Volcano (39 page)

When she saw the helicopter on the pad ahead, blades slowly revving, her eyes widened. He wouldn't. He damned well wouldn't dare.

Watching as the soldiers steered Penelope away from the other passengers and across the tarmac, Charlie could see the instant her terror turned to fury. He almost relished the battle to follow.

Dammit, he'd tried to reach her in a more reasonable fashion, but she'd ignored his shouts, and hordes of people had gotten in his way, and the damned gate attendants wouldn't let him through without a ticket. She could have saved herself the price of that expensive ticket. He just didn't intend to take her where she wanted to go.

“Charlie, I swear, I'll throttle you. I have a plane to catch. Tell these hired thugs of yours to let me go.” She practically spat the words at him as she jerked out of the soldiers' grips. Carefully, they set the white teddy bear on top of her carry-on.

“Well, at least you're not afraid of them this time.” Charlie grinned, handing over another stack of bills with a jest in patois as he dismissed the men. He wouldn't have her loaded on the helicopter at gunpoint, although from the looks of it, he ought to consider it. If she had a knife, she'd probably slit his throat.

“What in hell has that got to do with anything?” Released from captivity, Penelope turned on her heel and started toward the plane.

“Oh, no, you don't.” Charlie grabbed her by the back of her boxy jacket, but she slipped out of it and kept marching. Thinking it was a useful maneuver to relieve her of some of that stiff clothing, he gallantly resisted grabbing the back of her silk shirt. Instead, he caught her by her model-slim waist and hauled her toward the helicopter. “This birdie cost me too much trouble to let it go without you. Behave yourself. I promise you'll get home safely.”

The pilot was already loading her bear and suitcase. Dragging Penelope literally kicking and screaming, Charlie shoved her into a rear passenger seat and climbed in beside her. Calmly, he snapped her harness in place. “Show's over, Miss Penny. Your plane is taxiing down the runway. If you want off the island, it will have to be with me.”

She took a deep breath and, refusing to look at him, watched through the Plexiglas as her plane disappeared. Then, crossing her arms over her silk shirt, she glared at the back of the pilot's head and said nothing.

At least she wore her hair in that luscious long braid instead of a tight knot, Charlie reflected as the pilot worked through his checklist before takeoff. That was a sign of something. And a few weeks ago she wouldn't have done anything so obvious as crossing her arms to emphasize her breasts as she was doing now. Body language was a wonderful thing. She'd left the top buttons of her shirt unfastened too. Definitely a promising signal.

“Trust me, Penelope,” he yelled over the increasing racket of the rotor blades.

“In hell,” she yelled back.

All right, so he deserved that, more than she realized, since he had no intention of returning her to Miami yet. He was taking a huge risk, but he'd built his business by taking risks. It wasn't in him to be cautious. He had Raul for that, and Raul wasn't here. If this risk panned out, he'd have Penelope to slow him down in the future. If his risk didn't pan out, it didn't matter what he did. He'd have no need for caution ever again. Given those choices, he figured he was safer taking a chance.

The helicopter rose at a slow angle that had them over water within minutes. Charlie watched Penelope. She stared at the landscape below. She didn't seem particularly terrified, but he'd learned Penelope hid a lot inside. He removed her hand from where she clenched it beneath her armpit and tucked it safely between his fingers. She didn't pull away.

Charlie had plenty of time to contemplate the precariousness of his situation as the 'copter flew over choppy turquoise waters. He also had time to contemplate how right it felt having Penelope sitting beside him, holding his hand. It was as if he'd been a hexagonal screw in a round hole all these years, and someone had suddenly jerked him out and installed him where he belonged. Maybe they were maple and mahogany and didn't belong together in any normal manner, but whatever they had between them worked.

He
thought it did anyway. Miss Penny was obviously of a different opinion. He had this one chance to persuade her otherwise. Besides, he had one other excuse for his madness: Jacobsen and his Russian Mafia still needed his land. He'd talked to Raul on the phone this morning.

The noise of the helicopter prevented his telling her any of that. Instead, Charlie just held Penelope's hand and prayed as he'd never prayed before.

***

The helicopter landed on the flat roof of a stuccoed building Penelope assumed was some isolated Caribbean resort. She could see the ocean on her right and palm trees and well-tended tropical gardens on her left, but no evidence of any other human habitation.

A golden-skinned man in white shorts and polo shirt darted from a stairwell to take their luggage and to guide the pilot down a back way. Charlie caught her arm and prevented her from following.

“Let's go to the balcony. I called ahead and they'll have our room prepared and lunch ready, but I think a drink is called for first.”

Their room. Penelope suppressed a shiver and followed Charlie across spectacular peacock blue tiles to terrace steps adorned with terra-cotta pots filled with flowering bromeliads, orchids, and bougainvillea vines that spilled down the stairs to dangle over the terrace below. The hand-painted tiles of the terrace reflected all the colors of the ocean, from sea green to midnight blue, and the walled terrace overlooked a white sand beach with gracefully waving palms. She should be furious and maybe even a little bit scared, but the setting was too stunning to do more than gape in awe.

“Charlie, I appreciate your choice of accommodations, but I—”

“Do you like it?” He swung his hand to take in the whitewashed walls and the bright splashes of sea-blue shutters. “My company built it. The owner gives me use of it for sales pitches since he's seldom here. If I had a place like this, I'd never leave.”

Penelope took the cushioned wrought-iron chair he offered and drank in the beauty of her surroundings. How could one man own all of this? Terra-cotta roof tiles gleamed in the sunlight. Silica had been added to the whitewash so the walls sparkled and glittered like diamonds. She supposed Charlie had little to do with the pots of plants, and perhaps the architect took responsibility for the way the color and design blended so perfectly with the setting, but she'd lived in Florida long enough to know the difference between shoddy construction and quality. Tropical sun and hurricane winds deteriorated badly constructed buildings rapidly. She didn't see a single sign of chipped tile or cracking stucco or mildewing wood anywhere.

“It's gorgeous, Charlie. How long has it been here?”

He shrugged and pulled out another seat. “It was one of my first projects when I persuaded Dad to get out of home improvements and into major contracts. Friend of mine from college designed this place and told me about it. Since I know the islands pretty well, I could make a bid lower than most other offers. My father's company had a reputation for quality, so the owner took a chance. It was risky, but worth every bit. All I have to do is fly people out here and they're sold.”

She wanted to be angry. There was safety in anger. She had easily scorned other men who had tried to impress her with their Jaguars and expensive condos. But Charlie wasn't trying to impress her with what he owned. He owned a damned GTO and probably had an apartment under a bridge somewhere. He was trying to impress her with what he could do. She didn't know why that made a difference. It just did.

She took the umbrella-adorned cherry-red drink a servant brought out and pressed the icy glass to her cheek. She was doing it again, falling blindly for a man who thought he could tell her what to do.

Damn, but she loved him anyway. Charlie sat there looking vaguely uncertain of himself, waiting anxiously for her reaction. He had the audacity to kidnap her and disrupt her entire life, but he still wanted her approval. She ought to dump her daiquiri over his swollen head, but she loved that look in his eyes too much. Damn, but she was an idiot. Maybe she could try reasoning with him.

“It's magnificent, Charlie, and if you wanted to impress me, consider me overwhelmed. That doesn't change anything. I still have to get back to Beth and to my clients. I thought you would be working with the police and whoever, to pin down Jacobsen. Isn't that what you wanted?” She sipped the icy drink in hopes it would cool her off. Charlie looked all too appealing sitting here in all his sun-bronzed glory, chestnut hair tousled in the breeze.

“I learned a long time ago that to get what I want, I have to set priorities. I want lots of things, but I can't go after all of them at once. I have to pick and choose. I choose you. Jacobsen can wait.”

He seemed deadly serious. Penelope could only stare at him. Until this minute, their choices had been fairly limited by circumstances. They'd been thrown together by danger and desperation. They hadn't had a chance to explore a leisurely courtship where they learned about each other in a succession of civilized meetings. For a long time, she'd considered him little more than a half-cocked barbarian.

She reminded herself firmly that Charlie Smith was a construction worker who drove ancient behemoths, lived in jeans, drank beer, and watched football. They had nothing in common.

Men who gambled and took risks like her father were dangerous. Charlie took risks and was definitely dangerous.

Of course, she had nothing in common with men in pinstripe suits who drove Jaguars either. She'd gone to bed with Charlie and not the men in suits. She'd risked her life, her career, and her twin's health for Charlie, because he was doing the same for his sister and partner and the well-being of the unsuspecting islanders.

She loved him. She would make any excuse for the damned man. Despairingly, she set her drink down. “Where do we go from here?”

He reached out and brushed a tendril of hair behind her ear. “We take one step at a time. Lunch, then a swim in the ocean maybe.”

“What about my job?” she whispered.

“I keep telling you I have friends.” He caressed the tip of her nose. “You don't need those jerks. You can have your own business. You can work in mine. You can do anything you damned well want. Let go, Penny. Let them all go. Readjust your priorities and take time to explore what we have.”

Definitely a dangerous man. She'd spent a lifetime plotting her career, step by step, knowing exactly where she was going, working around every obstacle thrown in her way, never losing sight of her goals. And within two short weeks he had her contemplating throwing away a lifetime of achievement and planning to start all over.

“But Beth...”

He handed her the daiquiri. “Will get her operation, one way or another. We can make it work. I'll put both of you on my payroll, make certain we have insurance that covers it, pay for it myself if necessary, whatever it takes. We might never have a chance like this again, Penelope. Put yourself first, just this once, and I won't ever ask it again.”

What if they had this little island idyll and decided they wouldn't suit after all? What if they ended up arguing as usual and stormed back to Miami and never spoke again? She'd be out of a job, Beth would go without her operation.... He was asking her to take a huge risk, to trust him, to jump off a cliff without a parachute. She didn't do those things.

He wasn't asking any less of himself. He had dangerous men trying to kill him, to steal a multimillion-dollar project, to ruin his business and harm his friends and family, and he'd tucked them all away to bring her here so they could straighten out what was happening between them. He was the scariest man she'd ever met.

“Tammy and Raul?” she whispered, still looking for an out.

“I told them to take the company credit cards and get the hell out of Miami while the FBI does its job. John's taking Beth home with him. Now that we've quit meddling, they should be safe. Let the rest of the world go for a little while. Let's just concentrate on us. Start by admitting there's something between us.”

There was a hell of a lot more than “something,” and he knew it, or he wouldn't be doing this. Gulping, Penelope studied the intensity of Charlie's expression, the way he looked at her as if all this magnificence around them didn't exist and they were the only two people on the planet.

Saying the one simple word he wanted was far more terrifying than landing alone in a foreign airport in an exotic country. For the first time in years, she listened to the little voice inside her screaming to be free.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“Thank you,” he said solemnly, and then he leapt up, grabbed her out of her chair, and swung her around the terrace with wild crows of triumph.

The Caribbean sun disappeared behind thin layers of rainbow-painted clouds, coloring the turquoise sea with midnight blue and gold and illuminating the sky with a last green flash of brilliant light before the first star of the evening popped out.

A gentle surf lapped at their toes, indicating the tide had turned. Exhausted, skin tingling from the sun's caress, coated with layers of lotion and salt, Penelope couldn't move a contented muscle. Beside her, Charlie clasped his hand around hers. A callused finger stroked her palm, and instantly, every nerve ending in her body leapt to attention.