The Wedding Ransom

by Geralyn Dawson

  “You have a gift for understatement,” he replied dryly. “If you have been this much trouble all your life, I’m surprised they didn’t sell you to that band of Gypsies that roamed the Texas gulf coast a few years back.”

  Maggie smiled and said simply, “They love me.”

  A smile quirked Rafe’s lips. “You use it as a weapon against them.”

  “No more than they use my love for them to manipulate me. Where do you think I learned all my bad habits? Now, are you ready to proceed, or do you prefer to spend all morning discussing the vagaries of my character? I have already located the entrance to the next tunnel, so we can be on our way immediately.”

  She could be a mermaid, he thought. Her cheeks so rosy. Her eyes so bright. Alluring…luring.

  What she had said finally filtered through the lust clouding his thoughts, and Rafe gave her a sharp look. “According to the map, the next entrance requires a dive of twelve feet. You searched for it alone?”

  “My swimming skills are excellent. I grew up on the sea, remember? Follow me, Malone.” With that she filled her lungs with air and dove. Rafe muttered a curse and followed her. Long strokes and hard kicks carried him down toward the faint beam of blue visible along the cavern’s wall and the opening through which Maggie disappeared. Upon reaching the gap, Rafe clutched the slippery stone on each side of the hole and pushed himself through.

  The water inside the second cavern glowed a brilliant azure blue. He fastened his gaze on the graceful kick of Maggie’s long and luscious legs and propelled himself upward. As he broke the surface his gaze was drawn above him where sunlight beamed through an opening the size of a sea turtle’s shell in the top of the cave. Turning his face toward the light, he basked in the warmth of the sunshine, grinning with pleasure.

  “Look, Rafe,” Maggie said, her voice filled with excited wonder. She gestured to an area directly below the hole in the ground where a perfect pyramid of glittering sand rose from the bottom of the cenote. “It must be the soil that falls through the roof. I’ll bet it’s been growing like that for years.”

  “Centuries, I imagine.”

  “I wonder how many other people have been here to see this? Not many, surely, or someone would have destroyed it. People are like that.”

  Rafe glanced at Maggie, then back to the pyramid. A hint of yearning filled his voice. “But don’t you want to know what it feels like? Isn’t your hand itching to knock the top off that pyramid?”

  Her laugh echoed off the cavern walls. “I should have known. That’s just how little boys act, Malone.”

  “Honey,” he drawled, caressing her with his eyes. “If you knew what is going through my mind right now, you’d know I’m all man.”

  The pale blue light couldn’t hide her blush. Rafe chuckled softly. She’d called it correctly. Except for the thrum of desire that never left him when Maggie was around, he did feel like a boy. Childish excitement gripped him as he gazed around the chamber. Damn, but this cenote was a beautiful world. This swim was a fine adventure.

  He was glad he shared it with Maggie St. John.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Maggie found the stash of J shaped hollow canes tucked behind a rock exactly where Papa Gus had told Rafe to look. Removing two, she swam back to Rafe who continued to hover over the sparkling pyramid, staring down at it with tempted fascination. “Don’t you dare,” she warned, poking his shoulder with one of the canes. “Come along, Malone. We’ve a treasure to rescue.”

  “But Maggie…”

  The glint in his eye told her he was teasing. She rolled her eyes and struck out for the entrance to the next step of their journey, the narrow black tunnel leading off the north wall of the chamber. She took only two strokes before Malone caught up to her, stopping her by grasping her wrist.

  “I’d like to practice a minute or two with this before we go,” he said, holding up the cane. “You may be an expert with these breathing pipes, but my experience is limited to your grandfathers’ coaching on the way down here. I’m liable to drown myself without a little rehearsal.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Papa Ben’s Mayan friend had taught Maggie how to use the breathing cane years before, and now she called upon those long-ago lessons to remind Rafe of the papas’ instructions. He caught on fast and soon was swimming the circumference of the chamber without lifting his head. “Just remember not to panic when water comes down the pipe,” she instructed when he removed the pipe from his mouth. “Blow it out of there. You won’t have any trouble, Malone. There’s not a doubt in my mind you can blow just as hard as any man.”

  “Watch it there, Miss Maggie. I’ve been known to kill folks for talking smart like that to me.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “You’re too quick for me.” Flashing her a grin, he added, “Bet I can beat you to the tunnel, though.” He dove toward the opening, splashing Maggie in the face.

  On purpose, she thought.

  She entered the tunnel behind him, mentally going over the route in her mind. This stage of the journey required an approximately fifteen-minute swim through a narrow water-filled tunnel with only a two—inch space of air at the top; hence the required breathing tubes.

  The tunnel took a turn and total blackness engulfed them. Maggie concentrated on swimming, trying not to notice how the space surrounding her seemed to close in. She’d never seen such blackness as this. Anxiety crawled like a crab along her spine and she put extra effort into her strokes to stay close to Rafe. She concentrated on controlling her breathing, and the next five minutes passed a bit easier.

  Then something slid along her foot, something long and alive. She shuddered. Maybe she should have stayed with her grandfathers after all.

  In an effort to keep her mind off any real or imaginary monsters lurking in the water beneath her, she mentally reviewed her plans for the hotel’s grand reopening party once they’d bought off Barlow Hill. She’d plan the affair for midautumn when the trees turned the thicket a riot of reds, yellows, and oranges. They’d have a croquet match and picnic and serve Papa Snake’s renowned pumpkin cake with its sinful cinnamon icing. Maybe between now and then Papa Ben could build a couple more rowboats and they’d have races across the lake. In the evening they’d have a dance—a harvest ball—on the lawn outside. She’d hire an orchestra from Nacogdoches and wear the gown Papa Gus had bought her for her birthday. It was emerald green and she’d yet to have an opportunity to wear it.

  Without meaning to, she imagined herself wearing that beautiful dress and dancing in the arms of a tall, broad-shouldered man with burning eyes. He stared at her lips, leaned closer…closer…

  Maggie lifted her head for his imaginary kiss, and the breathing pipe bumped the top of the tunnel and slipped from her mouth. Oh no!

  She grasped for it, certain she’d find it directly in front of her face. Nothing. Dear Lord. Pulling up, she frantically searched the water. The cane floated, so it had to be here. But could she find it while she was blinded by the total lack of light? Find it before she ran out of air?

  You won’t drown, Maggie, she told herself, trying to ignore the anxiety building in her chest. She could always lie on her back and get her nose above the water. It would be difficult to swim that way, but she could manage. She’d be all right.

  Her fingers touched water and nothing else.

  Oh, Lord.

  The pressure on her lungs grew tight. She needed to breath. Something brushed her arm, and she lost a little of her valuable air to an underwater scream as she thrashed away from the sensation, sinking deeper into the water. Even as she swam away, she realized it had to have been Rafe. He must have noticed she’d not kept up and come back to help her. Relieved, Maggie pulled toward the surface.

  At least, she thought it was the surface. She should have been there by then. Had she gone the wrong way? She couldn’t tell. Everything was black. She was so turned around. She didn’t know up from down. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer.

&nb
sp; I’ll die. I’m dying. A roaring sound filled her ears as the blackness of the cenote invaded her mind.

  Then something grazed her. Fingers. A hand around her ankle yanked her in the opposite direction. Too late. He was too late.

  Rafe’s hand gripped her chin, tilted her head as he dragged her through the water. Maggie fought to hold on to that last bit of breath.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  If she lived through this, he was going to kill her.

  Rafe held his breath as he shoved his breathing tube into Maggie’s mouth and forced her lips closed around it. Inhale, dammit. All she needed was one good breath to make it around the upcoming horseshoe bend in the tunnel and out into the next cave with its plentiful precious air.

  Rafe had a lump in his throat the size of west Texas as he held her, his legs kicking to keep them afloat while propelling them toward the tunnel exit. He kept one arm wrapped around her chest, the other holding the pipe as he willed her to breathe.

  He hadn’t realized Maggie had fallen behind until he’d reached the end of the tunnel without her. Because the shaft was narrow and she’d remained near the surface, finding her hadn’t been difficult. Until she’d panicked and swum away from him, that is. That had scared him half to death. It was pure dumb luck he found her again in this pitch black hellhole.

  He felt her lungs expand, heard her cough. Thank God. Hang on, Maggie, we’re almost there. Good thing, too, because he was running out of air himself.

  As he swam them around the horseshoe bend, light filtered from the cavern ahead to reveal a broadening in the tunnel that allowed room for him to lift his face from the water and draw a sweet breath. Turning his head toward Maggie, he was relieved to see her eyes open and clear.

  He removed the cane from her mouth, tasted the coppery flavor of fear in his own. “It’s all right now,” he said, reassuring them both. “We’re there. You can relax. There’s plenty of air to be had here. Sunlight, too.” Glancing around the cavern, he spied a rock shelf large enough for them both to sit upon. Without releasing his hold on her, he swam to the shelf. He hauled himself up onto the rock, then lifted her from the water and held her tenderly while coughs racked her body.

  “Swallowed a little water, huh?” He brushed the hair back off her face and frowned at the paleness of her complexion.

  She nodded but she wouldn’t look at him, and Rafe found he wanted—no, he needed—to see her eyes. “Maggie? Look at me. Are you all right?”

  Her voice emerged thin and quavery. “I got confused as to which way was up and which was down. I went the wrong way, didn’t I? I almost…”

  She started to shake like a hen in a dust bath. “Oh, Maggie.” Rafe pulled her onto his lap and cradled her close. He murmured into her ear. “Hush now, honey. It’s all over now. Everything’s fine. I saved you.”

  She stiffened in his arms. “That just makes it worse.”

  She tried to sit up, but Rafe wouldn’t let her. He stroked his hand repeatedly up and down her arm’s cold, wet skin. “You’d rather I let you drown?”

  “No,” she replied, her voice weak. “It’s just that I’d rather I got myself out of my own mess.”

  He pressed a kiss against her temple and tasted the sweet and deadly water of the underground river on his tongue. “Independence is a fine thing, Miss Maggie, as long as it doesn’t get you killed. Shoot, that was one of the first lessons I learned when I took to thieving.”

  Finally she looked at him, and Rafe could see the lingering fear in her Caribbean eyes. More than anything else, he wanted to banish that cloud. And while he was at it, he could do a little forgetting himself. It made him cold inside to think how close he’d come to losing her.

  “Did a member of your gang save your life?”

  Ah, curiosity. Good. She needed something to think about other than her scare. “I worked alone, actually,” he said, finger-combing her wet strands of hair. “I made it look like I rode with other men when I played robber along the trace, but in truth, I hunted those east Texas forests all by my lonesome. And if not for Luke, I’d likely have died out there all alone.”

  He tilted her chin up and gazed down into her eyes. “Because of independence, you see, Miss Maggie. My pride. I’d been back stabbed by someone I’d trusted, so I wasn’t going to trust anyone ever again. Luke showed me different. It took awhile, but he finally showed me the error of my ways.”

  “How did he do that?”

  Remembering, Rafe’s lips slid into a slow grin. “He arrested me. Had to work hard to do it, too.” He launched into the tale of the second time Luke had tracked him into the east Texas canebrakes and how Rafe had lost him by hiding beneath the rotting carcass of a gator at the edge of a swamp. As he talked, Maggie’s eyes closed and she snuggled deeper into the arms that cradled her. Rafe almost sighed from the sheer pleasure of holding this woman.

  “You’re doing it again,” she interrupted when he began to describe the alligator’s stink.

  “Doing what?”

  “Talking. You’ve gone off on one of your tangents again.” A smile hovered at the corners of her lips as she added, “You make a point in the most roundabout way I’ve ever seen. I’ve never known a man to do that before.”

  The question slipped out before he could stop it. “And just how many men have you known?”

  Silence stretched long and black like the tunnel behind them. When she finally opened her eyes, the fear was completely gone. Instead, to his chagrin, Rafe saw sorrow and embarrassment, and it cut him to the quick.

  “None,” she said flatly. “It’s one reason why I’ve been flirting with you, why I thought I wanted a little romance. Most women my age are married with children, but not me. I have overprotective pirates for guardians, and in one way or another they’ve scared off every man who ever came near me.”

  Rafe knew he should keep his mouth shut. He knew he should move her out of his lap and put some distance between them. Instead, the recklessness that was so much a part of his character had him dipping his head and whispering, “No, Mary, not every man.”

  And then he kissed her.

  And she kissed him back. Her lips moved against his hotly, passionately. Desperately. The slightest of whimpers emerged from the back of her throat, and the sound of it made him hard as steel.

  He wanted her. Oh how he wanted her. She had fire and spirit and courage. She was stubborn and reckless and intelligent and caring. And beautiful. So damned beautiful she made his heart stutter.

  Rafe broke off the kiss and looked at her. Lush red lips, swollen and wet. The slightest of trembles to her flawless skin. A shimmering look in her eyes—sweet and needful and asking for something obvious—and also something more.

  And Rafe knew as sure as the cenote water was clear that in this place, at this moment, Mary Margaret St. John was his for the taking.

  An avalanche of need buried the last of Rafe’s good sense, and he laid her back against the limestone ledge. Somewhere inside him he knew this was more than just sex. A part of him sensed that going forward would change his world, but he didn’t care. Life was an adventure. She was an adventure he didn’t want to miss.

  Rising above her on his knees, he reached out and loosened the knot at the shoulder of her swimming sarong and bared her to the waist. Her body was a fantasy. Breasts full and perfect and crowned in pink like the coral of the island lagoon. He cupped their weight with his hands, then flicked his thumbs across her pebbled nipples. She gasped and their gazes met and held. Once again, Rafe recognized her innocence. He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

  “We’ve gone beyond romance, Maggie,” he said, his voice rough with desire. Hell, they’d gone so far he wouldn’t be surprised if the water clinging to their bodies turned to steam. He tugged the sarong up over her breasts, hiding the temptation because he wanted to make a point, and he didn’t need the distraction.

  Well, he did need it. That was the problem. He needed his mouth on her badly. But he had a point to make, and he wo
uld never get the first word spoken if her breasts continued to beckon to him. He cleared his throat and repeated, “We’ve gone beyond romance and now it’s your call. I sure as hell didn’t expect for this to happen here and now, and I doubt you did, either. You probably are reacting to a near brush with death. Now, we could take this all the way, and I admit it would make me the happiest man this side of heaven at the moment. Or we can stop it now, and I’ll survive, and I won’t hold it against you. Much more, though, and neither one of us will find the stopping fun.”

  He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then looked deeply into her eyes and spoke from his heart. “I want you to be sure, Maggie. You only have one first time. Are you positive you want it to be with me?”

  Her slow, wistful smile would have brought him to his knees were he not already there. Maggie St. John was the true treasure hidden in this cenote, and Rafe held his breath, praying for permission to plunder.

  She licked her lips and murmured, “You saved my life.”

  Well, hell. “I don’t want a gratitude tumble,” he snapped.

  “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever known.”

  “Now that I like a lot better.”

  Maggie lifted her hand to his jaw and stroked him, seducing him with her touch and the husky flow of her voice. “You are kind to my grandfathers. You’re warm and generous and you make me laugh.”

  He closed his eyes. “So do puppies, I imagine.”

  “Puppies don’t make my skin tingle when they touch me. They don’t make my blood run hot or my knees feel like butter. And Rafe, the way you say my name, the way you call me Mary, it makes me tremble inside. A warm, delicious shudder. You make me feel alive, Rafe. You’re an adventurer. A thief.”

  “Former thief,” he rasped as her fingers grazed his nipples. She was killing him. Then she quit touching him and that was even worse.

  As the moment stretched, Rafe’s heart fell. He heard her sit up. Guess that was his answer. Well, hell. But it was better this way, he tried to tell himself. Truly. He didn’t want a woman who would suffer regrets when the loving was done, even if it did mean he’d walk stooped over for the rest of his natural born life. She was a virgin, dammit. Her first time should be in a plump feather bed with an entire night stretched out in front of her, not on a hard rock with four crusty pirates waiting with cutlass at the ready, prepared to run her lover through for even thinking about touching her, much less actually doing it.