by C J Matthew
Devlin pushed, but before he could reach them, Hoffman grabbed the waistband of her pants, and heaved Portia over the railing. One fast glance, he saw her twist and go into the water feet first. Good girl.
He grabbed Hoffman. Spinning him away from the railing, Devlin shattered the human’s jaw with one blow from a dragon-strengthened fist. Then he vaulted over the railing and splashed into the ocean right beside his gasping mate. He lifted her slightly and kissed her cold lips.
“The dragon will come up right under you. Remember where to hold on? Where to breathe?”
“Y….yes. So cold.”
Rather than dive, he submerged a few feet and shifted. The dragon took in extra water to get his gills working as he rose carefully under his mate. She grabbed the correct spikes, straddled his neck, and lowered her face into the powerful backflow of one set of gills. When the dragon heard her cough and gasp in air, he propelled them away from the edge of the ship.
His mate still shivered. She’d forgotten to bring her legs up into the air current. If both her legs remained exposed in the frigid water, she’d quickly freeze to death.
Help her, Devlin begged his sea dragon.
The dragon adjusted, partially unfurled his wings, and pressed an edge against each of her shins. She pulled her legs and stretched them out to lie flat along his back. Directly in the path of warm air.
Fast thinking, buddy.
Where do we go?
Man-overboard alarms from the Empress Pride blasted the night air. A life ring dropped in the water. The second ring landed right over the dragon’s submerged head. Portia reached out, shoved the nearest one away, then clutched his spike again.
Our mate trusts us! The dragon quivered with delight. He cranked up his body heat and forced warmer air through his gills.
Speaking directly into the air stream exiting the Sea Dragon, Portia said, “Okay guys, where are we going? Oh, never mind. I don’t care. I’m zipping along underwater, all dry and warm. I love you, Devlin. And I love you, Dragon-san.”
His heart ached with love. She was the perfect Sea Dragon mate. The dragon made a sound, suspiciously like a human cough.
Want to ram the small boat dead ahead?
No. Come alongside. Remember: keep your head down. When they spot our mate, they’ll toss her a ring. We’ll leave her right next to it. Or beside one of the black rings attached to the boat.
Devlin prayed that wasn’t too much information all at once. Then he sighed with relief when the tug reversed and slowed her engines. A flotation devise splashed in the water, again directly over the dragon’s horns. The beast dropped his chin and arched his neck. Portia all but slammed into the orange life preserver, face first. Releasing her hold on the spikes, she pushed off with her feet and shot to the surface.
“Over here,” she yelled. His woman had a set of lungs on her. “Help me, I’m here.”
As his mate was dragged aboard the boat and wrapped in waiting blankets, the dragon dove under the keel and shifted on the opposite side. Devlin’s head popped up right beside the tug. He grasped one of the tires attached to the gunwale and almost hoisted himself aboard when he decided the wiser move would be to let the crew rescue him. Clinging to a tire, he shouted, “Hey, help.”
Wrapped in his own blanket, he made his way to Portia. The captain was urging her to come inside the wheelhouse, but she stood firm against the side of the boat, scanning the surface of the water.
“Come on, lady,” the portly seaman urged in broken English. “It’s freezing out here.”
His mate shook her head. “My friend is still out there. He needs help.”
“I’m okay, honey,” Devlin called to her. “Thanks to that man’s crew.”
Portia launched herself at Devlin and he had to brace his legs. Arms around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist, her blankets slid to the deck.
Devlin returned her hug for a moment and whispered in her ear, “I love you, my brave mate.”
Lifting his head, he grinned at the Captain, “Thank you, sir. Lead the way to the wheelhouse.”
She hugged him harder and he considered begging for mercy.
“How much will it cost me for two passengers, a one-way trip back to the Port of Kaohsiung?”
Bowing and grinning, the captain beckoned him to the radio. “Talk Empress Pride.”
“Good idea.” Portia slid down his body to stand on the deck, repositioned her arms around his waist and squeezed. He studied her face. “Business.”
“All right.”
“We need to tell Katsu we’re okay.”
“Good. And give him instructions on what to do with Hoffman.”
“Honey, I think he can figure that out for himself.” He tipped his head toward the tug’s radio and whispered to her, “We don’t have much privacy, so careful what you say.”
“I have no idea how to get him on this radio.”
Devlin bowed to the tug boat captain, pointed to the radio, and asked, “Empress Pride?”
Clicking to speak into the microphone, the tug captain reestablished contact with the giant ship’s bridge. When Katsu’s voice said, “Sullivan? Rudraige? Are you two still with us?” the tug captain handed over the mic, with a quick demonstration on how to click the button.
Portia said, “Sullivan here. We’re fine. We were picked up by the last tug. How is the detainee?”
“The what?”
“The cowboy wearing the black hat.”
“Okay, got that. He needs medical attention. I’m slowing. We called for a police helicopter with medics to evacuate him. They’ll be here soon. We’re sending your luggage with the chopper. I’ve been assured one of the medics will deliver the bags for a nice tip. Where are you staying tonight?”
Devlin covered Portia’s hand to keep the button pressed down and said to Katsu, “Be sure to mention to our luggage courier that we’re Americans. Big spenders. I’m shooting for the Presidential suite in the Hotel Presidential, Kaohsiung.”
Katsu whistled through the radio. “I’m impressed.”
Portia pulled the mic back to her. “Me again. Give me an update on mister black hat.”
Katsu laughed. “The cowboy has decided to become real talkative. Well, with his jaw, he’s not actually speaking. But his hands work just fine and he’s anxious to answer all my questions.”
“Did he leave a gift for me?”
“One present, in the engine room.”
“Where, exactly?” she demanded, her face turning bright pink. His mate had thoroughly searched the engine room, twice.
He reached for the mic and said, “It’s Devlin. Let’s save the details for later. Is the gift safely unwrapped?”
“Yes. We’re all happy about that. Thanks for your help. See you both in Yokohama.”
They bowed to the tug captain. Devlin said, “Thank you for the rescue. Do you have a business card? We are deeply in your debt. If you could drop us off anywhere near the Ichiban office?”
“I will.”
Devlin retrieved the blankets and wrapped up Portia. Together, they retreated to a bench at the back of the wheelhouse. The engines were loud. To hear, they spoke directly into each other’s ears.
“I forgot all about our bags,” she said.
“Getting pitched over the rail of a mega ship is distracting. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m looking forward to a long, hot soak. Also, I’m starving.”
“I can help with both those issues. If it isn’t too late when we get checked in, we should phone Madam Shinsuke and Michael.”
“Have you stayed at the Hotel Presidential before?”
“Nope. I remember someone recommending it.”
“Check-in should be interesting with no luggage, no passports, and no money.”
He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a slender, wallet sized metal box. “I come better prepared for underwater travel than most folks.” He snapped the case open and she could see a wad of cash neatly folded, cre
dit cards, several of his business cards, and a duplicate of his Muirdris Shipping photo ID. All bone dry. Before closing the case, he pulled several of his business cards out and stashed them, with the tug captain’s card, into his shirt pocket.
“Impressive,” she admitted.
“I wanted to bring your Claddagh pin to you, but it wouldn’t fit in here.”
“A lovely thought. I’m fine as long as it’s waiting for me at home.”
Tonight, he’d explain to her about fated mates and his hoard. She’d said she loved him and his dragon. The woman was perfect. Did she want to live in his condo? Close to both their jobs. Or would she prefer a traditional Japanese house with a garden? Plenty of room for their little dragonets to play outside?
His beast heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction. Heirs.
The tug captain dropped them near Ichiban as planned. The office was closed so Devlin hailed a cab to the Hotel Presidential. No ID required for the drive, and he paid in cash. The clerk at the front desk wasn’t such a pushover. No luggage? No reservation? No passports?
Devlin held up a hand in the universal gesture for stop. He had a couple other gestures he’s like to show the officious clerk. Instead, he put his index finger up, indicating one minute. Pulling out the tugboat captain’s card, he slid it across the marble counter.
“Call him. The lady and I went overboard off the Empress Pride. He’ll explain. We want the Presidential suite for two nights. Until we can occupy that room, we’ll be in the bar.”
Chapter 20
Portia
The lobby bar at the Hotel Presidential in Kaohsiung, Taiwan was crowded for a weeknight. Portia surreptitiously brushed off dried salt and picked seaweed bits from her wrinkled shirt as she scanned the room. “No wonder,” she whispered under her breath. This place was as glitzy and pretentious as any trendy watering hole in Los Angeles or New York.
Ignoring the haughty host, Devlin asked her, “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” she said and looked for a quiet corner.
“Relax, sweetheart. You’re clearly the most beautiful woman in the room. And we’re here to celebrate the success of our mission. We stopped Hoffman, protected the Empress Pride, and survived a swim in frigid Kaohsiung Harbor. While you, my heart, left behind a string of besotted admirers and devoted new friends.”
She stared at him a moment, then burst out laughing. “Oh my god, what a load of crap. Talk about blarney.”
His hand pressed to his chest, Devlin’s eyes widened in faux shock. “Me? Exaggerating?” Moving his hand to the small of her back, he gently guided her to a table smack in the center of the action. After holding her chair, Devlin faced the cocktail waiter, issued several terse commands, and then settled in the chair opposite her.
She drew her brows together. “Am I ever allowed to order for myself?”
“I apologize.” He lifted her hand, kissed her fingers. “Yes, sweetheart, you can order anything you like, any time you want. I was momentarily indulging in a childish snit. I’m over it now.”
Portia raised her eyebrows, and looked aghast, parroting his earlier protest. “You? Childish?”
“Sadly, yes. Let me say, I’m so fecking proud of you I could burst. Still, as your hero, I never got the chance to smash that villain Hoffman’s face in, since you beat me to it. So, in the spirit of petty revenge, for one brief moment, I took out my disappointment on the staff of this fancy-ass hotel. Can you ever forgive me?”
Her lips twitched and she bit the inside of her mouth to hold back a chuckle.
Serious for the moment, she said, “You do realize, compared to the whole near-death swimming experience, me punching Hoffman didn’t amount to much?” She held his gaze. “Devlin, you flat-out saved my life.” And dropping her voice to a whisper said, “Both of you saved my life.”
He dipped his head and she squeezed his hand. “Think about it. That bastard tossed me over the railing of a moving ship into freezing water. There’s no scenario in which I could’ve survived. Not without a hero like you.”
“How could I not love you to distraction?”
“I love you, too.”
The waiter returned with a floor-standing ice bucket ready to chill a bottle of wine. The sommelier showed up right behind him, flourishing a wine bottle like some game show host. And the man came complete with a French accent.
“Madam, Monsieur, I am desolate to tell you we do not have the Perrier-Jouët Champagne you requested. May I offer a bottle of the Krug Clos d’Ambonnay?”
She frowned. Without hazarding a guess in New Taiwan dollars, they had to be looking at an extremely expensive wine. She gave Devlin the stink eye and he had the grace to blush. To the sommelier he said, “Look, I apologize. I was in a foul temper when I walked in here. Let’s ask Madam what beverage she’d like.”
“Your choice, darling,” Devlin murmured to her, “Coke, beer, wine, whiskey, a cocktail, or shall we celebrate with a Grande Marque champagne?”
“We’re celebrating the mission and my rescue?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then the champagne, please.”
“Excellent choice.” He shot her a wicked grin. After a nod to the sommelier, Devlin motioned to the server waiting in the background. “We’ll take two bottles of the Krug Clos d’Ambonnay. Serve one now and send the other to our suite.”
She “ahem-ed” at Devlin.
“Right,” he amended. “Just as soon as our suite is confirmed.” The sommelier looked slightly puzzled, but the waiter was on it. “Right away, sir,” he assured Devlin, then made a point to ask her, “Would you care to try our appetizer sample tray?”
Later, Portia sipped at her second flute of truly amazing champagne when an altercation occurred at the bar entrance. A young man in grubby work clothes, carrying her canvas duffel and Devlin’s leather travel bag, tried to get around the host. But the equally determined bar employee body-blocked him.
“Be right back.” As she rose, Devlin placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Better take some cash.”
She tsked. “Money doesn’t solve every problem.”
“Bon chance.”
Warm with wine, she strutted to the door and said, “Gentlemen.” She gave both contestants a slight bow.
“Please stand aside,” she ordered the host in horrible Chinese. Offering the tugboat captain’s son a brilliant smile, she asked, “Khang, isn’t it?”
The teen matched her smile and said in English, “Yes ma’am. I am honored you remember me. And happy to see you.” He eyed the lurking bar employee.
Better settle that. Portia flattened her lips, gave the host a stern look, and continued in English. “Khang will be joining Mr. Rudraige and myself. Bring another chair to our table.”
The younger man blushed bright pink but squared his shoulders while the hotel employee bowed low and hurried away. Khang gave her a grateful smile. “I am deeply honored, Miss…”
“Ms. Sullivan. Please call me Portia.” She led the way back to the table where Devlin arranged the chairs. “Devlin, this is Khang, the tugboat captain’s eldest son. He brought us our luggage.”
“Thanks. Have a seat.”
She opened one end of her duffel, slid out the waterproof packet and examined her passport. Then she pocketed her money and credit cards. Beaming at Khang, she said, “So great to have all my stuff back. Thank you, again. What happened to the medic who agreed to deliver it?”
“When I called to check on him, I discovered he planned to deliver your bags only as far as Ichiban’s port office and not until tomorrow morning. I called my father’s brother. My uncle is a taxi driver at the port. He asked around, told me where you’d gone.”
“Resourceful,” Devlin observed.
Their waiter arrived, placed a new champagne flute, plate, napkin, and utensils in front of Khang.
She eyed Devlin. He held up a hand as he poured an inch of wine into the teen’s glass. “A taste of champagne for our guest. For a toast. Then he can order wha
tever he wants to eat and drink.”
Ah, the man could be less ever bearing. Raising her glass, she gave Devlin a warm, special smile. “To both my rescuers. To heroes.”
After a quick stare at each other, Devlin and Khang tapped glasses and drank.
The bubbly wine warmed its way down her throat. She told Devlin, “Khang spotted me in the water and pulled me aboard his father’s boat.”
“You, young man,” Devlin said, “have my eternal gratitude.”
“Are you attending school?” Portia asked
Between ordering a soft drink and a spicy bowl of traditional Taiwanese food, Khang told them about his studies, working alongside a strict father, and his dreams of getting an off-island university education.
“Good for you,” Devlin responded.
“If you leave for four years, will that break your father’s heart?” she asked.
The teen quoted a Chinses proverb which roughly translated to: ‘It is part of life.’
She was about to respond when a man in an expensive suit made a beeline for the table.
“Mr. Rudraige? Ms. Sullivan?” He bowed like crazy. “I apologize for any inconvenience. I am the hotel manager and of course, we can confirm you in our premier suite, the Presidential. May I have your luggage sent up?”
“Look there,” she said, giving Khang a big wink, “word spreads fast when you’re a hero.”
Devlin pulled out his passport and credit card. And waggled his brows at her. “Give the man your identification, dear.”
She turned over the document to the manager and kicked Devlin under the table.
Khang stood and extended his hand to her. “It has been my pleasure to meet you.”
“For me as well,” she grinned. “Thank you for everything, Khang, and good fortune to you.” Next to her, Devlin rose, handed the teen one of his business cards, and shook hands. “If you ever need anything, Khang, call me.”
Portia took one step inside the Presidential Suite and blinked. If the hotel’s goal was ostentatious, this place went over the line. She ‘oof-ed’ when Devlin bumped into her back.