Bird of Paradise (16 page)

“And your arms,” he said holding
out one arm and kissing a wet trail up to her shoulder, “are pieces
of art. They are the arms of the
Venus de
Milo
.”

“The
Venus
de Milo
doesn’t have arms,” she
said—somewhat breathlessly, he noted, smiling to
himself.

“That’s because no one else can have arms as lovely
as you,” he murmured against her collarbone. “But they have rivals
to the title of loveliest limb, because those must go to your legs,
particularly your thighs—”

She squealed and tried to push down the towel as he
peeled it off her upper legs. “No, please, Adam, don’t!”

He bent over her legs, sliding a hand between her
thighs, nibbling her soft flesh gently until she shuddered and
allowed him to spread her legs. “Your thighs are almost perfect
enough to be part of a sculpture, but not quite, because yours are
warm and soft and inviting.

“They are?”

He heard the wistful tone in her voice and prayed
she would learn to see herself as he saw her. “Almost perfect,” he
repeated, kneeling between her thighs as he tried to pull the towel
from where she clutched it between her breasts. “Let me, baby.”

“
No.”

“Please.”

“No.” Her eyes were filling with tears.

He kissed her long and deep. “Let me see you.”

Slowly he pried the towel from her fingers and laid
it back, exposing her breasts, those glorious breasts, breasts that
would make any man’s mouth water. “Oh, Hero, they’re exquisite,” he
murmured, his fingers stroking and caressing, then he paid homage
to each pert rose-tipped nipple with his mouth.

“Exquisite,” she moaned, writhing against him,
thrusting her breast into his mouth, screaming when he suckled
hard. He paid due attention to the other breast, making her gasp
with the pleasure, then kissed the warm valley between them as he
slid down.

“But the best part of you. . .” He nudged the towel
down.

“No!” She tried to grab it and cover herself up. He
wouldn’t let her.

“The best part. . . “ He pushed the towel down until
her belly button was exposed, pausing to lave it with his tongue.
She jerked beneath him.

“No,” she whimpered, her hands fluttering in his
hair.

“The very best part of you” —he brushed the
remainder of the towel aside and gently bit her belly, sliding his
hand up her inner thigh until he reached his own personal paradise.
“Weeps tears of joy for me.”

He leaned down until his mouth was against her
heated core, his nose inhaling the scent of her, the scent of him,
their passion mingled into something earthy and salty and so
essential he had to taste her.

She bucked beneath him so hard that he held her hips
still, licking and nibbling her until her back bowed and she
screamed his name.

He lay next to her, twining a finger in her damp
hair until she was able to open her eyes.

“Now tell me I don’t find you beautiful.”

She slapped a hand on his chest and pushed him onto
his back, looming over him with a scowl that would do a misanthrope
proud.

“Just what do you mean by saying that my crotch is
the best part of me? Whatever happened to loving my mind, hmmm?
Whatever happened to my charming wit and my delightful sense of
humor and all the other things you have been praising these last
few days? There’s more to me than just my genitals, you know!”

He laughed and pulled her down over him, and kissed
the disgruntled look right off her face. “I was wondering if you
were going to say anything about that.”

“Oh, I’m going to do more than just say something
about such a gross understatement of my many charms,” she said, a
wicked look in her eye that warmed him to his toes. She leaned over
to kiss him, and squeezed a groan out of him as she wrapped her
fingers around his penis. “I’m going to do much, much more than say
something. I’m going to demand a penance.”

He tried to capture one of her ripe nipples in his
mouth, but she squirmed out of his reach. “What sort of penance?
Will it involve whipped cream? Handcuffs? You parading around me in
naughty lingerie?”

She sat back on her heels, then suddenly bent over
him and flicked her tongue along the sensitive underside of his
penis.

He stopped breathing.

“No,” she whispered, curling her fingers around him.
“Your penance is that you’re going to have to make love to me
again. Right now.”

“Such a taskmaster,” he sighed, then tried to grab
her and pull her over him.

“No, no, not like that, anyone can make love like
that,” she teased, getting to her feet and running toward the
water. “We’re going to do it the hard way.”

“Oh, baby, you have no idea how hard it is,” he
grinned as he jumped up and chased after her.

Jesus lay in a cool spot directly beneath a
broad-leafed shrub and watched with interest as Adam hauled Hero to
a spot next to the blanket.

“What do you mean, it’s poisonous? I thought you ate
sea urchins? How can you eat something that’s poisonous?”

“It’s just a mild poison, Hero, on the spine. It's
nothing serious. Here, stand on your one leg and let me look at
your foot.”

Hero stood naked, tears pooling
around her eyes, her wet hair streaming water down her back as he
held her foot up and bent over it. The bottom of her foot stung,
but that ominous word
poison
kept ringing through her head.

“It’s not bad at all—the spines barely punctured the
skin— but even if we left right away it might start to swell up
before we made it back to the resort.”

“I’ve been poisoned by a bloody sea urchin?” She
couldn’t believe it. She had medications for every other
eventuality, but who knew that treacherous little spiny things
lurked under innocent patches of seaweed. She just thanked her
lucky stars that she stepped on the little bugger after they had
made love, not during. “What are we going to do? I don’t want to be
poisoned, I just let you see me. All of me! It’s not fair that I
should go through that and then die because of sadistic sea life
lying in wait for me!”

“Hero—”Adam looked at her with an odd
expression.

“What?”

“There is one thing I can do.”

“Well then do it,” she said, trying to peer over her
shoulder to look behind at her foot.

“Sea-urchin spines can be dissolved with
ammonia.”

“And you have some?”

“Well—”

“For the Lord’s sake, put it on! I don’t want to be
puffy-footed; tonight is mambo night! I want to mambo with you! We
could get at least two hundred points if we beat everyone else!”
Keeping her injured foot of the ground, she hopped toward the
picnic basket and gestured toward it. “Go ahead, get the ammonia
and put it on my foot. I’m getting tired of standing like a
flamingo.”

Wry amusement and embarrassment mingled in his
handsome eyes. “The ammonia isn’t in the picnic basket, it’s in uh
. . .”

“Well?”

“My urine.”

She stared at him, her mouth
hanging open slightly. “Your
what
?”

“Urine. Urine contains ammonia.”

She continued to stare, sure she must have misheard
him. “You want to pee on my foot?”

His lips twisted into a half smile. “They do it all
the time down here. It’s very common.”

“You want to
pee
on my foot?”

“It’ll help dissolve any bit of spine that’s in the
wound, and should keep it from swelling. We’ll get you back to the
resort and let the medical people have a look at it then.”

“You want to pee on my
foot
?”

He sighed. “It’s the only thing I can do until we
get back to the resort.”

She glared at him for a moment, then turned her back
and raised her foot until the sole was facing him. “I am going to
pretend this is not happening. I am going to pretend that I am
soaking my foot in warm water and Epsom salts. I am going to
pretend—Good Lord, man, what are you, a camel? How much do you have
in you?”

He carried her out to the boat a short time later,
instructing her to keep her foot out of the water despite her
inclination to wash it off in the warm salt water. With his help
she shimmied one-footed into her swimsuit, then pulled the cover-up
on and resumed her seat by the tiller while he fetched Jesus and
the picnic things.

She thought that nothing could ruin such a fabulous,
breathtakingly glorious, stupendously wonderful, marvelous,
perfectly lovely day—lovely with only the minor exception of having
had the love of her life pee all over her foot—but as she found
out, even such a day of almost bliss as they had shared could be
crushed until it resembled nothing so much as a stomped-upon sea
urchin.

Chapter Seven

“I wonder what's going on over there?”

Adam looked when Hero pointed down the dock. He had
just tied up the sailboat and was unloading Jesus and the picnic
things, preparing to help Hero hobble to the resort infirmary, but
stopped when he saw the group of television people coming toward
him. They had the ubiquitous cameraman and sound person in tow, he
noted.

Hero gnawed on her lip and hopped to the edge of the
boat, allowing Adam to swing her over the side. She no longer had
any doubts that he truly did find her attractive, and with that
knowledge came the freedom to love him with every atom in her body.
She leaned against him, wanting the warm contact touching him gave
her. “Have we kept the boat out too long?”

“No.” He shook his head, snapping a leash on Jesus
and handing it to her as he scooped up the blankets and towels,
adding them to the picnic basket.

“They don't look very happy.” A twinge of guilt
streaked through her at the sight of the Eden producer, her
assistant, someone sweating profusely in a suit, and a cameraman
headed straight for them. She had meant to tell Adam the truth
about her participation on the show during the sail home, but
somehow they ended up kissing more than talking, and she just
hadn't mustered up the nerve to tell him. She would tonight,
though. The first moment they were together alone, she'd explain
about more or less losing her job, and having one last chance, and
the need for her to keep her intentions quiet. Surely he would
understand.

He had told her the truth about himself even before
he kissed her.

She pushed that niggling thought aside and smiled at
the approaching people, Adam's arm strong around her waist.

“Adam Fuller.”

She felt Adam stiffen beside her and wondered why,
then realized the show's producer used his real name, not the name
he had assumed for the show.

“Hero North,” Dara Thompson said with a smile that
most definitely did not reach her eyes. “How very fitting we should
find you both together.”

“Is it?” Adam asked smoothly, his arm tightening
around Hero. She had a horrible presentiment of what was coming.
“Well, I'm afraid that whatever you have to say to us is going to
have to wait. Hero stepped on a sea urchin and she needs medical
attention.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Thompson said, her eyes
expressing anything but concern. “This won't take a minute. Mr.
Jenkins?”

The sweaty man in a suit oiled his
way forward. “I'm Robert Jenkins, of Dowitcher, Prog, and Epile. I
represent Hawkeye Productions, and the TV show
Eden
in particular. Mr. Fuller, we
have here an affidavit from one Samuel Fife, producer, stating that
he received payment of five thousand dollars in order to doctor a
legitimate contestant's file in such a way as to admit you to the
show in place of the contestant.”

Oh, Lord, they'd found Adam out. Hero slid a glance
at him. He stood beside her, not gnashing his teeth or frothing at
the mouth, or doing any of the things she would be doing in his
place. Instead he looked mildly bored, as if nothing the horrible
lawyer in the suit was saying was of any importance.

“Further investigation has revealed that you were
party to the illegal act of smuggling a live animal onto the island
despite the quarantine restrictions.”

Hero wanted to put her arms around Adam. They'd
found out about Jesus, too?

“As you are aware, such an act carries with it not
only a substantial fine, but a jail term, in addition to the
destruction of the animal in question.”

“No,” Hero shouted, surprising everyone, including
herself. “That's ridiculous, utterly ridiculous—”

The evil man held up his hand. “I will attend to you
in a moment, Miss North.” He turned back to Adam, pulling out a
handkerchief to mop his sweaty brow as he spoke. “Because of your
actions, you have been disqualified from the competition. You have
an hour to remove your things from the hospitality of the resort.
Transportation will be provided to the Mystique Island Airport,
whereupon officers of the Commonwealth will be waiting to discuss
your violations of quarantine policy.”

Hero stared in horror at the man.

“I understand,” Adam said, his voice rumbling around
her, drawing her eyes to him. He looked nothing more than mildly
annoyed. He understood? She didn't understand! And she certainly
wasn't going to let some nasty little solicitor push Adam
around.

“I believe that even on Mystique the accused is
allowed to face his accuser,” Hero snapped at the man. “Just who
exactly tattled on Adam?”

Jenkins turned to her. “Ah, Miss North. Who exposed
Mr. Fuller is not at issue here.”

“Isn't it? I think it is, although it really is a
moot point. There's only one other person here who knows who Adam
is—Sally Simmons.”

“Miss Simmons reluctantly verified information, yes,
but she did not bring the initial complaint to our attention. That
was done by a Mr. Gregory Barstow.”