The storm had made mincemeat of the lean-to he had built from leaves and branches. It had also made cooking next to impossible, and he was hungry for a hot meal. Deciding to do some fishing, he crafted a pole from bamboo and some line from the fibers of a vine. For a hook, he ripped a nail from a washed-up plank and beat it into shape with a rock. Grasping the makeshift fishing rod, he strode through the dripping undergrowth toward the beach.
Living alone again after being in Ashiana’s encampment had been harder than he would have guessed. And it wasn’t just because she was better at finding the choicest edibles and building a perfect, dry little shelter.
To his annoyance, he found that he missed her.
Twice he had started toward her encampment, only to turn back, her words clawing through him: “Prince Rao…my betrothed…he loves me!”
Well, let him have her, Saxon thought, knocking aside a vine that blocked his path. He himself would have nothing more to do with Princess Ashiana of the Ajmir. The web of lies she had woven around him had been a work of art. Devious, treacherous art. And sweet Jesus, the way she had shared herself so freely with him—when she had already pledged herself to another man.
Did the chit have so little regard for the marriage promise she had made to this prince of hers? Did she ever keep her word, to anyone? Did her sacred duty mean so much to her that she would do anything for it—even lay with the enemy?
Saxon gripped the bamboo pole and welcomed the sun’s stifling heat as he stalked through the forest. He had no answers. What he needed to do was stop torturing himself with questions. None of it mattered anymore. Her lies did not matter. His sense of betrayal did not matter.
Not even the sapphires mattered as much anymore.
He had scoured the island from stem to stern, digging at every logical hiding place he could think of, at every spot she had ever shown any interest in. All he found were dirt and rocks and roots—not a sign of the sapphires. It was possible she had actually been telling the truth about that. They might very well be gone.
He had held all nine in his hands, just for a moment, in the hold of his ship. He had felt that strange bolt of energy. He could only hope it meant something, that the brief reunion of all nine stones might have done some good.
He had separated the sapphires again, but at least the curse would be on his own head now, instead of on his brother Max. That he could live with.
The path opened onto the beach. Determined to savor a few hours in the sun, he walked across the warm sand and into the water. He had only gone a short way out when he saw that his pleasant afternoon was not to be.
Glancing to his left, he saw Ashiana, in the water around a curve in the shore.
She was about thirty yards away, just close enough so he could make out what she was doing. She stood poised over the waves, her back to him, her petticoat knotted up around her hips and a net in her hands.
A net. How the devil had she made a net?
And of all the blasted beaches on the island, why did she have to choose the same one as him? It was bad enough that they had thought alike in choosing to go fishing. This was too much.
It also brought a rush of unwanted memories: Ashiana mentioning that she had been born at sea, like him. That she loved storms, like him. That she had dreamed of becoming a ship’s captain when she was five years old…like him.
Could all of that have been playacting, designed to win his sympathy? It seemed impossible that she could have known so many things about him.
No one knew some of those things about him.
Other memories flashed through his mind: Ashiana laughing until she got the hiccups. Her teasing joke that he should get a parrot and train it to sing while he accompanied it on the sitar. Her love of spicy foods. Her courage when she protected Wyatt from the Navy officers.
Her sweet tenderness toward him…even though she had known all along that he was her enemy.
Mahila veer. Daring lady.
Had every moment of it merely been part of the role she’d been playing?
Or had some of it been real?
Emotions clashed inside him as he watched her. Desire, hot and undeniable. Bitterness over her betrayal.
And an ache that felt like loss.
She had tied her ragged skirt up to keep it out of the water—and exposed every perfect inch of her legs and thighs. Even at this distance, the sight made his lower body tighten in response.
She suddenly bent closer to the water and cast her net, and the short skirt bared her smooth, naked backside.
Pure male lust sheared through him. He groaned, his hunger for her heated by memories, sharpened by days of abstinence…and made raw by the knowledge that she would soon belong to another man.
As she straightened, he drank in every inch of her. The way her thin garments, now soaked and transparent, clung to her body. Her glossy black hair shining in the sun, the wet ends curling around her hips. The lush curves of her bottom framed by the bunched-up petticoat.
A primitive need seized him, more intense than anything he had ever experienced or even imagined. Maybe it was living in this island wilderness that brought out his animal instincts, maybe it was the heat of the sun, but he had never felt such a feverish desire to claim a woman. She was his. His alone. The idea of any other man touching her, holding her, the thought of some damned Ajmir prince bedding her—
God, no. It struck him like a battering ram.
But her prince wasn’t here now.
There was no one on this beach but the two of them…and nothing separating them but the sun-warmed water.
Saxon turned, raised his arm, and threw his fishing pole back toward the beach. Like a javelin, it stabbed the sand.
Dropping beneath the surface, he swam toward her.
Ashiana’s first cast of her net had caught nothing.
Gathering it in with a frustrated sigh, she spread the net between her hands again. The waves lapped around her bare thighs. She stood still for several minutes until the fish returned, flashing around her ankles.
Concentrating intently, she waited for the moment when her supper would be unsuspecting.
She heard a splash behind her and froze. Moving only her head, she looked around the inlet but didn’t see anything. Still, a little frisson of fear went through her. There were sharks in these waters. Saltwater crocodiles. Barracudas.
She glanced down and searched the clear sea all around her, her heart thudding. It would be unusual for them to hunt this close to shore in daylight. She saw nothing but the bright-blue fish. Exhaling slowly, she tried to relax. Her arms were growing tired, but she was not going to give up.
Gripping the net, she returned to her crouched pose. She was about to cast again when all the fish suddenly darted away. “Arey!” she gasped in surprise. Then she felt movement in the water behind her.
Turning, she screamed as something large burst up out of the surf. She leaped to one side, dropping the net, stumbling.
Strong hands caught her before she could fall. Ashiana realized only then that it was not some dangerous sea creature but Saxon!
Her startled cry choked out as he lifted her from the water with one steely arm and pulled her to him, pinning her against his wet body. His other hand speared into her hair. She tried to draw a breath and drew his breath instead as he sealed his mouth over hers. He molded their lips together in a deep, hot kiss that sent a shattering wave of sensation through her.
Her astonishment and alarm fled under the strength of his passion for her. His tongue slicked over her lips and thrust inside until she tasted nothing but him—salty, tangy, masculine. He explored, caressed, claimed every curve of her mouth.
She tried to pull away, needing to ask a hundred questions, but his hand in her hair held her still as his mouth worked over hers. His kiss was intense, potent…intoxicating. His thick beard rasped the tender skin of her jaw and cheek. A tremor cascaded through her that left her trembling with desire. She heard—felt—him groan in response.
Locked against him, lost in him, she could not find the will to resist. She had ached for this. Gods forgive her, she had ached for this. She slid her hands along his bare shoulders, her fingers and palms rediscovering the hard planes of his body.
Had he missed her as much as she had missed him? Had he been as lonely as she these past days? Was he at last willing to understand…to forgive?
She knew that Saxon found it difficult to express his feelings with words. This bold surprise was his way of bringing them back together, of declaring peace. Of showing that he did still care for her.
Sighing with happiness, Ashiana buried her hands in his thick blond hair, holding on for all she was worth. She lifted her mouth from his. “Yes, oh, Saxon, yes! I have missed you, meri jaan, my darling. I am so sorry—”
He recaptured her mouth before she could fully apologize—for deceiving him, for causing him hurt, for for all of it.
His carnal kiss sent her senses spinning and made her forget everything she had wanted to say. Surrendering, she returned his ardor in full measure, opening her mouth to allow him in, her tongue dueling with his.
He made a growling, primitive sound deep in his throat. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her out of the water and up onto the beach.
He fell with her onto the sand, just beyond the waves, his weight pressing her down into the rain-dampened earth. The water sluicing off him soaked her. He tore his mouth from hers, bent his head and captured the peak of one breast, suckling hard through wet cotton and lace. Ashiana cried out as tendrils of fire unfurled within her. “Yes.”
He yanked impatiently at the kor-set and the delicate fabric, damaged by salt water and days of sun, gave way beneath his hands with a tearing sound. Just as suddenly, he reached down to seek the soft place between her thighs. He thrust his fingers into her wetness.
Startled, she gasped. “Saxon.” This was happening much too quickly. She wanted to slow down, wanted the sweet tenderness they had shared before. “Saxon, wait—”
Her plea ended in a ragged cry as he captured one naked breast with his mouth, sucking hard, grazing her nipple with his teeth. In the same moment, he positioned himself between her thighs and tore off his breeches.
Ashiana could not catch her breath, stunned by the feeling that she had not guessed his motives correctly at all. She needed this reunion to be special for them. She pressed her palms to his broad chest. “Saxon, please—”
His mouth covered hers again. He did not seem to understand that she wanted him to slow down.
He fitted the rounded head of his hot, rigid arousal against her wetness and with one swift movement, he was inside her. She inhaled sharply, arching beneath him as he filled her in a deep, surging stroke.
He caught her wrists and stretched her arms up over her head, pinning them to the damp earth with one strong hand. He tangled his other hand through the wet strands of her hair, tilting her head back while he ravished her mouth thoroughly. Holding her captive beneath him, he sheathed himself to the hilt, withdrew and plunged home again.
She groaned as his hard length filled and stretched her, every movement of his hips taking him deeper, joining his body more fully with hers. Never had he been so aggressive with her—dominating her like this, claiming her so fiercely. He did not seem to want anything from her in return but surrender.
He broke the kiss and trailed his mouth down over her arched throat. His teeth marked her, making her shudder with pleasure she could not deny. His thrusts gathered force and speed and she felt ecstasy building, the familiar storm whirling up from low in her belly, spinning tight…tighter.
But the lightning flash of release never came.
At least, not for her.
A shout tore from him and his whole body went rigid. Ashiana felt him pulsing and flowing inside her as a low groan echoed from deep in his chest. His thrusts slowed, then stopped.
He sank down atop her, his weight pressing her into the sand. He released her wrists.
She was trembling, utterly confused by what had just happened, her heart beating wildly. “Meri jaan?” she whispered. “My darling?”
She could feel him shaking. He kept his cheek pressed against hers, his breath rasping hot against her throat. His arms came around her and he held her, so tight she could scarcely breathe.
But then he let her go. He lifted his head—and when she looked into his eyes, she saw none of the warm affection she had hoped for. His silver gaze shone like a blade, sharp with a look of determination, of possessiveness. Beneath that hard edge, she saw something more, almost like an ache—but it lasted only a moment before his entire expression became cool and distant.
He pulled away, abruptly disengaging his body from hers.
Anguish replaced the happiness she had felt only moments ago. This had not been a tender, healing reunion for him. It had been nothing but a selfish act of lust! It did not mean anything to him.
She did not mean anything to him.
She could not find her voice. And he didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at her again. Head bent, jaw clenched, he pulled on his breeches and stood.
Then he turned and walked down the beach. Walked away and left her there on her back in the sand, her kor-set and pet-ti-koot in disarray, her entire body shivering.
What a naive fool she had been! She had given herself to him, freely and joyously, had revealed her heartfelt feelings to him. But he could not settle for denying that he cared about her.
He had to show her that he did not care about her.
He had used her—exactly like the whore he had proclaimed her to be.
Ashiana’s throat constricted. Tears came in a rush, bursting forth with all the hurt she felt. How could he act like this, after everything they had shared aboard his ship?
She covered her face with her hands, sobbing. Captain Saxon D’Avenant could not allow himself to feel any gentle emotion toward her—a female spy, a woman he considered his enemy. He was not interested in her heart, or her apologies. He would never forgive her for what she had done.
And she would never forgive him! Not after this!
A sudden burst of anger and humiliation made her raise her head and shout a single word after him as he strode down the beach.
“Why?”
Peering into the light morning rain, Saxon stood at the water’s edge for half an hour and still could not believe his eyes.
It took that long to grasp that he was not seeing a low bank of clouds, a whale, or an illusion brought on by sleepless nights filled with nightmares and a guilty conscience. After almost thirty days on this accursed chunk of sand, he was indeed seeing the one thing he most wanted to see.
A ship.
He blinked. Wiped the rain from his eyes. Stared.
A ship. There was no mistaking it.
Doubt and disbelief instantly gave way to hope, which just as quickly turned back into doubt. From the crow’s nest, the ship’s watchmen might see this tiny island—but they wouldn’t stop here. Thinking fast, Saxon turned and ran toward the trees.
All his signal fires had been doused by the monsoon. They would be useless. Blast the weather anyway. Their only hope lay in the reflecting device Ashiana had made. If the sun that occasionally broke through the clouds would cooperate.
He raced through the forest, ignoring the path and taking the most direct route to her encampment.
Even as he crashed through the undergrowth, he felt a cold knot in the pit of his stomach at the thought of seeing her again. He had avoided her completely since his heedless ravishment that day on the beach. But not even a fortnight of thunder and lightning and pounding rain could block out the memory of her tears and her shouted why. They had cut him more deeply than the Valor’s shattered glass.
She must hate him for the way he had treated her—almost as much as he hated himself. And it was no use telling himself that she was an Ajmir spy, that she had skillfully deceived him from the moment they met, that she’d been willing to say or do
anything to carry out her duty. None of that excused his brutish behavior.
On the night she had given him her innocence, on the deck of the Valor under the stars, he had promised her that she would be safe with him, always. In the preet chatra, he had told her that he believed women should be protected.
She had trusted him.
And he had broken her trust. Taken her roughly. Taken his pleasure of her and walked away.
Left her there alone…and in tears.
What the hell was wrong with him? Never in his life had he acted like such an uncivilized barbarian with a woman, any woman—let alone a woman who meant as much to him as she did.
As she used to, he corrected himself.
She had looked at him with such trust, such desire and warm emotion in her beautiful eyes. She had tried to apologize for deceiving him. Had called him meri jaan, my darling.
He hadn’t wanted to hear it. Hadn’t wanted to wonder anymore what was real and what was false. All he had wanted in that insane moment was to bind her to him, make her his, make her forget her duty and her promises and her prince.
Instead, he had managed to take her trust and her apology and whatever soft feelings she might have once had for him and turn it all into wreckage.
He broke through the trees and into the clearing where her shelter lay. “Ash—”
Her name died on his lips. He jerked to a halt, dripping rain and sweat.
The little structure was not there anymore.
Only the poles remained, bent and twisted by the storms, an eerie bamboo skeleton, the mats torn away. One glance took in the rest: her food supplies were missing. Her shells and baskets had been broken, ripped apart, scattered. Animal tracks littered the sand.
Fear sleeted through him with one horrible thought: she had been set upon by predators—and he hadn’t been here to protect her.
He moved toward the ravaged shelter, his steps wooden.
As soon as he got closer, however, his anxiety faded.
There were no traces of blood, no signs of a struggle. The tracks had been mostly washed away by rain, but the ones he could make out were only her footprints and her tiger’s broad paw-prints.
One Night with a Scoundrel Page 24