Her Passionate Protector

by Laurey Bright

  Brodie sometimes had an uncomfortable way of making her question her own self-knowledge. "We can learn a lot from the past," she said.

  "Does knowing how people lived their lives hundreds of years ago teach you anything about living yours?"

  "Maybe not directly, but we don't know ourselves if we don't know our history. Does diving teach you about living your life?" she queried.

  "Hell, yes," he said. "It's taught me how precious life is, and not to waste a moment of it. That I only have one, and taking risks is part of it, but always to be prepared for the hidden hazards. To be responsible for myself but watch out for my buddies, and trust them to do the same for me. To take opportunities when they come and make sure I have a backup in case things go wrong."

  "That's why you bought the shop," she surmised. If anything happened to his diving career he'd still have that.

  "Right."

  The sun had paled and risen above the horizon. The breeze picked up and he brushed a windblown strand of hair from his forehead with his fingers. "This is the first time you and I have been alone since we came on board," he said.

  Sienna knew that. But she said, "Oh?"

  For a moment he was silent, then he told her, "I thought maybe you were avoiding me."

  She tried to look surprised. "It's difficult to avoid anyone on a small boat. I thought we'd seen quite a lot of each other."

  Brodie made a sound suspiciously like a grunt. "Yeah, and people generally get to know each other pretty quickly."

  "I suppose." She'd learned a lot about Brodie from things that came up in his conversation with the others. Small things like the fact that he'd once won a school speech contest, that he'd fallen off his bike when he was ten and broken an arm, that he had brothers and sisters he seemed casually fond of.

  She'd noticed that he liked to read techno-thrillers and true-life adventure books, and shared a stack of diving magazines with Rogan. And he was seldom ruffled, although he wasn't above using a few choice words when a sail didn't behave or a line came loose.

  "Have you ever been to Parakaeo?" he asked.

  The remote island was where Rogan had arranged to meet up with more divers, and he'd had the salvage barge towed there from Rarotonga.

  "No," she answered. "Why aren't we picking up the barge and the extra divers at Rarotonga?"

  "Less chance of word getting round about our plans," Brodie said, "or of anyone following us to the wreck. Parakaeo's a quiet little place with a population of less than three thousand, with a small tourist trade, mostly ecotourists and people in the know about what a great, unspoiled dive site it is, though lately they've had a few cruise ships calling. I'll show you around when we get to it."

  The island was a volcanic cone covered closely in glossy tropical foliage and tall coconut palms, with limited flat land near the sea, some of it taken up by an airstrip.

  The only real town had been built along the foreshore, and sprawled onto the lower slopes of the long-extinct volcano that aeons ago had risen, spitting fire and steam, from the depths of the sea. A shabby freighter was moored near huge storage sheds where workers were loading the ship, the sickly-sweet smell of copra permeating the air.

  When the Sea-Rogue dropped anchor in the harbor a horde of brown-skinned children swam out to the boat and splashed around it, calling, "Hello, hello, Mr. Rogue, Mr. Brodie!" Ducking and diving, they surfaced with big grins before racing back to the white sand of the beach and running and leaping away to spread the news.

  By the time Rogan and Brodie had launched the inflatable dinghy and rowed to shore with the two women, a small welcoming committee of adults had gathered on the wharf, the women in flowered dresses, the men wearing either shorts or brief brightly colored pareus—mere lengths of cotton—about their hips.

  The women draped leis of fragrant frangipani flowers around the visitors' necks, and there were smiles and handshakes all around.

  Excited congratulations greeted Rogan's introduction of his wife. Camille was heaped with leis up to her chin, and someone placed a garland of scarlet flowers and green ferns on her head.

  One of the women turned to Brodie, standing aside with

  Sienna, and asked, "Brodie—you brought your wife too?" She beamed at Sienna.

  Brodie shook his head, his mouth sloping into a grin as he sent a glance at Sienna. "Sienna's Camille's friend."

  The woman shrugged philosophically. "One day, eh?"

  Brodie's gaze went again to Sienna and lengthened. For a moment he said nothing, his eyes glazing as if he'd been struck by some slight shock—perhaps the mention of a wife had been unwelcome—before he agreed equably, "Sure. Maybe."

  Under a palm-thatched roof near the wharf an open-air market did desultory business in taro, yams, fruit and rainbow^ dyed pareus, while across a dusty road a row of shops with drooping awnings snoozed in the humid heat.

  The whole party walked slowly uphill to a large, airy house with wide-open doors and windows letting through a cooling breeze laden with the heavy, sweet scent of frangipani. Coconut cakes and orange juice were served, and Camille and Sienna were introduced to Tu, a chunky, deep-chested islander who ran a local diving school and had been keeping an eye on the salvage barge for Rogan.

  Rogan asked him, "Have our divers turned up yet?"

  "Tilisi's here, of course. Joe's at the hotel, waiting for you guys to arrive. The other two are flying in tomorrow from Raro. And the barge is ready to go, I think, but you'll want to inspect it before it's towed to the site."

  "Have there been any strangers around lately?" Rogan inquired. "Anyone asking questions?"

  Tu shrugged. "Divers, yachties, a guy came in on a motor cruiser, had some questions. Said he was a writer researching a book on the hidden Pacific."

  Brodie and Rogan exchanged glances. Rogan asked, "Did he see our barge?"

  Tu grinned. "It's not easy to hide something that big on an island this size. I told him it was for pearl diving. Dunno if he believed me."

  It was some time before Rogan extricated his team from the welcome party, and they climbed to the two-story pink-and-white building that was the island's only hotel.

  They found the two divers in the hotel bar. Joe was a redheaded, weathered Australian who was an experienced salvor, Tilisi a former graduate of Tu's diving school who had several years of commercial diving experience. They greeted Brodie and Rogan with insults and back-slapping before being introduced to the women.

  Tilisi shook Sienna's hand and gave her an admiring smile. "I never knew archaeologists were so pretty!"

  Sienna laughed. He seemed so disingenuous, with his dark eyes and smooth brown cheeks.

  Brodie said, "Watch him, Sienna. He's not nearly as innocent as he looks."

  Tilisi's expression was wounded. "Brodie—I thought you were my friend!"

  "Yeah, and I know you too well." To Sienna he said, "I've seen him take in too many women with that 'I'm just a poor native boy' act."

  "I'm not easily taken in," she retorted.

  He gave her a considering look. "Uh-huh."

  Tilisi's eyes sparkled and he lightly punched Brodie's arm. "I could tell a few tales about you, my friend!"

  Brodie laconically acknowledged, "I guess."

  If she were a gambling woman Sienna would have taken a bet on it. For some reason the thought irritated her.

  Later they all inspected the barge, moored at a wharf near a small boat-building business, and Sienna declared herself satisfied with the facilities provided for her, including big plastic tubs where artifacts in danger of deteriorating once removed from the sea would be immersed in salt water.

  Rogan had a few last-minute modifications he wanted done, but everything should be completed within a day or two.

  "I promised to show Sienna around," Brodie told him. There were still several hours of daylight left. "Do you need me?"

  "Go ahead. We'll see you later."

  "Camille might like to come," Sienna suggested.

  "Sure," B
rodie agreed. "Camille?"

  Rogan looked inquiringly at his wife, who shook her head. "Rogan's promised to give me a tour tomorrow."

  He grinned. "She can't bear to be away from me." He hooked an arm about her waist, pulling her close.

  It didn't take long for Brodie and Sienna to traverse the main street and poke about the market, where they bought mangoes that they took to the beach to eat, leaning over to let the juice drip to the sand.

  Brodie laughed as Sienna wiped the last of the juice from her chin, and she couldn't help laughing too. "Delicious," she pronounced, "but messy."

  They rinsed their hands and faces in the shallow wavelets creeping up the beach, and Brodie said, "Would you like a drink of coconut milk, fresh from the tree?"

  Dubiously she looked up at the tall palms that edged the sand. "Are you offering to get it for me?"

  "Think I can't?" His eyes glinted at her.

  "I'm not making any bets."

  "Chicken," he chided. "Take a chance for once. Though you'd lose anyway."

  "Show-off," she retaliated. Just being with him, enjoying sparring with him, smiling back at the challenge in his eyes, was danger enough for her.

  Brodie laughed.

  She'd seen the Cook Islanders on Rarotonga, including children, shinny barefoot up the coconut palms to cut down the big yellow globes. Now she watched as Brodie slipped off his boat shoes and belt, tied the belt about his ankles and started up the smooth pale bole using the same technique as the islanders did with a piece of twine or plaited palm leaf. He reached the top and took out a sturdy diving knife from its sheath. "Stand back," he called to her.

  A coconut thudded down, followed by another. Within seconds he was back on the ground, grinning in triumph. Sienna, pretending awe, applauded.

  He used the knife to open up the yellow outer casing and then the hard, fibrous nuts. The juice was cool and sweet, and when it was gone he broke the nuts into pieces so they could enjoy the crisp, moist white flesh. "That was sublime," Sienna said when she'd had enough.

  Seated on the sand beside her, he threw a grin at her, then gathered up the remains and buried them in the sand. "Wait for me," he said. "I won't be long."

  Sienna sat on the beach, her knees in light cotton pants drawn up, her chin resting on her hands, eyes shaded by the brim of a linen hat. The water rippled, the sun turning it into a dazzling mass of stars. She felt happy and drowsy and yet very much alive.

  Brodie was back within ten minutes, astride a motor scooter.

  "Where did you get that?" she asked him.

  "Borrowed it. Hop on."

  She hesitated only a moment. Then, feeling unusually adventurous, she climbed onto the pillion seat.

  "Better put your arms round me," he advised. "Once we're out of town the roads are a bit rough."

  He wasn't kidding. As they wound up the mountainside between banana and pineapple plantations, and forests of breadfruit trees and giant yellow-flowered hibiscus interspersed with the ubiquitous coconut palms, the road became narrower, rutted and pocked. Brodie slowed the scooter to a crawl, and Sienna clung to him, her breasts against his broad back, her hands linked at his waist.

  His stomach was taut, and through the material of his T-shirt she could feel his body heat. She tried to block it from her mind, concentrating on the occasional glimpses of the sea, the children they passed, riding bareback, two or three to a horse, the workers in the banana plantations who looked up and waved, three women gossiping on a porch as they prepared the evening meal. But she was still acutely conscious of Brodie's body so close to her own, the steady rhythm of his breathing against her arms, her breasts. .

  Eventually the road became little more than a grassy track, and the scooter snarled to a stop before a carved gateway that straddled the path.

  "From here we walk," Brodie said.

  The path was too steep for anything else, winding under the trees that closed overhead, making a dim green tunnel.

  After five minutes they emerged into a dazzle of sunlight on a small granite plateau.

  Far below, beyond the thick green trees, they could see the town and its little harbor. Beyond that the ocean spread out in a vast splendor of shimmering blues and greens.

  Shifting her gaze, Sienna realized that from here they could see almost the entire island. Clusters of houses sat among the banana groves and pineapple fields, and white strips of sand bordered tiny coves. Canoes and dinghies were drawn up on most of the wider beaches.

  A larger craft lay at anchor on the opposite side of the island from the main harbor. A fishing trawler of indeterminate color, its steel hull streaked with rust, its deck littered with ropes and nets and stacks of plastic bins.

  Brodie commented, "She isn't local."

  "How do you know?"

  "No one on this island can afford a boat that size."

  They stayed a few more minutes, then Brodie said they'd better go, to make sure they were back before dark. They had arranged to have dinner with the others at the hotel.

  They found Camille and Rogan and the divers enjoying drinks on a terrace overlooking the harbor. Brodie hooked out a chair for Sienna, and they ordered drinks.

  "Had a good day?" Rogan inquired.

  Brodie looked at Sienna, waiting for her to reply. "Lovely," she said honestly. It was a long time since she'd enjoyed herself so thoroughly. "Brodie's a good tour guide."

  He raised his glass at her in acknowledgment of the praise. His eyes held warmth and his grin made her heart miss a couple of beats. Careful, a nagging inner voice warned, but she ignored it, recklessly downing her gin, lime and tonic, and allowing Brodie to order her another.

  She was among friends, there was safety in numbers, and she'd had a truly nice time today with Brodie, learning about the island he was obviously fond of and knew well. The day wasn't yet over, and the relaxed and friendly atmosphere of Parakaeo was seeping into her soul. She didn't want to be uptight, cautious, afraid of her own susceptibility. And surely by now she had enough experience and self-knowledge to keep her emotions under control while allowing herself some innocent pleasure?

  Later they all had dinner together, enjoying fresh fish, pineapple and taro. The hotel put on a floor show of traditional island dance, beginning with a graceful women's dance, their hips swaying in long pareus tied below their waists, and their arms and hands making fluttering movements like birds on wing.

  Men joined in, circling the women, slapping their bare brown chests and clapping their thighs together. The dances gradually became less languid, the clacking wooden drums beating faster and faster, the women's hips rotating rhythmically. After a particularly frenetic number and enthusiastic applause, the performers invited the audience to join them.

  Rogan dragged Camille, laughing, to her feet, and it was obvious he was no novice, while she quickly picked up the rhythm. Tilisi approached Sienna, and she yielded to his coaxing and followed him onto the floor, trying to imitate the island girls who had been dancing since they could walk.

  "You're good!" Tilisi encouraged her. "You've done this before."

  She had, taught by a Rarotongan girl who had befriended her on a visit to the Cook Islands a few years before, and whose twelve-year-old brother was the last man she'd danced with.

  Tilisi grinned at her and she smiled back, beginning to feel quite uninhibited.

  Brodie appeared at Tilisi's side, dropped a word in his ear, and the young man laughed, whacked his friend on the shoulder and went off to find one of the island girls to dance with. Even as Sienna faltered, Brodie smoothly took over where Tilisi had left off, snapping his fingers to encourage her.

  Spreading his arms wide, he curved them about her without ever quite touching her, and maintaining eye contact, a gleaming challenge in his. Evidently this wasn't his first time either.

  She'd had two glasses of wine at dinner, not enough to make her drunk, but perhaps, after the gin she'd imbibed earlier, it had the effect of making her uncharacteristically reckless. U
nder Brodie's intent blue stare she deliberately exaggerated the movements of her hips, refused to let her glance modestly drop as some of the girl dancers did, and instead let her gaze lock with his in a silent, erotic war.

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  The drumbeat seemed to be in sync with Sienna's racing heart, and when the drummers abruptly stopped and the dancers stilled, her heart continued to race. She was breathing fast, and there was a faint sheen on Brodie's forehead. For a moment they stood facing each other, their eyes still engaged in a silent duel of desire.

  Not a genuine emotion, she told herself, shaken by the strength of it. They'd both got caught up in the sexual energy generated by the drums and the eroticism of the island's traditional entertainment.

  The other dancers were leaving the floor, returning to their everyday selves, laughing and talking. Camille and Rogan quietly disappeared through a side door.

  Sienna dragged her gaze from Brodie and he followed her to their table. She gulped a couple of breaths to calm herself and return to normality.

  The rest of the dive crew were about to repair again to the bar. "The last chance we'll get for a decent drink for a while," Joe said.