by Caro LaFever
Her hair hung in lank strands, partially stiff with soap. She clung to her waistband and the T-shirt she wore drooped in wrinkled folds, concealing any female attributes that might tempt him. Her face had not a trace of makeup on it, revealing the whiteness of her skin, and also the shadows under her eyes.
She looked pitiful.
But after spending an uncomfortable night on the floor, with his dog licking him every other minute, Riq didn’t have an ounce of empathy. Sì he’d offered the bed, except it had only been a reflex, a habit of good manners drilled into him by his family, not a true concern for this woman.
He hadn’t been in the best of moods when he awoke to her soft breathing and Jiggs’ heavy panting. The shelter had been humid and hot. Also, quiet. The hurricane had passed, he’d known it as soon as he opened his eyes.
Getting up, he’d winced at the pain in his knee and the crick in his neck.
Not that he hadn’t slept in far worse conditions as a SEAL, but he hadn’t aimed to do it ever again.
His irritation at her had welled and he’d reached for the switch to turn on the lights. Why should she laze on his bed when he was up and suffering? His dog’s tender lick on his knee made him grunt with self-disgust. His hand dropped to his side. To distract himself from his irritation, he let himself and his dog out of the shelter.
He’d surveyed the damage.
Not bad. Not at all.
After going over to the house to make sure the generator was still working and checking the computer to assess the overall destruction to the surrounding islands and Florida, he’d headed toward the stairs leading down to his boat. Once he confirmed the vessel was seaworthy, he’d be well on the way to getting rid of her. As if the thought of her conjured her into his reality, she’d stood in the shelter’s doorway, trying to look like the polished princesa he’d first met.
A twinge of compassion had tried to wrap around his heart at that point, but he’d ruthlessly pushed it away.
Sì, he needed to get this chica off his island before she wheedled something else out of him. Throwing her some insults and letting her know where he stood, he’d then ignored her, going for the beach. When he’d seen the boat, his head had nearly exploded in frustration. She didn’t have a clue, though he did.
He was stuck with her.
For weeks.
The realization had burned through him like a missile. From what the news reports stated that he’d read earlier, most of the Florida coast had been hit hard. He doubted any of his employees would be arriving soon and why should they when he’d given them two weeks off? The last thing he wanted to do was invite Migneault and his wife to the island—he’d likely be saddled with the parents as well as the princesa. He could call Charlie or one of his other SEAL buddies who had boats, but from the look of the photos he’d glanced through on the newsfeed, no marina on the east coast of the state was operational.
As he’d stared at his ruined boat, he’d known.
He was stuck with her.
He’d managed to keep his temper in check, until she’d thrown his offer of the bed back at him.
All right. He might be stuck, but he wasn’t beaten.
The decision to make her life miserable came to him in a flash. Not merely a night in a humid, dark guest house. Not eating one or two MREs. No, a much grander payback for the harassment she’d delivered. A flash of nasty mischief ran through him. Something his yaya would scold him about and make his mimi sigh in exasperation. So what? So what if a slice of his juvenile delinquency reappeared? This was his island, his private place she’d invaded, and he could do any damn thing he wanted.
He grinned at the thought.
“None of what?” she asked again, her voice wavering, her eyes blinking like she was about to break out in tears.
The pity card. She was playing the pity card. Except he wasn’t playing.
“No more acting like a host.” His mind whirred with the possibilities. “No more treating you as a guest, when you’re nothing other than a trespasser.”
Annoyance replaced the tears in her eyes in one second—telling him he’d been right about her playing games. “You think how you’ve been acting since I got here was being a good host?”
“Yeah, I sure do.” He dropped his arms and twisted around to pace up the stairs. “But that’s over now.”
Riq didn’t hear her behind him, and he was perfectly happy to let her stew on the beach for as long as she wanted. It would give him that much more time to plan his strategy and line up the equipment he needed to ensure her misery for the foreseeable future.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he realized his buddy wasn’t with him. He glanced back and frowned. “Jiggs.”
His dog had abandoned his side to sit next to the female intruder. He stared at her with the same adoring gaze he used for his owner.
“Jiggs. Come here.”
“He likes me.” She leaned down to pat the dog on its head. “I am likable, if you give me a chance.”
“No chances,” he barked.
His buddy woofed in response and stood, his tail wagging. Taking a couple of steps toward the stairs, the dog looked back at her, as if encouraging her to follow.
Coño. The last thing he needed was to have his dog fall in love with this woman and try to make him like her, too. His buddy tended to be standoffish to the women he’d brought to his condo. Riq had assumed the dog just didn’t appreciate females. It appeared he’d been wrong.
Jiggs just hadn’t met the right female.
His irritation reached into outright antagonism. All the ideas of how to drive her nuts filled his head, making him grit his teeth in anticipation.
“You look scary.” Her blond hair flopped across her shoulders as she cocked her head and eyed him. “Stop it.”
“You know what?” He consciously ordered his teeth to unclench. “I am scary. Get used to it.”
Before he could say anything further, she tugged on her borrowed shorts and headed toward the stairs.
He didn’t often think of himself as scary any longer. He’d left behind the hooded delinquent at the age of eighteen. With relief. He’d left behind the hard-core SEAL years ago. With dismay. But when he wanted to cast some shade on a situation, he still thought he had the goods.
Apparently not with the princesa.
She acted as if she weren’t intimidated in the slightest. As if she couldn’t care less that he was a big, bad Marine, and she was a wimpy woman. Jiggs yipped and danced around her bare feet, clearly delighted she was following his owner up the stairs.
“So?” She reached the step below him and arched her brows. “What’s next, caveman?”
If it was the last thing he did, he was going to scare this woman. Scare her into realizing her life on his island wasn’t going to be tea and crumpets. Scare her into understanding her life with dear daddy protecting her was coming to a quick close when the family business closed its doors.
Scare her.
He scowled.
“Are we going to call the Coast Guard and let them know we’re here?” she said, her eyes guileless and filled with naïve belief in the ease of her rescue.
“They aren’t going to come here.” Time to start laying down reality to this starry-eyed creature. “Not for weeks.”
Her gaze widened. “What?”
“We’re low priority.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the guard has more important things to do than come and get two people who have enough supplies to survive for the foreseeable future.”
She took the information in and instead of doing what he thought she’d do—turn on the hysterics, wail for hours—she merely furrowed her brows. “I need to call my parents.”
Her parents must be frantic. Another crime she needed to answer for. He didn’t much like Migneault and his plastic wife, but he could sympathize with them in this situation. “They must be going crazy. Do you ever think about anyone else except yourself?”
<
br /> Her hand tightened on the waistband and her expression turned truculent instead of guilty. “I told them I’d only be gone for one night.”
“And they were okay with that?” Surprise went through him. The Migneaults seemed to be the overly protective type. “They knew where you were going?”
“Not exactly.” Her gaze swerved away and finally, he saw guilt on her face.
“You lied to Daddy and Mommy?” Sarcasm rolled through his words.
She flashed her focus to him once more, her mouth tightening. “None of your business.”
Leaning down, he loomed over her, scowling. “It’s my business if you’re going to ask me to contact them and tell them where you are.”
“I can use my cell.”
She didn’t give up or shrink away from his presence or his threat. An odd sort of respect zipped inside him, even though she was a liar and an irritating invader.
“Your cell phone isn’t going to work here.” He kept piling on the disasters wanting a tear or at least a pout. “Only radio will work until the electricity comes back on.”
Which it wouldn’t. Not near her. His plan started to form into a clear picture.
He’d put her in the guest house. He’d tell her the main house was unstable and shouldn’t be entered. It would mean he’d have to spend a couple of weeks in his hammock outside, but it was worth it to teach this woman a lesson. It would mean he’d have to eat MREs, yet she would, too, and that was the point.
A niggle of a memory skittered inside.
She’d liked the dinner last night. She’d eaten with a hearty delight she didn’t disguise.
Still, it would be different after she’d eaten MREs for days and days.
“You have a radio, don’t you?” Her gaze pinned on him, hope shining with a bright glow in the Marine-blue. “You seem really prepared.”
“Is that an attempt at a compliment?”
“What is wrong with complimenting someone?”
“So it was. Compliments aren’t going to work with me, sunshine.” Turning, he stomped up the rest of the stairs.
Jiggs woofed by her side, a forlorn sound.
“Why do you have to be so mean?” she cried. “Why can’t we get along?”
Riq stopped, though he didn’t swing back to face her. “Because, Princesa, you came uninvited and unwanted.”
“At the risk of making your behavior worse, I’ll point out you’re being repetitive.” Her tone went wry. “But I promise to make it up to you.”
“Oh, you will,” he muttered under his breath as he took the next step. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Chapter 17
“Can’t we go into your amazing home?” Risa eyed the caveman before glancing with faint hope at the massive tree house. “We could eat the food in the fridge before it spoils.”
The spaghetti last night hadn’t been bad, and she did enjoy new experiences. But thinking about eating MREs for two weeks didn’t appeal.
“No. It’s unstable.” He turned, his scowl still in place on his handsome face. “And I’m hungry, so get into the shelter and start heating the food for breakfast.”
“I’m not your servant,” she snapped back.
“You are until you leave my island.” His smirk twisted his lush lips into a surly, sinful sneer. “After you cook breakfast, I’ll have a list of new jobs for you to do.”
Since she hadn’t worked in months, the thought of putting her nose to the grindstone for a worthy project appealed. When she’d been president of her sorority, she’d spent quite a bit of time organizing parties and fundraisers while juggling her studies. A zing of excitement pulsed through her at the thought of becoming productive…
Except by the look in the jerk’s eyes, the jobs he had in mind weren’t going to be exciting or challenging. “What jobs?”
“Oh—” he waved one hand toward the mess on his terrace “—this and that.”
“Cleaning up after the storm. Cooking for you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Things like that.”
“Sì.” The one short word slid around her like a slinky snake.
Her pride rose inside, pushing aside any lingering guilt at invading his home. “I don’t have to do anything you tell me to do.”
“No?” He took off across the terrace, ignoring the mud-filled pool, heading toward the shelter. “Then I’ll just lock up the MREs, and you can go hungry.”
His dog woofed, a plaintive cry.
“Not you, boy.” Patting his hand on his thigh, his expression turned tender. “You and I will eat just fine.”
The implied threat rang in her ears. Along with it came hard reality. For the first time in her life, her daddy wasn’t here to save her. Her mom wasn’t going to jump from behind a bush with a new dress and heels. Grandma Olsen wouldn’t help her clean the terrace or make her a soothing cup of tea.
Maurisa Migneault was on her own.
All she had was this surly man and his supplies. Only this man stood between her and hunger, her and fear, her and being alone.
She’d never liked being alone.
“Okay,” she said with a grudging shrug. “I’ll cook.”
His gait slowed, in acknowledgement of her reluctant agreement, before swinging away from the shelter and heading toward the tree house. Again, she noticed the limp. Another shot of guilt streaked through her, adding to her discomfort. Sleeping on the floor had aggravated his injury once more.
“Well?” He dissipated the guilt by throwing her a caustic look over his shoulder. “Get on it then.”
“Yes, sir.” With a flip of her hand, she saluted him. But her third finger stuck out farther than the rest, sending a contrary signal.
His chuckle surprised her. Instead of the animalistic, wild call she’d heard from him before, this sound was warm and smooth. Like the brandy her daddy drank at the end of a long day. The sound didn’t match his rough ways or his tough words.
Something inside thawed.
He disappeared around the corner of his tree house.
Sighing, she tugged her shorts up, and headed for the shelter. Although it was still morning, the heat and humidity already made the small box of a room uncomfortable. The one bulb glowed its dim light on the messy cot where she’d slept, and the doggie bed where he’d placed his head. Ignoring the ongoing sliver of guilt, she walked to the counter and sifted through the choices.
No breakfast. Only dinners.
Risa made a face. She supposed she should be grateful to have food—and she was. Yet eating chicken pasta before noon didn’t appeal. Deciding he could have the chicken and she’d take the beef stew, she turned on the dribble of water.
“Not those.” Her disagreeable host huffed from the shelter’s open door. “That’s for dinner.”
She swung around to glare at him. “This is all there is.”
“Who told you that?” He strode to her side and leaned above her, pulling out a brown box filled with more plastic packages. “Here.”
Dropping the dinners into the sink, she grabbed the box right before he dumped it on her toes. She gasped at the weight. While he’d handled the box with one hand, she had trouble with two.
“Lots of breakfast food.” He didn’t appear to notice her amazement at his strength. “We won’t go hungry.”
Glancing at the dozens of packages, she supposed he was right. “Did you plan to be stuck here for weeks?”
“MREs last for years and years.” A gleam of excitement flashed in his eyes. “But yeah, I did hope to be here for quite awhile. Alone.”
His last word made her grimace. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry before you let it go?”
“You haven’t hit the number yet.” He lounged on the wall, his arms folding in front of him—which she was beginning to suspect was a trademark pose of his.
She plopped the box of food on the counter and grabbed her shorts before they slid to the floor.
His gruff laugh filled the small room.
“That’s it.” Stompin
g into his personal space, she pinned him down with a narrowed stare. “Time for you to tie a knot in my waistband.”
“Really?” His stance didn’t change. “Who says?”
“I do.” She pulled up her T-shirt and glared at the offending shorts. “Do it.”
Silence was his response.
Provoked, she glanced at him.
He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he had his focus pinned on the shelter’s open door. But she had the sense that something had changed in the last few seconds. Maybe it was because of the tense line of his shoulders or the tight press of his lips together.
What had happened?
“Can you please tie a knot, caveman? Please?”
At her pleading words, he swung his head back to meet her quizzical gaze.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” she said. “After all, you’ve done it before.”
His mouth firmed even further, like he’d come to a decision. With one quick flick of his hand, he pulled her close. “Be still.”
“Orders and orders and more orders.”
A puff of amusement brushed her cheek. “Someone has to keep you in line.”
His fingers twisted the waistband, pulling on her so she took another step closer to him.
He surrounded her. His tallness towering above, the breadth of his body encircling around. The humidity amplified his scent, making it seem as if it encompassed her in a spicy cloud. Risa glanced away from her waist and noticed how black his eyelashes were, and how the dark stubble on his cheeks and jaw contrasted with the rose glow of his ripe lips.
“This one is harder than the last pair of shorts,” he muttered, his fingers brushing the skin of her tummy.
A ripple of goose bumps broke out on her arms at his touch. She realized there was something else that was different from the last time he’d tied a knot.
She didn’t have panties on.
His breath rasped, as though he couldn’t suck in enough air.
The memory of his kisses swept through her like a tropical storm. The way his tongue had lanced into her mouth. The taste of him, so wild and free she felt as if she were flying. The feel of his heated body on hers, his cock pressing into her like a hot missile.