Her Passionate Protector

by Laurey Bright

  "Do you want a drink?" Brodie asked Sienna.

  Hot now, and feeling exhilarated and yet nervy, she eyed the moonlit seascape outside. It would be nice to stroll along the waterfront after that delicious meal and the strenuous exercise, and let herself come down from the high engendered by the dance. "You go and join your friends. I think I'll go for a walk."

  "Not on your own. I'll come with you."

  Alarm tingled through her. "Surely this is the safest place on earth?" The island seemed very peaceful and everyone had been markedly friendly.

  "I'm not letting you out there in the dark alone."

  She could see she'd have no luck dissuading him. Changing her mind would make it obvious she was avoiding his company, which she had enjoyed all day, and besides, she discovered with a hint of defiance, she really didn't want to dispense with it.

  They took the narrow winding road with no footpath down to the foreshore, wandering along until they came to the end of the town, where the road petered out and only a dirt path continued at the edge of the trees.

  Sienna halted, but Brodie decisively took her hand in his and forged on.

  She needed his guidance because, although the moonlight was brilliant and white, the trees shadowed the rough path, and once or twice she stumbled.

  They emerged at a small cove, a curve of pale sand with a high headland at the other side crowned by a huge, flat-topped rock. These blocks of granite cropped up all over the island, remnants of the long-ago explosions when it had been born out of fire and brimstone.

  Brodie led her across the sand to another, steeper path, and at the top climbed onto the big rock, using footholds he obviously knew well, and turned to haul Sienna up after him.

  Moonlight shimmered across the water. She could see the harbor where the Sea-Rogue lay gently rocking at her anchors, a couple of fishing boats nearby, and half a dozen canoes lying on the beach, some sporting outboard motors.

  The lighted windows of the town and a couple of yellow streetlights gleamed not far away. Nearer, in the darkness a fish leaped, momentarily a twisting sliver of silver caught in the moonlight before it splashed back into the water. She took a step to peek over at the foot of the headland, where thunderous waves licked whitely at the rocky face. Attacked by an unexpected moment of vertigo, she hastily moved back, and cannoned against Brodie.

  His arms came about her waist. "Watch it."

  "Sorry," she gasped. She hadn't known he was so close behind her.

  He was still holding her securely. "You okay?"

  "Yes. I didn't realize it was so far down."

  "You're scared of heights?"

  "Not more than most people, I think. It was just steeper than I expected. You can let me go now."

  "Suppose," he drawled, "I don't want to?"

  Sienna held her breath. She couldn't answer, though common sense told her she ought to say something to break the moment, indicate that the hard body warming hers, the arms wrapped gently about her, were unwelcome. Only they weren't.

  He turned her to face him, and looked down at her. The high brassy moon sailing in a star-crowded sky gave a faint patina to his hair but his face was shadowed, his eyes dark.

  She tried to persuade herself that her heart was pounding because of the small fright she'd had when she looked down, that she didn't push away from him because of their precarious position on the rock, although it was big enough for several people.

  But she knew that if she'd said no he wouldn't have kissed her, wouldn't have lowered his mouth to hers and covered her lips, parting them under an insistent, persuasive pressure and commencing an intimate, lingering exploration that made her knees weaken, her body flood with heat.

  The salty tang of the sea and the heavy, sweet perfume of frangipani blossoms rose about them, and she inhaled them along with the subtle male scent of Brodie's skin. Her own skin was so sensitized she could feel the cool moonlight on her closed eyelids, and when Brodie raised his head at last, and lifted one hand to briefly touch her cheek, she felt an invisible shiver of pleasure all the way to her toes.

  Brodie drew in a heavy breath and let it out. Sienna was as dizzy as when she'd looked over the edge of the cliff. She'd never been kissed quite that expertly and thoroughly in her life. Never felt so alive and aware, and yet as if she were floating on a dark, satin sea. The feeling was wonderful, hypnotic, yet she was conscious of the dangerous depths below. If she let herself be carried by the persuasive current of sexual hunger, she could drown in those depths, be pulled down once again into the darkness and cold of utter despair.

  Long-cherished caution warred with temptation. Biting her lip, finally making an effort to pull away from him, she said thinly, "I … think we should go back now."

  It sounded inane.

  "Sure," Brodie said after a moment. He released her and moved, jumping down before turning to help her. When she reached the ground he held her with two hands at her waist, and pressed another lightning kiss on her lips, leaving them tingling and warm. Then he led the way back, and didn't comment after they gained the roadway again and she pulled her hand from his to jam it into the pocket of her trousers.

  Back at the boat he saw her to her cabin and gave her a crooked grin when she slipped inside with a quick, firm "Good night."

  Had she thought he expected to be invited in? Brodie wondered as he crossed to his own cabin, the grin fading into a frown. A man could hope but…

  Usually after ten days' sailing people knew each other's hot buttons, who snored and who didn't—he didn't think Sienna did—and something about their background. For long periods the boat was under autopilot and all that was needed was an occasional change of sail and a watchful eye on the weather and the water. That inevitably led to talk, and to some personal information being exchanged.

  Sienna was noticeably reticent in that regard.

  He'd told her one night, when they were alone in the cockpit, about his four brothers and sisters, scattered about the world in various jobs, and about his mother, a schoolteacher still working at a little country school—and his father, who had been a fisherman and died at sea.

  "It didn't put you off a life at sea?" she'd asked, looking at him curiously.

  "Nope. I guess I inherited his genes. It was a hard life and there's not much money in it these days."

  "Doesn't your mother worry about you?"

  "She's never stopped any of us doing what we want to do. Do you have a mother worrying about you now?"

  "I'm an adult, she knows I can take care of myself."

  "And your dad?"

  "I don't see much of him." She sounded indifferent. "They're divorced."

  "Do you mind," he asked, "not seeing him?"

  She was silent for a while, watching the horizon where the stars met the night-black sea. "I suppose it's my own fault," she said. "I couldn't forgive him, and when my brother and I visited him I was unhappy and sulky."

  "He was the one who walked? Was there another woman?"

  "Yes," she said reluctantly. "He has a new family anyway."

  "How old were you then?"

  "Fifteen. I'm fine. I got over it ages ago."

  "And forgave him?"

  "I'm glad he's happy."

  She wasn't happy; he could hear it in the husky note in her voice, see it in the way she'd turned away from him.

  Before he could ask any more questions she'd stood up and said she was going to help Camille in the galley. End of discussion. He could sense her pulling down a mental blind to close him out, putting up shutters. Gathering that cool and impenetrable manner about her like a protective cloak. Probably regretting that she'd opened up to him even that far.

  It was the only time she'd done so. And he'd been careful not to crowd her, telling himself not to force anything, be patient.

  Then tonight she'd backed into him and her sweet body was soft and warm against him, and pure physical reaction had him instantly heated up. She hadn't resisted when he turned her to him, her face li
fting to his in the moonlight, her eyes huge and dark, and her mouth a naked temptation. He'd hardly dared breathe as he found it with his, kissed her with a feeling that something important was happening here, that he mustn't mess up or he'd regret it for the rest of his life.

  Not exactly kissing him back, she hadn't objected either, pliant in his arms, her mouth passively accepting his careful seduction. But when they'd drawn apart she had simply suggested they go back, with no hint that it had affected her in any way at all.

  Closing his cabin door behind him, he fumbled for the light switch, still thinking about the kiss and Sienna's reaction.

  He saw his own reflection in the cool glass of the porthole, ghostly against the night, looking frustrated and baffled.

  A picture came into his mind of the first time he'd seen Sienna. He closed his eyes and saw the little seaside chapel again, Sienna following the bride and groom with her bewitching mouth curving into a strangely poignant smile, and the sunlight playing on her glorious hair.

  Today someone had asked him if Sienna was his bride.

  Abruptly opening his eyes, he shook his head to clear it, stared at his reflection, gave it an astonished grin. He was getting wa-ay ahead of himself here.

  If Sienna had any idea of what he was thinking—well, half thinking, maybe—she'd run a mile.

  And so would he if anyone else had suggested it.

  He thrust a hand through his hair and turned away from the porthole.

  Rogue's wedding had unsettled him, made him think about things that had rarely even crossed his mind before.

  Sienna would look great in a shimmering long white dress with a veil—and even better without them, in his arms, his bed…

  Another grin, slightly shamefaced, curved his mouth as he hauled off his T-shirt. He shouldn't be thinking about her like this.

  But he couldn't help it. The more he saw of Sienna, the more he wanted her.

  There was no damn privacy aboard the boat, and now things could only get worse, with the rest of the team joining them, although they'd be sleeping on the dive barge.

  He'd just have to be patient. Maybe that was a good thing. He and Sienna would be working side by side. They'd surely get to know each other better, and without sex getting in the way.

  Blinking at that thought, he paused in the act of unzipping his pants. Since when had sex got in the way? He'd always thought it was a pretty good means of getting to know a woman he liked. A damn fine one, in fact. Quick and easy and decidedly pleasant.

  Easy, yeah. His conscience twinged.

  Somehow he knew quick and easy wasn't going to cut it with Sienna.

  The following day Rogan and Brodie went off to finish fitting out the barge. Camille and Sienna spent the morning housekeeping on the Sea-Rogue, then made a picnic lunch that they took to share with the men.

  Sienna avoided Brodie as much as possible, glad that the others were there to prevent any private conversation. She couldn't banish last night's torrid kiss from her mind. When she did catch Brodie's alert, considering gaze, his mouth curved in a knowing smile before she hastily averted her eyes.

  After lunch the two women went shopping, and along with more practical things like foodstuffs, they bought some tie-dyed pareus, mere lengths of light, cool cotton to wear in the tropical heat.

  Sienna was still wearing one later during dinner at the hotel. Brodie's gaze lingered on her bare shoulders for a few moments, and she tried to quell a thrill of pride at the admiration in his eyes.

  While everyone else lingered over drinks afterward, she slipped away outside, went down to the beach and strolled along the sand. Brodie wouldn't approve, but she needed time alone, time to think, to remind herself she couldn't face another emotional upheaval in her life, that she'd already been down that road with men too much like him. Too much like her father. A dead-end road she never intended to travel again.

  The pale sand curved into a little cove where the trees were thick and dark, a sliver of moon giving the calm water of the lagoon a faint sheen, the foaming breakers on the reef a ghostly white.

  The sand was still warm, and even wearing only the thin cotton pareu over minimal panties, she felt sweat dewing her skin, trickling on her forehead and between her breasts, dampening her underarms.

  She took off her sandals and walked to the edge of the water. Looking about, she saw no one in sight; she might have been alone on the island. The only sounds were the palm leaves clicking against each other, the distant boom of the breakers, the nearer swishing and rippling of the wavelets cooling her toes.

  Possessed of a reckless impulse, she tossed her shoes onto the sand and undid the knot holding the pareu and threw it after them, where it drifted for a moment in the air before settling in an uneven blur of muted color. Then she walked into the water until it was deep enough for swimming.

  It felt glorious—liquid satin, cool and sensuous against her bare skin. She swam with a slow breaststroke, then floated for a while on her back, looking up at the splendid extravagance of the stars crowding the night sky.

  When she waded back to the beach she felt refreshed, stimulated, alive. She was conscious of her body in a new way, as if she'd never been at home in it before, as if the water had washed away all inhibition. As if like Venus she were newly emerged from a seashell. Her breasts peaked and tingled, and her skin seemed to feel every tiny salt droplet that ran over it.

  She found the pareu and was straightening with it in her hand when a faint movement among the trees caught her eye, a paler shape amid the dense, dark foliage. Instinctively she clutched the material with both hands over her breasts, calling sharply, "Who's there?"

  The shape emerged upon the sand—male, large, wearing jeans and a light T-shirt. "It's only me." Brodie's voice. "It's okay, Sienna. Sorry, I didn't intend for you to know."

  It wasn't okay. Her heart pounded. "Have you been spying on me?"

  He strolled closer, not replying at once. "Watching you," he admitted. "I followed you from the hotel—I told you last night you shouldn't wander about alone. Obviously you didn't want company so I kept out of sight. I had no idea you meant to go skinny-dipping."

  "It was an impulse. You … sh-shouldn't have watched."

  "I know." His voice lowered. "I couldn't help it. You were so beautiful. Like something out of dreams and legends—a mermaid. Magical, mysterious."

  Treacherously, she was conscious of a jolt of shocking pleasure, of sizzling excitement. She took a deep breath and the pareu slipped, baring one breast.

  She ought to pull it back into place. Instead she simply stood there, while Brodie's dark gaze, shadowed in the moonlight, remained fixed on her face. Then he reached out slowly and did it for her, but his hand lingered, his knuckles pressing gently against the tender skin just below her armpit, then moving the edge of the material farther round as if to wrap it about her. "You should put this on," he said softly, "if you want to be safe."

  Afterward she told herself it was the atmosphere of the island—the moonlit beach so far from home, the swaying palms, the silver-tinted lagoon, a setting straight out of a TV ad for Pacific holidays. And the rich, exotic scent of frangipani mixed with the heady tang of the sea. But in truth it was the man—Brodie, with his own unique male scent, his gentle hands, his seductive, deep-ocean voice, his confession that he'd followed to watch out for her—and kept watching because he couldn't resist temptation—that gave her the courage to push aside her customary caution and seize the moment with all its hidden hazards, its disregard for future complications.

  "Maybe I don't want to be safe," she said, "tonight." Even now a tiny part of her mind, not totally lost to common sense, supplied the caveat.

  For long seconds Brodie simply stared down at her, not moving. She wondered if he was going to reject her after all. She should have been relieved, but dread made her close her eyes.

  Then she felt his warm breath on her face, his lips featherlight against her eyelids, first one, then the other. "Open your ey
es, Sienna," he said, his voice deeper than ever and not quite steady.

  She did so reluctantly, staring up at him, his face still only inches from hers.

  He said, "I want to make love to you. Is that what you want too?"

  He wasn't going to let her get away with any pretence of being swept off her feet, not knowing what she was doing. She could back out now and he'd let her.

  "Yes," she said, scarcely above a whisper.

  She slid her arms about his neck, and he took up the invitation, pulling her close, one hand flattening against her back, the other closing about the top of her thigh, sliding over the curve above, then settling at her waist as his mouth covered hers, finding it eager and open for him.

  He was gentle, but she found she didn't want gentleness. Taking his cue from her, he gathered her closer and kissed her thoroughly, his tongue plunging into her mouth, his hand finding again the rounded, naked flesh of her behind, then moving to her breast before he wrenched the cloth from between them and spread it on the sand, bearing her down on it even as he snapped open his jeans.

  She helped him get rid of them, haul off the T-shirt, remove her damp bikini panties.

  Never had she been so wanton, so lost in turbulent sensation, so impatient to explore a man's body with her hands, lips, her own skin pressed against his, so excited when she felt him respond with a deep shudder, realized that already he was fully aroused. Wanting her as she wanted him.

  He was trying to take his time, his hands everywhere on her body, stroking, exploring, teasing. The moonlight revealed in the tautness of his face the fierce control he was exercising and the glitter in his eyes, now seeming black as the night about them.

  She was torn between wanting to prolong the dizzying love-making and the driving desire to reach the pinnacle that was coming nearer with each kiss, each touch of his fingers, each time her own fingertips traced his wonderfully muscular shoulders, his strong back, or plowed into his hair as he lowered his mouth to her breasts, her navel, the tip of his tongue arousing her to unbearable heights of desire.

  Finally she told him with her body that she needed him now—inviting him in to the ultimate focus of pleasure, meeting his deep, strong thrusts with gasps of delight, moving to encourage him, finally giving herself up to ecstasy such as she'd never known before; she knew that he was with her, they were cresting the wave together, then slowly coming down on the other side into the shallows of spent passion.