A Perilous Eden (16 page)

“I told them no bloodshed on the ship,” Ali said. His voice was low, but it was still the voice of command.

“If you intend to hurt that woman,” Daldrin said, speaking at last, “you may as well kill me here and now. I'll be no bargaining pawn for you if she is harmed.”

“We'll discuss it—” Khazar began.

“There will be no discussion,” Adam said flatly. He threw Amber over his shoulder and swung aboard the cabin cruiser. “She's mine. I will look after her, and I will see to her behavior.”

“Father,” Khazar began angrily, “since when do American riffraff and politicians tell you what to do?”

“I have proven myself,” Adam said simply. “I am here. Daldrin is here, as you wished. Without me, you never would have gotten past the American security.”

“I tell you, if she's hurt—” Daldrin began.

“Shut him up!” Khazar ordered.

Still balancing Amber's unconscious weight, Adam reached down and grasped the senator's hand. “Come on up, old man,” he said.

“Take him to the forward cabin. Lock him in and leave a guard,” Ali ordered. He was instantly obeyed. Then he turned to stare at Adam. “You take orders from me. Leave her in the galley, for now. I will hear more.”

There was a door to a large cabin behind the mainmast and wheel. Adam strode through it, carrying Amber down a small flight of steps and over to a sofa against the wall. There was no sign that he had struck her, as yet. She seemed asleep, beautiful, peaceful. He prayed that he could maintain his authority. He was afraid of what they would do to her if he didn't.

He paused, unable to forget the sense of betrayal he had seen in her eyes.

“Adam. Come topside and speak to me.”

Ali was leaning through the doorway. Adam nodded and left Amber, hurrying up the steps.

Ali was seated with men hovering around him: the four in the wet suits who had been with Adam on the deck of the
Alexandria;
two additional swarthy men, both a little older than the others. “Khazar is with our guest, the senator,” Ali told Adam. “Raphael, Juan, Jose and Jaime are with our Central American faction, as you know. This is Mohammed beside me, and over here, Aladin. My very good friends for many long years. Now, tell me, what is the woman doing here?”

“And why is she yours?” the one named Juan demanded.

“I answer to Ali Abdul and no other man,” Adam said.

Ali watched him, then nodded. “Yes, that is so. You answer to me alone.”

“She is my mistress,” he said.

“You were not permitted to bring a mistress.”

“I did not intend to do so. We became lovers when I infiltrated the senator's office. I had arranged for her to be elsewhere, but she wandered out on deck. She entered into this by accident. But she is mine, and I will keep her silent and well behaved.”

Ali waited a long time before he replied. “Tomorrow we come to the island. You will see that there is no trouble. If there is, she dies.”

“I will see that she understands.”

“Juan, see if the woman has awakened. If she has, bring her to me.”

Juan did as he was told. Ali watched Adam. “You will explain to the Americans that the Fourth of July will bring them great tragedy if they do not meet my demands.”

“Yes, I understand. How will I communicate with them?”

“I will send you to Mexico. You will communicate there.”

Adam turned as he realized that Amber had been brought to the canopied helm area. She was shoeless, her elegant scarf was gone, and her chin was very high despite the terror and fury in her eyes. From her shoulders to her toes, she was proud and beautiful, every inch a desirable woman. He knew that Juan felt it, too, and he told Ali softly, “Make him understand that the woman is mine. He may not touch her.”

Juan exploded in fury. “Are we not brothers? Do we not share? She was not welcome, but she is here. She will be nothing but trouble.”

“She is my concern.” Adam insisted. “Mine.”

An argument broke out, and Juan kept repeating that he, too, had a right to the woman. The older men, Ali's companions, were impatient, saying that Adam had his rights.

Then Amber spoke, silencing them all. “What the hell is going on?” she exploded. “None of you has any rights where I'm concerned. You're criminals! You let me go—and the senator—this instant or I swear I shall—”

“Ali, let me handle her,” Adam said in Arabic. He needed to get her alone, even though he couldn't explain to her who he was yet. She was in a panic, and she might easily betray him or she might not believe him. Then they'd all be dead. If she didn't stop, the only way to handle things would be to hurt her.

“Where is the senator?” Amber demanded.

“Shut up!” Adam ordered.

She didn't shut up. “They'll hang you, Adams. They'll get you, you bastard, one way or the other. Maybe they'll shoot you for treason. It's—” He didn't want to hear any more of her words.

“Shut up, Amber,” he warned her again.

“The hell I will—”

He reached her before she could move and slapped her hard across the cheek. The stunned pain that entered her eyes seemed to reach into his soul, but he didn't dare falter. She had to be cowed.

She wasn't. She struck him back with a blow that rang in his ears.

Laughter rose. Laughter. Juan roared out that Adam's
puta
wore the pants. She heard the word, and she understood it. Eyes wide, she protested, “No! I'm nothing to this man! Listen to me—”

“Shut up!” Adam thundered. He didn't dare let her go on. He clamped one hand over her mouth, grabbed her with the other and tossed her over his shoulder. He had to regain the men's respect. He faced Ali. “There's a private cabin for me?”

Ali nodded. Amber fought wildly as Adam hurried down the stairs with her, passing through the galley and salon before he pushed open a door to reveal a cabin with a narrow bunk. He tossed her down on it, but she rose, still fighting.

He pushed her backward and stripped off his shirt. If she wanted a fight, she was going to get one. And she was going to lose.

She had gone silent, watching him strip off his shirt. In the pale light her hair spilled over her shoulders, and he ached to possess her. He hardened himself against her.

“Let me go, you son of a bitch!” she demanded.

He unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his belt loops, wrapping the end around his hand and locking his jaw as she started to scream. He let loose with the belt, striking the bunk with vehemence. She stared at him.

“Dear God …” she gasped.

He took a step toward the bed and wrenched her against him. “Scream again,” he ordered curtly.

“What?”

“Scream again.”

“Michael, I don't—”

“You idiot, I said
scream
!”

She was still staring at him, tense and trembling and beautiful, but not uttering a sound. He gritted his teeth still more tightly, and then he knew. He knew what would make her scream.

He released her shoulders and caught hold of her bodice, wrenching it apart. She fought him, letting out a scream that brought a grim smile to his lips.

“Good scream,” he said, splitting the gown to her navel. She fell back on the bunk, trying to hold her clothing and her dignity together. He sat down and removed his sneakers.

“I'll kill you myself!” she swore.

He stripped off his jeans, leaving his knife hidden under the pants. He set his gun on the bureau. If they were disturbed in the night, he wanted it to be obvious that they'd been together.

She was staring at him with horror and hatred, and he suddenly realized what he was doing. They'd been together so intimately that it hadn't seemed to matter, but now he saw that it did. It mattered to her. Suddenly the hatred in her eyes disturbed him. She might have realized that he was trying to keep her alive; she might have known enough about him not to believe in the evil that she saw.

“No …” she whispered.

“Amber, my love,” he mocked her, “there's nothing new here.”

She flew at him like a wildcat, and he warned her to stop. When she didn't, he told her to give herself a chance. But in the end he had to subdue her, his naked form atop her.

Finally a single word left her lips. A plea. “Don't …”

“Listen to me. And listen good. I am trying to keep you alive.”

She was never, never going to believe him. He saw it in her eyes. Damn her. He levered himself away from her, running his fingers through his hair. What she felt didn't matter, he reminded himself hollowly. He hadn't loved her, hadn't told her that he loved her; he had just wanted her. And he had admired her. He still admired her. But he didn't love her; he was still in love with Sonia. Amber could think what she wanted.

As long as she came to heel. No matter how cold or cruel he had to be, he had to make her come to heel.

He heard her inhale, and he turned around. She was only half-clad, her hair streaming around her shoulders, those beautiful, reproachful eyes of hers condemning him straight to hell. Well, that might well be his destination.

The gown was in tatters. It wasn't any good anymore. And if they were visited in the night …

“Take that off,” he told her.

“No, Michael. No, I—”

She wouldn't admit defeat. And he was exhausted, his nerves on edge. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her close. He felt the silken strands against his fingers, and his fury increased all the more. In the midst of all this tempest, he wanted her still, wanted her more than ever, wanted her moving against him, her breath on his naked flesh, her hips fluid, her hair softly brushing his chest. But it was over. It would never happen again.

Then she spat at him.

He waited. He waited for the fury and the hunger and the bitterness to subside. She vowed to kill him again, and he ignored her. Then she tried to grab the gun, and he could no longer ignore her. Calmly, forcefully, coldly, with grim determination, he stripped away her clothing and tossed it heedlessly to the floor. When she lay completely naked, he left her alone at last and walked to the cabin door, where he listened carefully.

What had they heard topside? It was important that they think he had subdued her and punished her for her behavior. Well, they should believe that now, he thought wearily.

She was crying. Crying at last. He wanted to dig a hole in the ocean floor and crawl into it.

Amber Larkspur wasn't the only one at risk here. There were eight men depending on him on the island, and Senator Daldrin.

And still, to know that she was flinching from him …

He tightened his hands into fists. It should have been over. She should have been a memory.

But she wasn't. She was lying in the bunk where he would spend the night—without touching her. “Get under the blanket and move over,” he told her. “Quickly.”

She protested, and wearily, he repeated his order, then gestured for silence.

He lay down and listened again. They had finished talking about him and Amber. They were musing about what action the President of the United States would take when he was confronted with their new threats and demands.

Amber was inching closer and closer to the wall. Should he be in the cabin with her like this, he wondered, when there was a loaded gun at hand?

He turned to her, fierce, furious. “One warning, Miss Larkspur. Don't play me for a fool. You're supposed to be an intelligent woman. Prove it. Whatever I say, do. Whatever game I play, you play along. Understand?”

“They'll hang you!” she vowed. “They'll hang you, or they'll shoot you—”

He closed his hand over her mouth. So much for peace between them. He could never relax his guard. He was fighting the enemy, and he was fighting his own side, too. For the moment, it was the only way.

He smiled grimly at her. “Then perhaps I should make it worth my while.” He cast his leg intimately over hers. He would never take her by force, but she wouldn't know that.

She went stiff and silent. Silent at last.

He wanted to touch her, to soothe her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and reassure her. Most of all, he just wanted to hold her, to see the hatred fade from her eyes. But he couldn't do any of those things. “I am trying to help you,” he told her. “Do you understand?”

“Obviously,” she said scathingly.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry you got involved.”

“You're a traitor, you bastard!”

His hand wrapped convulsively around hers. If he was caught, if he was killed on the island, the whole world would believe that what she said was true. His muscles tightened, and he felt his anger growing, despite his resolve. “What I am doesn't matter, Amber. Not if you want to survive this.”

Again, she lay silent. He swallowed his anger. If she just weren't so damn brave, if she didn't fight him so fiercely …

Then a slight sob escaped her. The sound stabbed his heart and tore through his insides. He couldn't help himself. He had held her; he had touched her. He had loved her.

He turned to her, stroking her cheek. “It will be all right. I promise, it will be all right.”

She shoved his hand away. “Fine. So you say. Just—just don't touch me.”

She didn't want his touch. Not anymore. She couldn't bear his hands upon her. It was natural for her to feel that way. For the moment, it was even necessary.

“I'll do my best … Miss Larkspur,” he promised her coldly.

But he
was
touching her, or nearly so. He was beside her, their naked bodies nearly meeting. He had known her so very well, the sound of her voice, every nuance of her form, the sweet, subtle scent of her.…

He turned his back on her, but he could still feel her, still see her. He could see her beautiful aquamarine eyes, see her face when he touched her, the fall of her hair.