And hunger reigned. Here, at last, was the taste, the texture, the sustenance he'd been craving. She met him kiss for kiss, each one wilder, more voluptuous, than the last, until he ached with hardness.
He pressed her beneath him on the bed. He'd never known such need. Breaking from her mouth, he kissed her face, her throat. Filled his hands with her softness. But her clothes prevented full contact. After sweeping the straps from her shoulders, he tugged the thin, chemiselike top from her breasts, unhooked her bra and bent to fill his mouth with her.
"Mitch. Mitch!" Panicked, she caught his face between her hands, her voice again a whisper. "Stop. Please stop. We can't do this."
Through a haze of heat, he peered at her face, which was more beautiful than he could bear. Regret burned golden in her eyes, as golden as her hair fanning across his pillow. As golden as her skin newly darkened by the sun. Skin that beckoned his touch, his kiss, the glide of his tongue…
"This is wrong, Mitch. More than you know."
"Then how can it feel so right?"
Their gazes shifted and sparred in a tense, silent struggle that brought neither of them closer to understanding. Clenching his jaw, he shut his eyes. Dragged in a long, cooling breath. Concentrated fiercely on dousing the fire.
She was right. He couldn't justify going further. She hadn't even admitted her real name. Or, worse yet, her intentions.
Why did all that suddenly seem unimportant?
Alarmed because it did, he drew away from her, rose from the bed, raked an unsteady hand through his hair and paced to a safer distance. He couldn't think clearly around her. Couldn't see past the beauty, the grace. He needed a cold dose of reality, before he did something seriously rash.
Like, fall in love with her.
The time had come to go home … and force their game to a close, whatever that end might bring.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Morning had dawned before Kate fell asleep in the captain's bed—alone, exhausted, emotionally conflicted. She dozed until midafternoon. She'd have slept longer if Remy hadn't banged on the door and startled her awake.
"Better get up, Cam. We almost to da dock."
The dock? She'd expected another day at sea.
"Looks like we beat da odds," Remy said. "We gonna make it ashore okay."
Thankful for that much, at least, she grabbed her terry-cloth robe, hurried to the head and showered, her heart pounding at the thought of what might soon take place. Would Mitch take her directly to the authorities?
If he did, she wouldn't see Arianne or meet his family until after she'd revealed her identity—assuming they'd meet with her at all, or allow her anywhere near Arianne.
Scouring her mind and heart to decide the truth of the matter without allowing her emotions to interfere, Kate asked herself if it was truly necessary to see Mitch with his family, to know how they interacted with Arianne, to meet whomever would care for the baby while he was out at sea.
Yes, it most definitely was!
Her questions demanded answers now more than ever. Why had Camryn violated a custody order and taken Arianne away from Mitch? She'd told Kate that he was abusive and that he hadn't wanted a wife or child. Kate now knew that he had wanted his child. Desperately. Why? As a means of controlling Camryn?
She found it impossible to believe that he harbored any dark, disturbing motives, or that he would deliberately harm anyone. Although he had forced his way into Kate's home and carried her off in chains, he'd been careful not to hurt her. And he'd allowed her freedom and dignity aboard his boat. Even after she'd screamed at him, shoved him, swore that she hated him, he'd held her in a comforting hug. And he'd kissed her.
As she'd never been kissed before. Heat surged through her at the memory, whipping her emotions into chaos. Guilt, desire, anxiety. Desire.
She leaned against the bathroom cabinet and pressed a hand to her heart. Maybe that was why she saw only the good side of him—because she'd fallen into lust with him.
She couldn't trust her gut instincts where Mitch was concerned. In her gut, she believed he would make a woman deliriously happy. She hated the idea of revealing her impersonation and facing him afterward. And her insides positively twisted at the thought of her bringing charges against him for kidnapping her.
But she had to reveal her identity, of course, and if she didn't bring charges against him, she'd have very little chance of winning legal custody of Arianne.
Then again, should she try to win custody of Arianne? Was she morally right in taking her away from her father? Of course not—unless Mitch and his family weren't capable of giving her the love, guidance and support the little girl needed. How could Kate know, though, without a substantial glimpse into the inner workings of their lives?
Another possibility loomed: when she revealed her identity to the authorities, they'd charge her as an accessory to kidnapping. She had, after all, kept the baby for Camryn.
What in heaven's name should she do?
All she really wanted was to see Arianne. Hold her again. Take her home. Carry on with their normal daily lives.
No, that wasn't all she wanted. She also wanted Mitch.
Oh, God! Maybe she was suffering from Stockholm syndrome—a captive identifying too closely with her captor. Or maybe she'd spent too much of her life working and striving, as Camryn had accused, without developing a healthy outlet for her sexuality. Why else would she have fallen for the first handsome sea captain who dragged her aboard his shrimp boat and passionately kissed her?
"Remy, tie us off at the bow," came Mitch's voice over the intercom. "Darryl, the stern. Then stand by to unload."
Kate shrugged into her robe, gathered her toiletries from the bathroom and hurried to the captain's quarters. On her way through the galley, she glanced out the open doorways and saw lush, verdant forest on either side of a narrow waterway. The afternoon air lay hot and muggy against her skin—oppressively so—and the smell of diesel fuel, shrimp and mossy woodlands permeated the cabin.
"Camryn, pack your bags," Mitch said over the intercom. "We'll be leaving in about thirty minutes."
Ah, but the question was, Where would they go? Needing to know, Kate ventured to the wheelhouse, where she found Mitch at the helm, working controls, shifting a lever, glancing through mirrors and maneuvering the boat into place at a dock.
She held her tongue, afraid of distracting him. She had to admire his ease at docking a boat this size. He seemed to give the maneuverings barely a thought. A friendly shout from Remy on the bow was greeted by an amiable retort from a man on the dock. Darryl called out a gruff greeting, too. With a look outside the wheelhouse doorway, Kate saw that they'd both tied thick ropes to weathered pilings.
The Lady Jeanette had landed.
Mitch cut off the engine, and when he turned a questioning gaze to Kate, warmth rose to her face. How could she be so affected by a single glance, especially when her insides were knotted with anxiety? "I need to know where we're going, so I can … dress appropriately." She tugged her robe tighter around her, highly aware of her nudity beneath.
"I'm going home to see my daughter," he replied slowly. "To hold her for the first time in over six months. Do you want to come with me, or would you rather go to the sheriff's office?"
Oddly enough, she sensed tension in him, as if he really wasn't sure which she'd prefer. Why would he think she'd hesitate for even a moment? "I want to see Arianne, of course."
He nodded, appearing to be relieved. A perplexing reaction, to say the least.
She gave the matter little thought, though, because of her gladness over seeing Arianne again. Feeling immeasurably better, she turned toward the captain's quarters to dress.
"Wear something cool," Mitch advised. "We'll go to my parents' house first. Chances are, they'll boil up some shrimp, grill some fish and we'll eat supper outside."
When she searched her suitcase, she found nothing cool or casual to put on. She'd alread
y worn the shorts and tops she'd packed, which were now in dire need of washing. Her linen pants suit seemed too dressy, as did the tailored dresses she'd brought for court.
"Mitch," she called through the door she'd just closed, "is there somewhere I can do laundry before we go? I'm out of shorts and tops."
"You can wash clothes at my house later. For now, look in the bottom drawer beneath the chart table. You left some things from your last trip."
Surprised, Kate pulled open the drawer and found a pair of minuscule denim cutoffs, a red halter top, a black thong bikini and a soft, coral-colored sundress. Hugging the clothing to her chest, she shut her eyes and bowed her head with a pang of grief. She could so easily imagine her twin wearing these clothes, dazzling everyone with her innate sexiness and daredevil smile. She would never dazzle anyone again.
After a long, pain-filled moment, she forced aside her sadness, blinked away a blinding sheen and tried on the sundress. The sleeves were brief and off-the-shoulder; the waist narrow; the skirt light and flowing to below her knees. Though the dress wasn't short, tight or particularly sheer, she understood why Camryn had chosen it. The soft folds molded provocatively to her figure. Definitely Camryn's style.
Not Kate's.
She wasn't playing "Kate" today, though. And the dress was comfortable and cool. And she couldn't help but wonder if Mitch would look at her any differently, he'd want her more…
No, no, that had nothing to do with it! She didn't want him to want her, just as she didn't want to want him. There was nothing between them. There could be nothing between them. She simply had no clean clothes of her own to wear.
Hastily she packed the rest of Camryn's clothing and her own belongings into her suitcase, then turned her attention to her hair, which she rolled into a French twist. She was, after all, meeting his family … and she'd need all the confidence she could muster. Before the day was out, she could be facing a sheriff and judge, too.
Her keen anxiety was lightened only by the fact that she'd also be seeing Arianne again. She ached with the need to hug her, rock her, feed her. Murmur reassurances in her ear. She felt as if they'd been separated for weeks rather than days.
Buoyed by the prospect of reuniting with Arianne, Kate ventured onto the back deck with her purse and suitcase, ready to disembark. Mitch, she noticed, had already climbed off the boat and stood on the wide, modern concrete dock, talking with an older man.
Remy and Darryl milled around on the stern of the Lady Jeanette, preparing to unload the shrimp. Their attention alighted on Kate at precisely the same moment, and with a dazed stare, they walked solidly into each other. Darryl flushed, scowled, shoved Remy aside and went about his business.
Remy grinned, his diamond flashing, and whistled at Kate. "You clean up good, Cam."
The wolf whistle and comment halted Mitch in his conversation on the dock. He did a double take.
Perhaps the dress wouldn't keep her as cool as she'd hoped. The intensity of his perusal sent heat spiraling through every part of her. Embarrassed at the attention, she looked away from Mitch, murmured a flustered goodbye to Remy and Darryl and thanked the teenager from the dock who had climbed aboard to carry her luggage.
Mitch himself strode forward and helped her disembark. Her breathing hitched at his nearness, his strong, confident touch. After a few more words to the older man in French, Mitch steered Kate down a flight of stairs and across the graveled parking lot, maintaining a grip on her elbow and a hand at the small of her back.
An odd dizziness overcame her. Surely Mitch's nearness couldn't be affecting her that much! Perhaps it was the steady heat and brightness of the blazing Louisiana sun that caused her to reel. Whatever it was, she was glad that he had a firm hold on her.
He opened the door of a gleaming black pickup truck and helped her in. He and the teenage worker from the dock then loaded large coolers of shrimp and an array of boxes into the bed, along with her luggage. Kate rolled down the window to release the ovenlike heat from within the cab, aware that the dizziness hadn't left her.
Mitch's first comment after he'd slid behind the wheel didn't help her condition. "The dress," he murmured, turning the key in the ignition before shifting his gaze to her, "suits you more now than it did before."
The sincerity in his tone and in his look as he met her gaze sent warmth rushing to her head. But how could he possibly believe that? Camryn had had far more panache than she ever would. Kate couldn't help feeling touched that he'd said it, though. Deeply touched.
She struggled to clear her mind—of both the inexplicable dizziness and the feelings crowding her chest for Mitch Devereaux. But soon another odd sensation, similar to the dizziness, accosted her as they rode down a two-lane rural highway. She felt as if they were zipping along at an outrageous speed, at least a hundred miles an hour, while the speedometer registered a scant sixty-five.
Noting her grip on the armrests, Mitch slanted her a glance. "Does it seem like we're flying?" At her surprised nod, he smiled, deepening the elongated dimples beside his mouth. "You've gotten used to the cruising speed of the boat, which is about twelve miles an hour. If you were driving right now, you'd have a hard time accelerating past thirty."
"I don't believe I could drive right now."
"Dizzy?"
"A little. I thought it might be the heat." Or your nearness. Your charm.
"Could be. But more than likely, your inner ear has become acclimated to the roll of the sea. Now that you're not rocking, your sense of balance is off. It'll take a while for you to adjust to the hill again."
"The hill?"
"Land."
Something about his use of the lingo and the contentment in his sun-bronzed face illuminated a fundamental truth. He enjoyed his life; the challenges he faced at the sea, the pleasure of returning home.
More surprising still, she understood why. She'd only been on his boat for three days, but she already missed the salty tang of the breeze, the brisk wind in her hair, the sun reflecting off jewel-toned waves, the ambience of adventure, the unearthly communion she'd felt with nature.
She even felt a tug of sadness at the thought that she would probably never see Remy or Darryl again. Amazing, the bond created by a few harrowing days on a shrimp boat. Maybe her camaraderie with Mitch and his deckhands was another symptom of Stockholm syndrome—a twisted sense of empathy with her captors.
She had to banish these nonsensical emotions from her heart and mind. Arianne's future depended on her clear thinking. She had to learn all there was to know about Mitch, his home, his family. Only then could she decide her next move.
She was eternally thankful that Mitch had given her the chance to make any move at all. Regarding him in puzzlement, she wondered why he had. "I'm glad you didn't handcuff me again."
A shadow of discomfort crossed his face, but he didn't reply.
"Do you no longer feel it's necessary?"
A smile edged a corner of his mouth. "Take a look around."
She did, and gradually realized they were now surrounded by thick, junglelike greenery and black-water marshes, interspersed with oil wells, canals and sugarcane fields. No houses, stores or even other vehicles on the road.
"We're in my neck of the woods now, chèr'," he murmured. "Even a native-born son would think twice before setting out on foot around here. I damn sure wouldn't try it if I were you."
Uneasiness trickled through her like the beads of sweat beneath her dress. If she decided to run with Arianne, she'd need to do some serious planning. The very thought that she might have to go to that extreme upset her, for more reasons than she cared to analyze.
"Where exactly are we?" she asked.
"Terrebonne Parish."
"Near any big towns?"
"Big?" His eyes lit with mild humor and creased at the corners. "Let's see … there's Gibson. Dulac. Chauvin. Cocodrie."
She could just imagine how "big" those towns were. "How far are we from New Orleans?"
"Seventy some
miles to the south."
"And how far are we from your home?"
"Ten."
Kate had a sinking feeling that every one of those miles would carry her deeper into swampland.
Her intuition proved correct. They crossed several bridges over wild, grassy marshes and lazy-moving waterways that Mitch identified as bayous. Occasionally she'd see a roadside sign with a picture of an alligator, indicating an "alligator crossing." And when they turned off the paved highway onto a maze of narrow gravel roads, Kate peered around her in awe.
Huge cypress trees stood with their craggy bases under water and their limbs draped with ghostly gray Spanish moss above swampy terrain. Palmettos, black willows, tupelo gums, muscadine vines and tawny bulrushes surrounded her. Dappled sunlight streamed in slanted beams through a surrealistic twilight. Birds screeched; frogs croaked; insects hummed. Brownish-black water gleamed in stretches on both sides of the road, covered with wide-leafed water plants, white amaryllis, clusters of purple hyacinths and something that looked like thick, dry, green sawdust.
The air felt damp, close and heavy, but not as oppressively hot as it had at the dock. The breeze wafting in through the windows of their slow-cruising truck smelled of brackish water, foliage, muscadine and flowers.
She saw an alligator sunning on a log. A long, fat alligator. And she could almost hear the snakes slithering beneath the brush.
Her dress, she discovered, was sticking to her damp skin.
For the umpteenth time in three days, Kate marveled that she, the quintessential homebody, a career-minded suburbanite, had landed in such an alien dimension. In her world, she worried about parking tickets at the university, tardy thesis papers, homeowners' association causes and swim lessons for Arianne. Not killer sharks, storms at sea, alligators in swamps, voodoo curses … and long, hot kisses from a Cajun sea captain!
She wasn't sure why she'd thought of his kisses just then. Maybe because the heat they'd provoked hadn't really left her. Maybe because he was gazing at her with intense, green eyes; eyes that suddenly reminded her of subtropical foliage—hot, deep, mysterious. Dangerously alluring.
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