Shelter in the Tropics

by Cara Lockwood

  Rick Allen had told him that she plotted to kill him because a prenup meant she’d get nothing if they divorced. His death was the only way she’d get out of the marriage with a single cent.

  Cate’s father had told him in no uncertain terms that he had no idea where she’d gone. Hadn’t heard from her since she’d disappeared and hoped she was doing well, wherever she was.

  Tack had assumed, given how drunk the man was by the end of the interview, that her daddy issues ran deep. Probably what made her so focused on squeezing her husband dry.

  “Your dad taught you?” Tack still couldn’t see how the old man managed it. Unless he wasn’t drinking so much then. “That must’ve been nice.”

  “Well, sure, but Dad always got so drunk he’d pass out, and I’d have to steer the boat back to the dock. What I really learned was how to handle a boat,” she said, without a trace of self-pity, which Tack found remarkable. Tack grew up on a farm in Iowa where self-pity was about the worst sin you could manage. Despite his better judgment, he found himself admiring Cate’s no-nonsense approach to her clearly less-than-stellar childhood.

  “You don’t sound mad about it.”

  Cate shrugged. “Just the way things were. Like my gran said, ‘You can cry about it, or you can get over it.’ And I never much liked crying.” Right then, Tack heard just the faintest trace of Louisiana in her accent, which in other times she so carefully tamped down. Before now, he never could imagine Cate fitting in down in the bayou, no matter the old picture her father had shown him of her in cutoff jeans and bare feet.

  Of course, this Cate before him, the one who kicked off her flip-flips now and stood barefoot in her boat, maybe this Cate could’ve come from the bayou. He could imagine her, maybe, walking barefoot down by the muddy lakeshore.

  This Cate reminded him of the girls back home in Iowa. Unassuming, no makeup, living on the family farm. It was the kind of girl he’d had a weak spot for since eighth grade.

  He saw her shift her weight, the deliciously firm muscles in her calves rippling ever so slightly. He imagined what they’d feel like wrapped tightly around his waist, and felt himself becoming aroused. This woman was a walking visa to the United States for a brave man and his family, and he couldn’t forget it.

  He rummaged around in his bag and dug out the waterproof camera and began clicking pictures of the resort. His mission today was to get as many of Cate as he could. He’d need some to send to his employer, to see if he thought the resemblance was as strong as he did. Granted, Mr. Allen had asked for a DNA sample, which Tack had yet to get, but in the meantime, pictures would be a start. He turned the camera toward Cate, and instantly she held up her hand in front of her face.

  “Not me! You don’t want me in there ruining your shots.” She laughed, but there was a hard edge to her voice, a warning.

  “But you’re the prettiest thing out here,” he said, and for a second she hesitated.

  “I hate having my picture taken,” she said. And he knew it wasn’t a lie. You couldn’t hide too well if people started posting your picture on Facebook. Not when there’s a ten-million-dollar bounty on your safe return to the States.

  Tack tried to click a few more, but she’d turned, showing him her back.

  Cate kicked up the motor, making any more conversation futile as the wind whipped across the bow of the boat and the maw of the engine buzzed loudly in his ears. Soon enough, Cate turned the boat into a small cove and slowed.

  “Welcome to Blue Bay,” she said, cutting the engine as the boat pulled into the small inlet, where she let it drift about twenty feet from shore. She released the anchor to steady the vessel. The bay was aptly named—the clear water looked more blue than green here, and when he glanced over the side of the boat, he could see brightly colored fish darting just below the surface along a large expanse of blue coral reefs.

  Cate threw down the ladder from the back of the boat.

  “Help yourself,” she said, gesturing to the water. “We can stay here as long as you’d like.”

  Tack whipped off his T-shirt and noticed that Cate gawked at his bare chest before she quickly turned away. He worked hard keeping himself in shape, and he smiled to himself as he noticed her flushed face.

  “You’re not coming in?” he asked.

  “Oh...” She looked genuinely taken off guard. “Well, I...”

  “I thought I paid for a guided tour.” He sat on the bench at the back of the boat, slipping on his flippers.

  Cate studied him a moment as if trying to figure out a problem. “Sure. I’ll join you.” She kept her voice neutral as she unbuttoned her cutoffs and slipped out of them. She pulled her tank over her head and now it was Tack’s turn to stare. The woman was a tanned, toned masterpiece in perfect symmetry. He couldn’t help but stare at her belly button and the firm stomach that slipped down into her bright blue string bikini bottom. She sat and busied herself putting on her own gear. She attached a small knife belt to her thigh, and grabbed a small mesh bag.

  “Fish food,” she explained as she held it up. “You ready?” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry as he tried his best not to look at how well she filled out her bikini top.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said as he maneuvered to the end of the boat, bypassed the ladder and leaped into the warm Caribbean Sea.

  The rush of warm water enveloped him, and when Cate jumped in a few feet nearby, he swam to her, playfully splashing her with water.

  “Hey!” she called, retaliating by slapping the water up to his face. He coughed and swiped at his eyes, and as she advanced, he caught her off guard by diving beneath the waves and grabbing hold of her waist.

  He realized how fit she was, how taut her skin felt beneath his hands. When they came up for air, their bodies pressed together, water ran down their faces. All he really wanted to do was kiss her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CATE FELT TACK’S strong arms around her. For a second, she froze, wondering what would happen if Tack pressed his lips to hers. Would she let him kiss her? Would she slap him? Did she want him to kiss her? Then she got the impression they were both starting to sink. With neither of them able to touch bottom, kicking alone—even with fins—would not keep their heads above water for long.

  “You’d better let go of me or we’re going to drown,” she cautioned him.

  “It would be worth it,” he said, the flirting tone unmistakable.

  Cate grinned, but then splashed him once more. He let go and she swam away, laughing. She realized she was actually having fun.

  Swimming next to Tack, she wondered if a little fling would be good for her, after all. He was a tourist, so it’s not like there could be anything serious. A week at most? What was the harm in that?

  Plus, there was something about the man that made her feel both at ease and anxious at the same time. He was built like a Renaissance statue, complete with chiseled abs. His muscles simply couldn’t be real. That’s what Cate told herself over and over again as they swam together in the fish-filled cove. She tried not to stare, but everywhere she looked, she saw his muscles working. His broad shoulder muscles tensed as he swam along the surface, and she wondered how easily he might be able to lift her up. Or carry me to his bed.

  The thought popped up in her mind completely unwelcomed, and she squashed it down instantly. I can’t have a fling. I’ve got Avery to think about. And Tack’s a perfect stranger. Can’t be trusted.

  For all she knew, he could be on Rick’s payroll.

  The thought was paranoid and probably not true. She wondered when she’d stop thinking every stranger worked for Rick Allen. Maybe never.

  Besides, if he were working for her husband, he’d have called in the cavalry by now, and Rick would be banging down her door. Right? He wouldn’t take a morning off to go snorkeling.

  He
dived down to the silty bottom and brought up a small shiny piece of metal. Trash from a fishing boat, most likely. He broke the surface of the water and Cate followed. He spat out his snorkel as he held out the hook and line.

  “This doesn’t belong there,” he said, and grinned.

  “You’ve probably done enough cleaning,” Cate said, nodding with approval to Tack’s small mesh bag, which he’d filled with trash. “Ready for a break?”

  Tack nodded, and the two of them swam back to the boat. The wind kicked up, and as the boat rocked back and forth, it was a little bit harder to get the ladder, especially with the swells about three feet instead of one.

  Tack nodded to the rocking boat.

  “Ladies first,” he said. Cate felt like arguing. After all, he was her guest, but somehow, she knew she wouldn’t win. She swam for the ladder, which was bucking up and down, and she managed to get hold of it. The wind blew harder and the boat dipped dangerously to the right, and she slipped, bumping her head hard against the second rung. Stars blurred her vision and for a paralyzing second, she thought she’d black out...go under...drown.

  Suddenly, though, Tack was there, keeping her from falling off the ladder, pressing his body against hers, his strong arms cinched around her, holding her in place. Cate felt the hardness of his muscles, the safety of his thick arms. They felt so...right. She leaned into him, her vision returning. She glanced up at him and saw the salt water dripping from his chin, his eyes trained on hers, worried.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh...yeah,” she managed to say as she worked on climbing awkwardly up the ladder—fins still on, wondering why she turned into the world’s biggest klutz anytime Tack was near her. Normally, she wasn’t so clumsy or careless. But how come every time Tack was around she found herself in peril? First the near car accident and now this. Honestly, he was going to think she was the clumsiest woman on earth. Tack eased himself on board, kicking off his fins on deck.

  “You should sit down,” he said, taking her by the shoulder and maneuvering her to the nearest cushioned bench. She sat, still feeling a little bit dazed. Tack knelt in front of her, and she was more than aware the man was half naked, wearing only swim trunks. She glanced down at his navel, and immediately realized her mistake. The expanse of bare, tanned skin, with that tantalizing V running down like a welcoming arrow to his lap, made her want to reach out and touch it, feel just how taut the muscles were beneath the skin. “Let me take a look.”

  “I’m fine.” Cate covered her forehead with her palm, the sting of the hit only just beginning to fade. She pulled her attention reluctantly from his chest and met his gaze. He ran a hand over his dark hair, wet from snorkeling.

  “This is getting embarrassing. You rescuing me all the time.” Cate tried to sound playful but instead just sounded grumpy. “I really am not usually this accident prone.”

  “Really?” Tack made a disgruntled sound in his throat to show her how little he believed that. “Let me look.” He gently peeled her hand away, assessing her forehead for damage. “You’re going to have a serious knot there, by the looks of things. But...” He trailed off, meeting her eyes once more. How did he get so close to her? There was an intensity there in his gaze, so powerful that she felt the need to break the stare, but then realized her mistake. Now she was focused on his lips, slightly parted, almost as if asking her to kiss him as he knelt in front of her.

  And then, her brain simply shut off. She forgot to be anxious or worried, or overthink anything. She forgot why it was she avoided men, why she worked so hard all the time to keep herself carefully removed from anyone who might find out her dark secret. In that moment, instinct took over. She inched a little closer, their lips nearly touching.

  She paused suddenly, right before they touched, suddenly frozen by second thoughts. What am I doing? Am I really going to kiss this man? But before she could back away, retreat, his lips covered hers, and she felt the rest of the world melt away. She could taste the salty sea and felt the gentle exploration of his mouth on hers. It had been a long time since she’d kissed anyone, and yet her mouth remembered exactly what to do.

  He began gently, a tentative touch, his expert lips on hers in a perfect dance. She’d forgotten how intimate a kiss was, how amazing it could be, closing her eyes and letting the warm, delicious sensation overtake her. She pressed her lips against his, wrapping her hands around the back of his strong neck. Want ran through her body, hot and searing, as the kiss turned deeper. Her lips parted as she felt the delicious warm wetness of his tongue. She felt like a switch had been thrown, and her body came alive, wanting more, ever more.

  He pulled her down to him, and she went, their chests pressing against one another as they knelt together on the boat. Wet from the water, his muscled chest slid against hers. She felt desire rise in her, a strong need she hadn’t felt in months. All she wanted to do was devour him, inch by inch.

  Suddenly, a loud blast of a horn sounded, wrecking the moment. Cate pulled back, a little dazed, her eyes blinking back the bright sun. The horn sounded again, and she saw it came from a huge, white boat, blaring music and crowded with tourists, that had inched up to them, parking nearly right next to her smaller boat. She could hear the eighties hairband music blasting across the water.

  Tack glared at the intrusion. Cate groaned.

  “Great,” she murmured.

  “You know that boat?”

  “Unfortunately, I do.” Reluctantly, Cate pulled herself to her feet. Tack did the same. “Terry Blake owns that boat.”

  His tour excursion service had beaten out hers—and many others—to deal exclusively with two of the major cruise lines. He was also probably the most obnoxious and full of himself man on the island. Terry, with his sleek bald head, ample gut and furry gray chest, didn’t care about anything but having a good time—and making sure all of his guests were usually hammered. He’d nearly clipped her boat more than once in these narrow coves. He was reckless and dangerous.

  Then, she realized, he planned to block her in—putting his boat in between her and the sea, leaving her stuck between the shallow reef and the beach.

  “He’s going to block us in.” She shouted Terry’s name, but there was no way the captain could hear her over the blare of the music. He saw her and waved, not bothering to try to listen as he let out three more obnoxiously loud blasts of the horn right in their ears.

  Cate laid on her own horn multiple times, but the boat kept coming. It almost looked as if he’d collide with her, but at the last minute it cruised to a stop. With about six inches between the two boats now, Terry dropped anchor and about thirty loud, and most certainly already drunk, tourists half fell, half jumped off the boat.

  “Terry! You need to move!” Cate shouted when the boat lurched to a stop.

  He put his hand to his ear and gestured to the blaring music. He was shirtless, his big furry chest visible, as was the bright gold chain around his neck. Terry was a walking stereotype. “Can’t hear you, sweetheart,” he called.

  Tack’s face flushed red with anger as he glared at the offending boat.

  “I’ll handle this.” Tack climbed to the other boat with an easy long stride. Cate scrambled after him, not sure if she wanted Tack to clock Terry or if she should try to keep the peace.

  Once on board, the smell of cheap mixed drinks hit her like a wave. The floor was also sticky with spilled mai tais.

  “Cate!” Terry called, ignoring Tack. “Looks like you’re finally getting some—” he paused in a vulgar way to let his meaning be perfectly clear “—R and R.”

  Cate decided to ignore that. “You’ve blocked us in, Terry. You have to move.”

  “What? No introduction?” Terry looked offended. He also looked drunk. And it was just eleven in the morning. Did the man get up early to drink?

  Tack frowned. “Tack,” he said, reaching ou
t his hand. “And you are?”

  “Terry.” He reached out a beefy hand and shook Tack’s, all the while assessing the man’s stature. “You’re tall.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “Terry. Move your boat.” Cate felt the anger rising in her throat.

  “What’s the rush? Why not stay awhile and have a drink.” Terry offered her a plastic pitcher filled with a dubious red liquid.

  “No, thanks. I don’t drink while I’m working.” Cate took in Terry’s puffy, red face and bloodshot eyes. Definitely drunk.

  “Didn’t look like you were working. I saw how you two were sucking face.” Terry leered at Cate, making her want to punch him in the face. He gave her a slow once-over, too, making Cate wish she’d thrown on a T-shirt to cover her bikini before she’d climbed on board his ship.

  “I’m working. This is a guest at the resort.”

  “Oh, I see. Is that how you’re luring guests to that ramshackle hut of yours? A little bit of sweet side action?”

  Cate balled her fists at her sides, wanting to actually attack the man, but it was Tack who reached out and put his hand on Terry’s furry shoulder.

  “That’s not very nice. I suggest you apologize,” he growled, his meaning and the threat clear. He squeezed the shoulder harder than he should have, and Terry blanched.

  “Hey! I was just joking. Come on. It’s a joke. Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Sheesh.” Terry put up his hands and backed away from Tack, who let him go.

  Cate had never seen Terry so quick to comply, but then again he’d probably never faced 195 pounds of muscled ex-marine, either.