by Caro LaFever
He hated pity. Hated anyone thinking he wasn’t worthy. The old childish temper reared to life. Swiveling, he glared. “Stay at the bottom of the stairs. I’ll be right back.”
“No.” Her lips tightened. “I told you. I want to be where you are. You’ll keep me safe.”
The confidence in him and his abilities soothed his temper. Yet, he still had absolutely no desire to have her anywhere near him. Because another desire might not submit to his determined control.
“You’ll be safe in the guest house,” he roared into the wind. “I’ll bring over some supplies.”
Not many supplies, however. A wicked part of him wanted her to suffer. So he’d bring over some MREs and bottled water. A blanket and a pillow. There was a bed with a bare mattress in the house, but there’d be no running water or electricity as soon as he switched the power over to the generator. She’d be safe, and also miserable, and that’s exactly how he wanted her to be.
“No,” she shouted back, before eyeing the smashing waves of the pool and the swirling palm trees above the guest house. “I’m coming with you.”
Riq had the absurd impulse to laugh. He stood in a driving rain any fool, much less a trained Marine, would know to get out of immediately. His dog stood beside him, whining in clear distress. This woman, this irritating woman, stood one step down from him, a puny, little female he should simply dismiss. And what was he thinking?
I’m coming with you.
He was taking her words and thinking about sex. About lurid, heated, naked bodies. Hers and his. The last thing he was going to do was let her into his home. His enjoyment of Cindi and her wild winds would be entirely eclipsed by this blonde bombshell strutting around, aggravating and arousing him.
Turning to confront her, he hollered over the storm’s thundering rain. “You’re lucky I didn’t leave you on the beach. Do you know what would have happened to you when the storm surge came in?”
The princesa didn’t budge. “Please let me stay in this amazing house with you.”
She liked his house.
The realization charmed him even though it shouldn’t.
“Please.” He couldn’t hear the one word, but he read it easily by looking at her lips. Her request strummed along his heartstrings against his will.
Jiggs whined again.
“Coño carajo,” he swore at her, before turning and heading for the top of the stairs. Sì, he’d told her to fuck off, go to hell, get the fuck out of here, except she didn’t understand Cuban Spanish, so in effect, he’d let her win. She was quiet behind him, the hurricane’s rage blurring any sound.
But Riq felt her, felt her female presence hovering on the steps, following him into his home.
The banyan tree’s white roots wove around the sturdy iron front door like ghostly fingers pointing the way forward. When he’d spotted this particular giant tree at the top of the mountain, he’d known he’d found his place. Buying the island hadn’t been the biggest expense, it had been the construction of this home in the sky.
He’d never regretted a penny.
The woman said something from behind, but the howling wind caught her words, shooting them into the jungle. Groaning at himself for his weakness in letting her in, he yanked on the iron circle and opened the door. Jiggs scrambled into the warm, dry space. He followed his dog, not looking behind him, as he stalked across the foyer toward the stairs leading up to his bedroom. A shower before the water pressure went off was a good plan. The generator would, of course, take care of that problem…
In a split second, he made a decision.
He’d let her in his house.
But he didn’t have to let her off the hook. Being a Marine, living rough didn’t faze him. He could handle some MREs and no running water with ease.
The little princesa?
Not a chance. She’d be miserable, just like he wanted.
He smiled at the thought.
The front door slammed shut, cutting off the roar of the storm, leaving a hush in its place.
“Thanks for letting me come in.” Her soft, hesitant voice wrapped around him, making him think of things he shouldn’t contemplate.
A cold shower was in order.
Riq wished he could jog up the stairs, leaving her behind, except his knee yelled at him to be careful. He took the steps one at a time, focusing on the fine weave of the honey mesquite wood he’d chosen for the entire house so he wouldn’t think of the pain.
“This is stunning,” she announced, her voice gaining strength. “Amazing.”
Ignoring her, he climbed to the first jutting circle of the stairs. He turned to give her a glare. “Stay right there and don’t touch anything. I’ll get you a towel in a minute.”
She appeared nonplussed, as if she was surprised at his surly behavior after her compliment. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere you need to know.” He looked down at his dog, who panted at her feet in obvious adoration. The observation made him go from surly to outright rude. “Jiggs. Come here. Stay away from her.”
“I don’t have cooties.” She sounded amused. Compounding her sins, she leaned down to scratch the dog’s ear.
The traitor moaned its approval.
“Jiggs.”
The dog moaned again, curling its head into her palm.
Snarling, he decided to overlook the defection. Although the humid air was warm, he still felt a chill from wearing dripping clothes. He stomped toward his bedroom and sighed in relief when the woman said nothing more, and didn’t follow him, either.
By the time he’d showered, keeping himself focused on nothing beyond soap and clean, he felt better about the situation. Sure, he didn’t enjoy the thought of eating MREs, no Marine did. And sure, she’d irritate the hell out of him for the next few hours. But with any luck, Hurricane Cindi wouldn’t be quite as ferocious as predicted, driving them both into the shelter. With any luck, his boat would come through the storm. And with any luck, he’d be rid of the female by this time tomorrow.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened the bathroom door, steam swirling from behind.
“Hi.” The princesa stood right in front of him, Jiggs by her side. “Can I go next?”
She’d done something with her hair—it no longer slid onto her neck and shoulders like a bedraggled layer of weeds. The gook on her face had been wiped off, too, leaving only pure, porcelain skin. Those navy-blue eyes shone with excitement, not wariness like they should. Her pink dress still hung on her, but now that they were out of the storm, all he could focus on was how the damp cloth highlighted the bounce of her breasts and the curve of her waist into her hips.
The irritation he’d left in the shower, along with any lingering lust, bloomed once more. Riq tightened his grip on the towel riding his waist. “I told you to stay put.”
“See, here’s the thing, caveman.” She smirked, her pretty mouth mouing into a provocation. “While I appreciate your hospitality, even if it’s given with no manners, I don’t have to follow your orders.”
The stab at his manners brought back bad memories. Memories of his popi’s pep talks about following his brothers’ good examples. Memories of countless teachers’ lectures before he was sent to the principal’s office. Memories of his yaya’s disappointment when he lost his temper.
He didn’t appreciate being reminded.
Taking a chance, because he was naked and she made him horny, he took a step into her personal space. “You know what?”
“What?” The blue of her eyes danced, as if she knew his cock was growing hard. As if she enjoyed this challenging conversation.
“This is my house, my rules.” Trying to discount the pull she had on him, he leaned in closer.
Wrong move, Chief Galtero barked a warning. Don’t go there, soldier.
He went there.
To his regret.
The whiff of her blanked his mind. Sì, there was the smell of wet cotton, musty and dark. Sì, there was the smell of the storm on her, a
dank layer of rain and dirt. And sì, she didn’t wear a lick of perfume, though he’d bet she’d spritzed herself at the beginning of today as any self-respecting princess with a perfume company would do. Yet the scent of her went up his nose like the shot of pure cocaine he’d once used before he took off for Marine training.
Just as it did then, his mind blanked.
“Interesting.” She tilted her head, sending another whiff of scent straight into his brain. “I wouldn’t have labeled you as a man who liked rules.”
His mind snapped back online. Like a good soldier did, he retreated before he got trapped. “Don’t put any labels on me, Princesa.”
“Uh-huh.” A twinkle lit in her eyes, turning the navy into the same color as the marine blue of his old uniform, still hanging in his closet. “So it’s okay for you to label me a princess, but not for me to label you—”
“ Correct.” Swiveling, he marched into his bedroom and slammed the door.
“I’m using your shower,” she cried, apparently not intimidated by him in the slightest.
The realization sizzled under his skin, making him feel itchy instead of how he usually felt when he got out of the shower—calm and contained.
He jerked open the first drawer in his floor-to-ceiling armoire, and selected a fresh T-shirt. Going to another drawer, he chose his favorite pair of gym shorts. After a quick thought, because he realized he needed more cover, he ripped open the plastic bag filled with brand new boxers. He rarely wore underwear on his island, but in this case, he needed as much armour as possible..
A knock came at his door. “Hey.”
“Go away,” he barked. “I’m dressing.”
There was a short pause, as if she needed a minute to take that image in.
Although he wanted nothing to do with her, he still gave himself a cocky smile. He hadn’t missed the swift glances she’d given his shoulders and chest. He didn’t miss much. A SEAL never did.
“Do you have more towels?” she finally said, her voice muffled from the solid door between them. “I can’t find any in the bathroom.”
That was because he never kept his linen in the humid bathroom. Humidity made them musty, which she should know, living in Florida. “There’s a closet across the hall from the bath.”
Immediately, he cursed himself for giving her even that modicum of comfort.
“Thanks.” She shuffled off and he heard his traitor of a dog woofing from the hallway near the bathroom. Like Jiggs was going to happily go into the shower with her. Since his dog hated his weekly bath, that was unlikely. His boy would probably just sit by the shower and groan while waiting for her to get out.
The thought stopped him cold.
Sitting by the shower, the shower where she was naked. Groaning and waiting. The instant image flashed in his brain. Him, in the bathroom, by the shower. Watching her smooth the soap on the skin of her breasts and stomach. Watching the water slide across her thighs and legs. Watching and groaning and panting. Him.
“Coño,” he swore at himself and his imagination.
Dressing hurriedly, he turned his attention to what was more important. He needed to make the rounds in his house, batten down that last open window, check on the status of the storm’s location on his WiFi before the electricity went off.
His steps turned to a fast pace as he passed the bathroom and its running shower.
Jiggs sat in a blue-gray lump in the doorway, his expression forlorn.
“Come on, guy,” Riq grumbled. “Have some pride.”
Testing his knee on the first step, he grunted with relief when it took his weight without complaint. The shower had loosened it up, as it often did. He rattled down the stairs and strode into the side office he used only occasionally when he was here. Flicking on the computer, he slid into his leather chair. Cindi wasn’t cooperating with his plans. According to the weather website, she continued to barrel toward his island. She’d also turned into a cat five.
“Coño,” he muttered, just as the lights flickered and died.
A dense silence fell, filled only by the howling winds encircling his home.
And then, the princesa shrieked. A loud, shrill noise that rang in his ears.
“Coño,” he muttered again.
Chapter 12
Risa batted at her eyes, the shampoo she’d found in the shower stall stinging like nettles. Not only had the lights flashed off, leaving her totally in the dark, the damn water had promptly petered out with her hair filled with suds.
She shrieked her outrage.
This whole day had turned into a catastrophic mess. Not only had she arrived on this private island to find only the caveman, not the entire village of helpful people she’d dreamed of, she also had no clothes other than her ruined Vera Wang dress. That stupid man had forced her to leave her best Manolo Blahnik shoes behind on the beach as well. She’d planned her outfit very carefully before she’d left home. It had to be the right combination of high-end luxury and efficient authority. As she’d packed her favorite Louis Vuitton suitcase, she’d dreamed of impressing the caveman with her knowledge of luxurious goods and how her plan to save Migneault Perfumery was perfectly sound as a business proposal.
Now? Now she stood naked in a non-working shower, her hair a mess, and a surly host who still hadn’t responded to her cry.
“Help!” she shrieked again, just to make sure he understood.
“Ah, princesa.” His rich, accented drawl came from outside the door. “Did you really want me to race in when you’re naked?”
Oh. No, she didn’t. Even if it was completely dark. “Turn the water back on so I can rinse the soap away.”
His husky chuckle, a rumbling animalistic sound, was the only response. She heard him walk off and his dog’s toenails clicking on the hallway’s wood floor told her she’d been deprived of her admirer as well. Cursing, she held the wet washcloth over her head and twisted. Enough water slipped down her face to clear her eyes, though her hair was a lost cause.
She was going to kill him.
There was no reason the water should have stopped when the electricity went off. The few times a storm had come through Star Island and their lights had gone off, she’d still been able to brush her teeth and clean her face.
The caveman must have done it on purpose.
Just to get at her. Just to punish her for coming here.
However, she wasn’t going to let him defeat her. Not in this storm and not with her family’s company.
Making a face, she stepped out of the shower and with a halting step, her hands outreached, located the rail where she’d left her dripping pink dress. She fumbled with the soggy lump of clothes, until she found her damp bra and panties and slipped them on. There might not be water coming from the shower, but there was plenty outside. And putting on the dress was too icky to contemplate. With her underwear on, she wore as much as if she had her bathing suit on.
She inched the bathroom door open.
A faint light, the last of the day, stole along the empty hall, telling her she wouldn’t have to deal with him right now. Risa crept down the corridor, keeping one hand on the wall. The circular stairs loomed in front of her and the memory of this house, this amazing house, splashed into her conscience once more.
A tree house.
The man lived in a tree house.
When she’d been little, her daddy had created a little tree house in one of the palm trees littering their back yard. She’d only been four or five and the steps to the landing had only been two, yet she remembered nestling in the square room and playing with her dolls.
This place was nothing like that.
This place was a castle in the sky.
When they’d driven over the rolling hill to the top of the mountain, the downpour had obscured the dimensions of the house. She’d still seen enough to be startled into a compliment to the caveman.
The house twisted itself around a huge banyan tree. She’d counted at least five levels through the stor
m, but now that she was in the house, she figured there were more. Except with the lights off, she wouldn’t be able to explore until after this pesky hurricane passed.
Still, she was here.
Here, with him.
And that gave her hope for her plan. There wasn’t any way he could get rid of her—for the foreseeable future. That was good, very good. By the time they did get off this island, she’d have him convinced of her idea. Taking heart, she tip-toed down the stairs to the first level. The boom of the storm rattled the house, and the whistle of the wind signaled danger to anyone who attempted to go outside.
But she had to. It was the only way she was going to wash the shampoo from her hair.
She slunk toward the door, glanced up into the gloom of the house to make sure she wasn’t watched, then tugged on the circle of iron that served as the doorknob.
The door didn’t budge.
There were thin slits of glass in between the iron slabs, letting her know there was plenty of water to be had on the other side.
She tugged again.
“What the hell are you doing?” His rough question shot across the first level of his house before drifting up and up into the limbs of the tree and the wooden platforms interspersed within the forest of banyan roots.
Gasping, she turned, wrapping her arms around her almost naked body. She saw nothing except the gloom of the storm. “Where are you?”
“The door’s locked. So are the windows.” The tone of his voice eased into humor. “You’re not going out there.”
Instant anger at his trick of turning off the water right when she got soapy made her spine grow rigid. “I wouldn’t have to go outside if you’d left the water on, asshole.”
He tutted at her as if she were a child. “Swearing? I thought you were too much of a lady to descend into vulgarity.”
“That was really mean,” she charged. “If you would turn the water back on, I wouldn’t have to go outside.”
“No going outside. I don’t want water in the house and it’s also dangerous.”