Tempestuous Eden (20 page)

Blair lowered her head. She was sorely attempted to say, “Of course.” But she couldn’t. Even though it was easy to feel that he was truly concerned, that friendship and camaraderie could return between them with a simple word from her, she couldn’t allow herself to forget that she had been taken here by force.
But I’m in love with him!
The painful thought flashed through her mind and she was unable to hide from that truth. But she had to hide it from him. She wasn’t a naive fool to be brainwashed by her captor.

“No,” she murmured. “You’re right. I won’t make coffee.”

Did a shadow of disappointment flicker through the leonine eyes? If so, it was gone immediately. He shrugged indifferently. “Then do without.”

Craig disappeared down the hatch and moments later she could smell coffee brewing—and she could also smell the tantalizing aroma of bacon. Curious, she hobbled back down the ladder. The cabin had been neatly rearranged; the broken stoneware was gone. Craig stood in the galley transferring food from the skillet to his plate.

Blair ignored him and moved back to the head. She closed the door behind her and brushed her teeth and hair and washed her face. When she returned to the cabin Craig was sitting comfortably eating; he acknowledged her presence with a slight nod, but said nothing. He finished his meal with apparent gusto, then pushed his plate aside and reached for a cigarette to smoke with his second cup of coffee.

The hell with him,
she thought. He wasn’t going to break her by refusing to cook for her. She didn’t mind cooking for herself; she would simply wait until he went topside, then she would enjoy her meal leisurely. She passed through the cabin, determined to go topside herself until he left the cabin. Then she would change places. No problem.

But there was a problem. Not thinking, she paused to help herself to a cigarette from his pack before climbing the ladder. The pack was pulled away just as her hand descended.

“Sorry, Mrs. Teile,” Craig murmured politely. “My cigarettes.”

Blair froze momentarily, then forced herself to shrug. “I’ll live longer,” she said dismissively before leaving him.

On deck she seethed.

She would have really loved a cigarette, and the denial was increasing the craving. She wasn’t even much of a smoker, just a few cigarettes a day, but the one that was the most dear to her was that enjoyed with a second cup of coffee in the morning.

“So I’ll quit,” she grated aloud to herself.

Amazing how trivia could irritate beyond reason. But it did, and suddenly it was all-out war.

A cold war, a silent war, but a determined war. For three days Blair didn’t speak a word to Craig. When he would finish in the galley, she would make her own meals. To prepare her own food she was forced to pick up after him, but she left the galley in a shambles so that he would have to do the same. On their third day out, he had offered her a change of clothes, telling her she could rot in her clothing or switch and wash. She didn’t reply. She would do her own washing, but she would be damned if she would do his.

It was on their fourth morning out on the
River Tub,
as Blair had labeled the boat, not knowing its real name, if it did have one, when Blair heard voices from above. She had been wondering earlier why they hadn’t been moving. Leaving her eggs sizzling in the frying pan, she limped on her still sore foot to the hatchway to listen.

Craig’s voice sounded to her. Calling out in Spanish, he was hailing another vessel.
“Necesito un favor, amigo!”

Blair couldn’t see him, but she could well imagine his easy grin. The passing captain called back to Craig, and as Blair listened to the ensuing conversation, she was torn between laughter and a need to gather her wits. They had run aground! The indomitable Craig Taylor had actually managed to run aground! There had been high winds last night, therefore it hadn’t been Craig’s lack of sailing ability that had beached them, but still she loved it. Mr. Perfect making a mistake, falling prey to the laws of nature.

Now Blair realized that calling out when they had passed the village was a mistake. It had been ridiculous to imagine that she would have been heard or that the fishermen would have had the authority to do anything.

But the vessel Craig was asking for a tow had to be manned by a captain—a man of some prestige, a man who would be close enough to hear her fervent pleas, a man who could tell her where she was and steer her in the course of a fair-sized city.

They were already connecting tow lines; she could hear Craig moving about. Listening until his footsteps passed overhead, Blair scrambled to the ladder, forgetting about her foot and almost staggering as a bolt of pain shot through her. Taking a deep breath, she regained her balance and gingerly stuck her head out of the hatch.

She almost smiled. The boat towing them out of their suction was a large one, and several pot-bellied and mustachioed men were milling about the captain. Craig was busy at the helm, holding the tiller and guiding a line.

Blair crawled on out of the hatch and bolted past him as best she could limping. She scooted as far up on the bow as possible, attracting the captain’s attention with a gasped,
“Ayudame! Ay, por favor!
Help me!”

“
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.