galley, in order now, and dried her hands furiously on a piece of cloth she had found. Her mind wandered briefly. The boat gave her the same feeling that Craig’s presence always had—something just didn’t jell.

Their boat was definitely a rustic-looking tub, but on closer inspection it was a strange rustic. The drab coloring made one think of age and dirt, as did the chipping varnish and knotted wood. But there wasn’t a piece of wood in the cabin that she had tested that wasn’t hard and sturdy. And the galley was certainly well equipped. Cabinets opened by her questing hands had displayed a wide variety of canned goods and a small icebox had sported a nice array of meats. Wicker baskets like the one from which Craig had earlier procured the eggs rested in various places on the counter that was the separation of galley and cabin. In them were fruits, potatoes, beans, and rice.

None of it was particularly encouraging. It appeared that they were prepared for a long siege.

“Blair!” She heard Craig’s snapping command once more and mimicked him with silent fury. The thought of ignoring his summons was tempting—she should give him every bit as much trouble as possible—but she wasn’t terribly secure in her belief that he wasn’t going to harm her.
He isn’t going to harm me,
her mind persisted,
no matter what I do. Toward me he isn’t a physically dangerous man.

Like hell! He was the most physically dangerous man she had ever met.

That’s not what I mean,
another voice, shocked, replied. And none of it mattered anyway. She simply didn’t have the nerve to find out.

“I’m coming!” she called back up the hatchway with vast irritation, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to build a wall of hostility. Warily she dropped the cloth and climbed the ladder.

“What?” she snapped icily, surprised and taken off-guard as she almost crashed into him. Skittering to one side, she narrowed her eyes upon him and repeated, “What?”

He cast a glance over his shoulder to the tiller. “Watch the helm, mate,” he commanded briskly. Blair noticed then that he had affixed a sheet line to keep the tiller set at a dead-ahead direction.

“I’m not sailing your damned boat—” she began incredulously, but he cast her a glance with a single raised eyebrow that quelled her speech even before he disappeared into the hatch himself.

Muttering beneath her breath, Blair released the line and took the tiller into her hands. Wasn’t he presuming a lot to be so sure that she knew what she was doing? Not that it took any expertise to follow a straight line at a slow pace on an almost calm river. But what if she took it into her mind to run them aground on the river bank? She glanced at the banks—distant at this wide part of the river. There was nothing welcoming to be seen. Dark foliage and dense underbrush.

With a sigh Blair cast her eyes to the mainsail billowing high and proud in the breeze. There wasn’t much of a breeze at that, but at full sail the canvas, dingy and gray-looking as it was, held a certain mystique that captivated nevertheless. The sky was a clear, a soft blue without a cloud to mar it. If she closed her eyes, then opened them merely to the sail and the sky, she could be anywhere, languorously feeling the gentle touch of the breeze.

“Thanks.” Craig cut into her thoughts briskly, slipping a hand over hers and retrieving the tiller. Blair was leaning against the captain’s seat and immediately jumped up. The brief touch of his broad hand had filled her with an unnerving warmth, thoughts of those fingers coursing her body with tenderness and strength never out of her consciousness.

“Is that it?” she asked briskly.

“No, that’s not it.” He tossed a bundle of clothes into her hands and she saw that he had gone under to retrieve them with a purpose.

Blair stared at the clothing she had caught by reflex. It didn’t take a genius to quickly fathom that the bundle consisted of peasant garb—a rough cotton skirt and blouse.

“I’d like you to wear that,” Craig said blandly.

Blair tossed the clothing to his bare feet. She smiled nicely. “I’d rather not.”

It seemed to be an endless time that they stared at each other, yellow eyes blazing into an emerald that coolly defied them. Beneath her façade Blair felt her nerves unwinding. What was the plan? If she were being held for ransom, surely she had to be returned in sound limb and health.

Craig smiled suddenly, a very engaging grin. “Okay, Blair, you don’t want to wear the outfit? Suit yourself. I just thought you might be feeling a bit grubby. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a shower in the head. I thought you might want to clean up a bit.”

The idea of a shower was tremendously appealing, but she was suddenly sure she had gained a victory. He wanted her in the peasant garb, but she had been correct. His orders must proclaim that he couldn’t touch her, and so he was stuck, wishing he could bodily shove her into the clothing.

“Thank you, Taylor,” she acknowledged with an inclination of her head and lift of her brow. “Perhaps I will shower, but I will keep my own clothes.”

Turning on her heels, she left him and retreated down the hatch. She had noticed the shower earlier, but it was a primitive thing, consisting of a spouted hose that hung on the wall and a curtain that followed a track against the bland tile that flanked the wood. She did feel dirty, and the feeling didn’t help when desperately trying to keep calm. Apparently he planned to sail on awhile before casting anchor again. She would be wise to make use of the time while he was occupied.

Searching around the cupboards that lined the inner walls, Blair found not only a towel and soap, but an extra pair of jeans and a shirt that surely had to have been planted for her use—the jeans would have barely reached Craig’s kneecaps. Chuckling softly, she went into the head with the new set of clothing. Craig had probably assumed she would wear the peasant garb just for a chance to wash what she had been wearing, she reasoned. “No dice, Taylor,” she muttered smugly to herself, then frowned. There was no way to lock the door to the head. Well, she asked herself impatiently, what had she been expecting?

She paused for a second, listening, but heard nothing but the soft slap of water against the boat. With a shrug she decided Craig was definitely busy above board. Slipping behind the curtain, she fumbled for a few moments with the faucets and then managed to get the hose attachment working. The water was cold, but she didn’t mind. It felt remarkably refreshing against the heat and seemed to have a marvelous effect on the spinning sensation that still riddled her head occasionally. How hard had he hit her? she wondered.

Her life had become a frustrating puzzle of heartache, fear, and betrayal. But her mind couldn’t rest upon the few known facts continually. She would become an overloaded circuit and explode. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded over her, relishing the purely physical stimulation of the simple pleasure, a reprieve from the never-ending heat. The scent of the soap was fresh and clean; she began to feel as if she could once more do battle.

With a sigh Blair decided to turn the water off. Surely their tanks couldn’t hold an indefinite amount of water, and she was loathe to lose the pleasure of bathing if they ran short. Taylor didn’t seem concerned, but then maybe he knew for a fact that there were no crocodiles in the river they traveled.

A tiny, indiscernible sound suddenly pierced Blair’s thoughts. Catching her breath as her heart fluttered, Blair held perfectly still, her hand on the curtain as she waited. And waited. But she didn’t hear anything else and finally threw open the curtain with a bold flourish. She released her breath with a sigh of relief. There was no one with her in the tiny head. She reached for the sink where she had deposited her towel but discovered it missing. Her mind began to race double-time with doubt. She was sure she had brought the towel and her clothing in, hadn’t she? Or had she left her things just outside on the tip of the bed, afraid that they would become soaked in the tiny quarters?

She began to chew her lip, deliberating for what seemed to be an eternity. But there wasn’t a sound from the cabin, and she couldn’t stand there all day.

It would be impossible for Craig to be in the cabin. Gingerly she opened the door, only to attempt to slam it back shut with furious dismay.

Craig was not only in the cabin; he was leaning casually and comfortably on the doorframe. A single movement with his arms blocked her attempt to slam the door, his yellow eyes assessing her with insolent indifference. As she stared back at him, her skin acquired the blood red shade of a boiled lobster. He stuffed her towel and the clothes into her hands. “Again, I suggest that you wear these, Blair,” he said flatly. He smiled ever so slightly. “But it’s your choice: these or nothing.”

Twisting her jaw with rage, Blair began to fumble with the towel, dropping it in her attempt to cover herself from his eyes, eyes that fully assured her she was an absolute fool to ever believe a victory would be hers. He politely bent to pick up the towel for her and made matters worse by brushing her breasts with the thick texture of his hair. He saw the alarm in her face as he rose and slowly returned the towel, his head shaking slowly with vast mockery at her attempts to hide from him.