by Caro LaFever
He stiffened. “What the hell?”
Did the asshole plan on landing on his island because he suddenly realized he was in serious trouble? His private island—which the signs on the dock and several buoys in the bay stated in red block letters. Did he think he’d be welcomed into his home and Riq would gladly share his stockpiled supplies with two other people?
“Coño,” he muttered.
The boat shot past the last buoy and rounded the bay, clearly bound for the dock.
Scowling, he went through his options. He could call the Coast Guard and report the intrusion, but he doubted they’d do much at this point. They’d be too busy making sure people were safe, not patrolling for criminals. He could get out his Heckler and Koch 45 and throw some SEAL anger toward these two idiots, yet they didn’t look dangerous, just stupid.
Or he could ignore them.
Let them try and break into one of his employee’s secure homes and wait out the storm surge. Which would likely kill them.
“Me cago en diez.”
Jiggs woofed and his tail wagged a welcome Riq was far from feeling.
“All right, boy.” His jaw tightened as the decision was made. “Time to get in the Jeep and take a trip to the village.”
By the time he’d lifted his dog into the car, gunned the engine, and roared down the gravel road heading toward the beach, the first line of thunderclouds had rolled across the island, bringing heavy gusts of rain-filled wind.
His lips curled in disgust.
Instead of hanging out with a fine glass of whiskey and a Die Hard movie inside his hurricane-proofed home, he was going to have to talk sense into morons. The man was going to be in a dither about protecting his boat from the coming storm—which was a lost cause. And the woman was probably going to be hysterical.
The Jeep skimmed along the rain-soaked palm leaves that had already been torn from the trees. Jiggs whined as they flew around the bend leading from the jungle onto the beach.
Laying a hand on his dog’s collar, Riq calmed himself before addressing his companion. “We’ll put them in the guest house, boy. No worries.”
They could suffer without electricity and be grateful he took them in. The generator he’d installed after he built his home was designed to work for the main house, not the surrounding buildings. Too bad for the interlopers. They were lucky he came to rescue them in the first place.
Hopefully, Cindi’s wrath wouldn’t force him into the shelter along with his unwanted guests.
The first thing he noticed when the dock came into view, was the boat. The damn vessel was speeding off into the roaring waves of the sea, the old man hanging onto the wheel like he was flying into the depths of hell.
Which he was.
“Cabron,” he yelled, but the curse at the man and the boat was muffled by the car windows.
He jerked to a stop and turned off the engine. Jiggs danced on the other front seat, waiting to be released so he could run along the dock and greet their one remaining guest.
The blonde stood on the end of the dock. She had ridiculously high heels on and a short skirt that rode up and down every time a gust billowed by her. Nice legs. The errant thought made him frown. He didn’t need nice legs or blonde hair around when he planned on riding a hurricane into SEAL memories. He needed privacy to gain peace.
Then, she made it worse. She turned and tried a jaunty wave. “Hi!”
He read her lips as well as her intentions.
“Me cago en diez,” he cursed again. He couldn’t believe it.
The princesa. Here on his island.
Stranded.
Risa clung to her suitcase and purse, rocking on her heels as the wind blew like a blasting gun across the dock. She’d known the trip here would be rough, though she’d never dreamed—
“What the fuck?” The caveman roared as he clambered from his car. His expression was filled with storm clouds rivaling the sky above her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She glanced back at the sea and the disappearing boat. Mr. Rodriguez had told her the trip would be dangerous, but she’d been insistent.
Honestly? She’d been desperate.
After the meeting with her father three days ago, the company news had grown worse. Whispers were starting to spread between the employees, and several key people were rumored to be shopping their resumes. For the first time, she saw how valuable these employees were to keeping their company going. The Nose had admitted he was planning a trip to France and Mr. Rogstein looked pained when he’d brought in the financials to her father.
Her parents were deep in collective depression. So deep she’d called in Grandma Olsen to cheer them up. But unless she found a way to get the caveman to actually be their angel, things were only going to get worse.
There was no time to lose.
The growl of an angry man made her swing back around, letting go of any hope of escaping her predicament by calling Mr. Rodriguez and asking him to come back.
The caveman strode down the rolling dock, apparently undisturbed by the violent movement of the wooden planks, nor the slap of incessant waves of water riding the edges. Dressed in his usual T-shirt and gym shorts, he exuded pure rage. His dark, thick brows furrowed, creating a line of black fury on his forehead. Those lush lips were thin with anger. There was no mist in his eyes now. Only a laser light of blue enmity zeroed in on her.
“Hi?” She tried for a smile, yet it slipped off her face before it could plant.
He strode right into her personal space. “Are you fucking crazy?”
His shout slammed into her like a gale force, competing with the rising furor of the hurricane.
“No?” Teetering on her heels, she kept her composure only because she’d be damned if she’d cry in front of this man again.
A hard hand shot out, grabbing her arm.
Risa wasn’t sure if the action was to keep her from falling or to keep her near so he could yell at her some more.
Leaning in, his gaze narrowed. “You. Are the most impossible—”
A woof, muted by the wind, came from behind them. A splash followed.
With a jerk, her unwelcome host turned and cursed again. Releasing her, he bounded up the dock, slid his flip-flops off, and jumped feet first into the bay. She gasped. The man was incredibly foolish. The ocean could pull a person into a tow without warning, and in this kind of weather—
His sleek, wet head popped out of the water, hair dripping and clinging to his chiseled face. In his grasp was a blue-gray dog who looked remarkably like his owner when he scowled. Even down to the two piercing blue eyes.
“I get it,” she called, her heart warming. “You were saving your dog.”
And he was a Marine. A SEAL. She shouldn’t have worried about him in the slightest.
Ignoring her, he waded through the water until he hit the beach. Not stopping, he carried the animal back to the Jeep, placing him carefully in the front passenger seat. For a second, she tensed, thinking he might climb into the vehicle and take off.
But then, he turned and eyed her with a grim look.
“If you want a ride to somewhere safe,” he bellowed across the beach. “Get your ass in this Jeep before I take off in two seconds.”
Well. Not the warmest welcome she’d ever received.
Anger at this man returned, making her pride rebel at being spoken to that way. A wicked whip of wind took her hair and swirled it around her head. A slap of water rose over the dock to douse her shoes in cold reality. Her suitcase rattled in her hold, shaking every time a gust slammed into its sides. With great reluctance and bristling resentment, she sidled along the wooden planks, taking care with every step. She knew if she fell into the water, there’d be no protective rescue from the caveman.
“Hurry up.” Folding his arms, he leaned on the Jeep, a smirk of loathing amusement on his face.
“Jerk,” she muttered under her breath.
The last thing she’d call this man was a gentleman. The very
last thing.
She hit the beach with a sigh of relief. With every bone in her body, she wanted to stride toward him, using her heels and legs and Vera Wang dress to impress. Her shoes sunk into the sodden sand and stuck. Tugging at it did no good. She plopped the suitcase and purse on the beach so she could rescue the heel.
“For God’s sake.” He came at her like a thunderclap, sweeping her into his arms and marching toward the vehicle. His body and clothes were entirely wet, yet the heat of him soaked into her like a warm, humid blanket.
“My shoes!” she cried. “My suitcase! My purse!”
Ignoring her once more, he opened the back door of the car, keeping her in his one arm as if she weighed a pittance and then, flung her onto the seat.
Rolling straight, she glared at him. “My suitcase and purse, please—”
“Shut up,” he growled, his heated gaze holding none of the adoring attention she was used to from heated male looks. “Shut the fuck up.”
The door slammed on his last word.
He climbed in to the driver’s seat, his broad back stiff with irritation. The Jeep’s engine gunned.
“I won’t have any clothes,” she wheedled, stuffing down her own irritation in a bid to get him to see reason by being nice. “I won’t have anything to wear.”
“Good,” he said, jerking the car into motion. “Maybe you’ll be worth having around after all.”
Risa’s gaze narrowed and she let her irritation go. “Are you suggesting I stay nude in front of you?”
He glanced over his shoulder, the look smug. “Sure, if you want to be useful.”
His expression told her he found her anything but worth having around or being useful.
Outrage stiffened her spine, along with the memory of why she was here.
After Grandma Olsen had arrived to console her mom and daddy, Risa had begun her investigation on all things caveman. She had his name, and that was enough for any cunning woman to track him to his cave.
A condo.
A simple, basic condo in midtown. Nothing fancy like a penthouse on top of the building or a high-flying mansion on the water. The guy didn’t appear to care about making a good impression, did he? He didn’t wear his wealth on his sleeve as her father did.
Or didn’t, really.
Because the Migneaults, much to her regret, needed this man’s money because they didn’t have money of their own anymore.
The Jeep chugged up a bumpy road, the palm trees thrashing in the howling wind, the rain coming down in torrents on the windshield. The slap of the wipers was the only sound in the car. Rueful pride and ugly desperation made her slump in the seat, unsure what to say or do.
Until the dog turned and looked straight at her.
With the most beautiful blue eyes a girl could ever know.
Leaning over, she spread her fingers on the soft, scratchy tuff of hair on top of the round head. “Aren’t you cute.”
“Keep your hands off my dog.” The driver grunted, a surly sound. “And Jiggs isn’t cute.”
The dog panted in clear delight at the attention and looked at her with an adoring gaze.
Risa didn’t have a lot of experience with dogs or cats. Her mom was allergic to both, so she’d had to make do with Winkie and her imagination. But she’d always secretly wanted a pet, preferably a dog. Something with curly hair, an elegant sort of puppy who she could show off at parties.
His dog burped right into her palm before sticking out a long, purple tongue to lick her.
Her heart tumbled. “Oh, I love you.”
“Don’t.” The one word was curt and filled with animosity. “He’s mine.”
“Pets are to share.” She didn’t know why she argued about such a stupid, negligible thing. There were far more important things she needed to discuss with this man.
After hunting down his home, she smiled and giggled and talked with his neighbors. One of them, a guy who appeared taken with her charms, had spilled the beans about his housekeeper. Tracing that person had been a simple click on Google. A trip to Coconut Grove with some chocolates and a sunny smile had given her the knowledge de Molina owned a private island. His housekeeper knew this because her sister worked for him there.
A private island.
She stared at the back of his head. His hair still dripped with ocean water, though he appeared not to care. The curls were gone, leaving only sleek strands of black sticking to his neck. The T-shirt he wore was white, and it plastered into a wet veil over the glorious muscles of his back. They shifted as he shifted the gear, causing her to shift in her seat.
“When we get to the house,” he yelled over the growing fury of the storm. “You’re going to the guest house.”
“That sounds lovely,” she forced a chipper sound into her voice.
“It’s not. You’re not going to like—”
The whip of the wind drowned out whatever she wasn’t going to like. A sick brew of unease whispered inside. For the first time since she started on the odyssey to find this angel for Migneault Perfumery and her family did she question what she was doing.
The dog panted, his eyes never leaving her. Even when she withdrew to curl into a wet lump of worry on the backseat. The Jeep lumbered up the road and over a rolling hill tucked into the mountain.
She jerked straight, her eyes widening. “This can’t be real.”
Shutting off the engine, he swung around to give her a steel-edged stare. “I learned as a SEAL to accept reality.”
Risa’s gaze didn’t slide from the house looming in front of them. “It’s beautiful.”
“And also real,” he drawled, his accent rich with irony. “I also learned to beware of beauty.”
Her focus finally shifted to him, shock still running through her brain.
“Beauty can be deadly.” His lush lips thinned. “But you know that, don’t you, Princesa?”
Chapter 11
She looked shell-shocked.
The realization made him glance at his house with a different set of eyes.
Being a SEAL meant water to most people, and he’d spent his share of time in the waves. Yet, the acronym also meant air and land, and the air was where he’d found his true home away from home.
“What is it?” she gasped.
“A house. My house.” Riq gave her another glance of disgust. “But that’s not where you’re going to stay.”
Jiggs woofed.
“Yeah, boy. Let’s go.” Yanking on the Jeep’s door, he stepped into the torrent. The rain had changed from a downpour into a deluge, and he could tell by the way the wind was shifting, it was only going to get worse. He jerked open her door. “Get out.”
Her blonde hair was plastered to her face and neck, the ends of the strands clinging to the bedraggled pink dress she had on. The gook she wore on her face had streaked, the mascara making her look like a raccoon.
He laughed. Even though she was going to be a big pain in the ass for the next day or so, she still amused him at this moment. With any luck, Cindi would fly across his island overnight, and his boat would make it through unharmed. Once the hurricane ended, he’d pack the princesa up and deliver her back to the mainland and her worried parents.
Then, he’d be free to enjoy his island alone.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she huffed, her pretty mouth pouting. “It’s not funny.”
“Yeah, you being here is sure as hell not funny,” he drawled. “Get your ass out of the car. We need to take cover.”
Jiggs scrambled off the Jeep’s seat, landing on the terrace’s tile and swerving around the car door to stare at the woman with an adoring gaze.
“Don’t swear.”
Sighing with exasperation, he slammed the front door closed and reached in to grab her arm. “Now.”
A loud crack of a falling tree limb ricocheted around them. Jiggs whined. His boy didn’t enjoy storms, didn’t appreciate rain and wet. With a sharp tug, he pulled the irritating woman into the downpour. “Come on.”
>
Dropping her arm because he didn’t like the heat the touch of her caused in his groin, he headed toward the base of his house. The electricity was still working—the one window he hadn’t barricaded streamed a warm glow into the gloom. But he’d bet that wouldn’t last more than another hour, at best.
He shot a glance past his home to the compact guest house perched by the pool. “You’re staying over there.”
Silence greeted his command. With another sigh of irritation, he looked behind him.
She stood in the door of the Jeep, which meant his back seat was probably soaked and filled with jungle debris already. Her expression looked horrified as she surveyed the dark, boarded windows of where he wanted her to stay.
His irritation grew. “Close the damn car door.”
Ignoring him, she clutched her edge of her dress. “I want to be near you.”
The heat of her remembered touch flared inside him at her words, at her wish to be near him. Near her meant temptation—to kiss and do the things he’d thought of in the shower a couple of days ago. The thought, the memory of his torrid orgasm, changed his irritation to outright anger.
He stalked to her and yanked her away from the Jeep so he could slam the door closed. Leaning in, he caught her startled gaze. “Listen here, Princesa.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Now it was his turn to ignore her. “If you want to survive this hurricane, you’re going to do what I say.”
Navy-blue eyes widened. “Are we in real danger?”
Her naïveté might have amused him again, if it weren’t for the building lust running through his blood. “You’re in real danger if you don’t follow me right now.”
He took off toward his house, planning on dropping off his shivering, freaked-out dog before escorting his unwanted intruder to the guest house. The ache in his knee reminded him he’d carried her across the beach, and the weakness only made him more pissed off. Coming to the first step, he gritted his teeth at the sharp lance of pain running up his thigh, and began to climb. Jiggs panted at his side.
“You’re limping.” Her voice cut through the storm, coming from right behind him. There was a lick of pity in the tone.