Caribbean Desire

by Cathy Williams

  'Amazing, isn't it?' he asked, gesturing to the never- ending stretch of water. 'Doesn't it make you feel insignificant?'

  Emma nodded slowly. He was right, of course. They were no more than specks on the horizon. The solitude in the immense wilderness of sea around them was formidable.

  The heat was sapping. They chatted lazily about any number of things, half drowsy in the intense warmth. When Conrad stood up and asked her whether she was going to join him for a swim, Emma peered dubiously down at the water.

  'It doesn't look very inviting,' she said, looking at the black depths. 'Anything could be underneath there waiting for us to jump in.'

  Conrad laughed, 'Anything like what? And what makes you think that they're waiting for us? Don't you think that they've got better things to do than wait around for a couple of nondescript human beings to jump in the water for a swim?' He stretched out his hand for her and Emma grabbed hold of it, pulling herself up.

  Immediately she was on her feet, she released him and went over to the side of the boat, watching in fascinated admiration as Conrad dived cleanly into the water, disappearing and resurfacing a minute later.

  Did nothing frighten him? True, he was a strong swimmer, she had seen ample evidence of that, but this was different. The water was not transparent and blue but dark and deep and ominously still.

  'Don't be such a coward!' he called, floating on his back with his feet crossed. 'Don't you ever take risks?'

  There was enough of a taunt in his voice for Emma to throw caution to the winds and plunge into the water, gasping at the first cold impact. She swam over to Conrad, feeling peculiarly safe with him close to her. She had no idea why, since he could hardly fend off a school of sharks, or even one for that matter.

  'What about sharks?' she asked in a low voice, glancing around her cautiously.

  'What about them?'

  'Are there any?'

  He looked around, a wry smile curving his lips. 'None that I can see just at the moment. Don't worry, I'll keep my eyes open, and the minute I spot a wayward fin I'll let you know.'

  'You know what I mean,' Emma accused him lightly, liking him more than she wanted to admit, in this teasing, easy mood, finding it too easy to forget that he should

  inspire caution and not camaraderie, 'Sharks like warm water. There are bound to be a few, somewhere around us.'

  'True,' Conrad agreed. 'But we'll just have to gamble that they can find more interesting things to do than attack us.'

  'Mr Fearless,' Emma mocked, grinning.

  He smiled back at her, his eyes darkening, and Emma swam away, circling the boat, her confidence increasing as she realised that she was as safe here as she would be crossing a busy street in London. Safer, probably.

  By the time they climbed back on to the boat she was surprised to find that she was really enjoying herself. A few clouds were gathering on the horizon, but there was still no relief from the heat. It enveloped her the minute she was back on the deck, drying off her body in a matter of seconds, before she even had time to rub herself down with her towel.

  They unpacked Esther's hamper in the shelter of the cabin, spreading the food out on the little table. There was crab, roast beef and chicken sandwiches, a potato salad, lots of tomatoes and a Thermos of coffee.

  'And of course,' Conrad produced from the bottom of the basket, 'this.'

  'Wine?' Emma laughed. 'Esther packed that?'

  'No. That, I must confess, was entirely my own doing.'

  Their eyes met and Emma looked away quickly, busying herself with the food, neatly serving out the sandwiches and salad on to paper plates.

  The first warning they had of the storm was a sharp crack of thunder, as clear and as unexpected as the sound of a gunshot, and she heard Conrad swear under his breath. He left the cabin and returned seconds later wearing a grim expression.

  Emma was standing at the tiny cabin window, staring at the rolling black clouds which seemed to be gathering momentum by the second.

  i should have known,' he muttered forcefully.

  'Known? Known what?'

  'Take a look outside.'

  'I have. It's going to rain. We can always head back now in time.' She hastily began stacking the left-over food back into the basket.

  'I can see you have no experience whatsoever of the tropics,' Conrad said cynically, 'Rain over here isn't like a downpour in England. And this isn't just going to be a light shower, over in fifteen minutes. We're in for something more severe than that. I should have known. All the signs were there. The heaviness in the air, the stillness. I asked that damned man who rented us the boat about it, but he said that there was nothing to worry about. The hurricane had swept through some of the islands further north, but Tobago was safe.'

  Emma had gone white. 'What are we going to do?'

  'Ride it through, what else?'

  There was another crack of thunder and the stillness was replaced by a sudden, cool wind, churning the waters into a choppy black mass.

  'But it was so sunny a minute ago.' She had instinctively edged closer to Conrad and slipped on her clothes.

  'That's the nature of the beast,' he said drily, cramming anything that could move under the seat and securing them as fast as he could. 'The weather over here can change in a matter of seconds.'

  As though to prove his point, the wind gathered force, gently buffeting the tiny cabin cruiser against the water.

  'Where are you going?' Emma asked desperately, as Conrad prepared to go outside.

  i'll have to try and steer the boat into the waves.' He grimaced. 'Stay calm, whatever you do. The last thing I need is a hysterical female.' Before she could reply, he lowered his head, and she felt his lips brush against hers, then he was gone, and Emma retreated to the window, to a view of rain slashing against the water in a dense,

  black sheet, and to the wind driving the water into a frenzied, seething mass.

  Conrad had been right. She had no experience of weather like this. In England there was always a prolonged, polite warning of rain or snow. Here nature extended no such civilities. She released the full brunt of her displeasure with impressive speed.

  Emma huddled against a wooden support, grasping it with one hand as the boat rocked furiously, like a matchbox tossed into rapids.

  Every few minutes a gush of water would drench the window, blocking her view. She wanted desperately to go and see how Conrad was faring, but she knew without doubt that the last thing he needed was her presence behind the steering-wheel.

  Hadn't he said so to her? No hysterical woman. She traced her lips where he had lightly kissed her, and tried to staunch the sudden, fierce need she felt for him, and the painful knowledge that what he was doing was necessary but highly dangerous.

  Outside, the skies were black, as though night had prematurely fallen, even though it was only just two in the afternoon.

  What if something happened to Conrad? Her blood froze as she considered the possibility. She had admitted her physical attraction to him, had argued that whatever she fell stopped there. It had to stop there because it would have been sheer folly for it to progress any further.

  She was not his type, and anyway she couldn't trust him as far as she could throw him. That knowledge, bitter though it was, was her protection.

  So why couldn't she simply follow the path pointed out to her by her head?

  There was another roll of thunder and Emma covered her ears with her hands. If Conrad could ride out this

  storm, then she could ride out whatever it was that was slowly gnawing away at her insides. Wasn't it all a question of time?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Emma had no idea how much time had passed before the fierce pounding of the boat against the waves became more of a steady roll, and the wind gradually began to die away.

  The rain was still falling heavily, but on to calmer waters. Emma stretched her legs, wincing in pain as she rested her weight on to her stiffened joints.

  The first thoug
ht in her head was to check Conrad, to make sure that everything was all right. She balanced herself against the wooden side of the cabin, walking unsteadily towards the door when a sudden jolt sent her flying across the floor, crashing ungracefully against one of the benches.

  She yelped in agony as an arrow of pain shot through her ankle. Gently she massaged the foot, hoping that nothing was broken. A sound from the cabin door made her raise her head and she saw Conrad framed against the grey sky, dripping wet.

  A rush of relief swept over her, as powerful as anything she had felt before. She stared up at him, unable to speak, hardly able to think, simply ridiculously grateful that he was in one piece. She had a sudden chill of horror as she realised what might have happened to him out there. He could, for starters, have been swept out to sea. In violent weather like this, it wasn't an impossibility. If he had been, he would have vanished without a trace.

  She felt her throat constrict and looked down hurriedly.

  'I heard a noise,' he said, coming across to where she was still sitting on the floor.

  'It's my ankle,' Emma said gruffly. 'I was trying to get outside and I fell.'

  Conrad looked at her white face incredulously. 'Trying to get outside? What for? Did you think that you could help steer us to safety?'

  Emma felt the prick of tears behind her eyes and swallowed painfully. 'Thanks for the sympathy!'

  'Let me have a look,' he commanded, reaching out towards her.

  I'll be fine.'

  'Dammit, Emma. This is no time for childish heroics. Let me see your ankle! Now!'

  Reluctantly she stretched her leg out, biting her lip as his fingers pressed against her ankle, delicately trying to determine the seriousness of her fall.

  'Sorry I tore into you like that,' he muttered, his head bent as he inspected her foot. 'It's been nightmarish out there for the past two hours, but thankfully we're out of the worst.'

  'Two hours!'

  'I told you it wouldn't be a fifteen-minute downpour. I'll need your T-shirt.'

  'What for?' she asked, feeling embarrassingly undressed as she pulled the jersey over her head, even though her bikini top covered her.

  Without answering, Conrad tore it into one long strip.

  'What do you think you're doing?' She stood up, falling back in pain as her foot crumpled from under her.

  'What does it look like? I'm doing my best to make a bandage for this ankle. I can hardly use my shirt, it's soaking wet. Looks like a sprain; I can't feel any broken bones.'

  He carefully began to wind the cloth around her foot until the ankle was securely bandaged. 'Damn fool thing to have done,' he commented neutrally.

  'Believe me, it wasn't premeditated! I don't normally hurl myself around boats on the offchance that I might break my ankle!' How could she have ever felt tearful relief that this man was back in the cabin with her?

  She watched as he stripped to the waist and sat next to her.

  'I've anchored the boat. The wind's gone, but it'll continue raining for at least another hour and there's no point our even thinking about making it back until it clears a bit more.'

  'Alistair will be worried.'

  'There's not much I can do about that. There's no radio transmitter on this boat, so we're uncontactable.'

  Emma digested this information in silence.

  He looked, she conceded sympathetically, tired. The wind and rain had whipped his black hair around his face, giving him a swarthy, unkempt appearance. In another era, she thought, he would have made a great pirate.

  He gesticulated to the bottle of wine and Emma shook her head in refusal. The last thing she needed was alcohol, and he apparently agreed, pouring himself some coffee instead, which he swallowed in one quick gulp.

  They hadn't spoken, and the bleakness outside, pressing on the small panes of glass, seemed to magnify the atmosphere of intimacy that descended on them.

  When he beckoned her to sit next to him, she found herself complying.

  Of course, it wouldn't do to forget that she was in dangerous waters, both outside and in; that they were only pretending to be engaged for Alistair's benefit and that Conrad couldn't give two hoots for her outside that. Even so...

  The sea had calmed considerably. Only the occasional gust of wind shook the little cruiser as if to remind them that they could shelve any thought of heading back to land for the time being.

  'Don't worry. It's over,' Conrad murmured soothingly. He placed an arm around her shoulder and Emma leant against it, liking the warm, safe feeling that it gave her.

  'Was it very bad up there?'

  'I've spent more enjoyable afternoons, but fortunately I didn't have time to be afraid. When you're caught up in a situation like that, there's no room for fear.'

  'Are you ever afraid?' Emma asked curiously. 'Of anything?'

  'Oh, yes,' he said softly, 'but not what you'd expect.' He gave a short laugh, but didn't elaborate.

  Instead, he looked down at her, his blue eyes warm, too warm for comfort. She really shouldn't be sprawled against him the way she was. She shifted slightly, and Conrad's arm curled further around her, so that his hand was right by her mouth.

  She looked at it, seeing the way the dark hairs were silky-smooth on his wrist, the hands strong and not at all like a businessman's manicured hands.

  She found herself raising her own to take it, linking her fingers through his. He stiffened slightly, then relaxed, and she felt his warmth infuse her like a heady fix.

  She settled more comfortably. Her hair swept down across her face and she flicked it aside.

  'I knew I should have tied it back.'

  Conrad didn't answer. Instead he entwined his fingers in the long, tumbling mass, looping it around his fingers.

  Outside, the rain continued to beat against the grimy window in the cabin, but inside the silence was deafening. A cold, sober awareness rushed over Emma, but

  she shut her mind to it, closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation of Conrad's fingers lightly stroking her hair.

  'You're very tempting,' he murmured, and the look in his eyes made her nerves tingle with excitement.

  She knew that she ought to protest, she half opened her mouth and he lowered his head to hers, his lips brushing over her upturned face. Emma could feel her whole body yearning for him with a desire over which she had lost control.

  She smiled and moaned softly, her body shifting closer to his.

  i can smell the salt and the sea on you,' Conrad muttered unevenly, and he stretched out his arm so that her head was resting against it.

  it's as if I'm drunk with you,' he whispered against her neck. 'Do you feel the same way? Tell me you want me as badly as I want you.' She could sec feverish passion in his eyes as he looked down at her and she felt herself drowning in it.

  Oh, yes, she was drunk with him as well, intoxicated by the feel of him. She knew well enough what she was doing, but was powerless to stop. Everything in her, all of her cool, analytical practicality, was crumbling under the impact of the restless emotions surging through her.

  She heard herself responding to him, telling him what he wanted to hear and what she felt, telling him that she wanted him. It was madness, but a delicious, persuasive madness, a delirium that filled her every nerve.

  Conrad sighed heavily.

  'You're the most provocative, stubborn woman I have ever met.' The words were muffled as his lips trailed across her neck.

  Emma arched back, curling her hands in his hair, guiding his mouth to hers.

  He kissed her with deepening force, his tongue exploring her mouth, and Emma responded with trembling hunger. She had fought so long against this,

  knowing that if she gave in again to him she would be lost, and she was. She didn't care. She was filled with a driving, suffocating need for him and all she wanted was to succumb to it.

  His hands moved across her stomach and her nipples hardened to meet his touch. His mouth, demanding, explored her breasts, and Emma shivered wea
kly. Tentatively she slipped her fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his trunks, feeling the hard curve of his buttocks under her hand.

  Her face felt hot and flushed, as though she were gripped by a raging fever.

  His movements now were urgent, his body covered in a fine film of perspiration to match her own. He gently eased her out of her shorts, murmuring as he caressed her naked thighs.

  Restlessly he pulled her free of the remnants of her clothing. As he raised himself to strip, Emma stared at his hard body with greedy concentration, dwelling on the firm lines of his body, the fine dark hairs that spiralled down from his navel.

  'Tell me you want me, Emma,' he commanded shakily, lowering his body against hers.

  Emma stared drowsily at him, 'You know I do. More than anything.' With a fierceness, she thought, that engulfed her.

  She felt a sharp stab as he thrust against her, and with her eyes closed did not realise that he was staring down at her in surprise. Her hands gripped his hips, pulling him to her.

  'Emma,' he said huskily.

  'I know. Please.' She lay back, her body suffused with mounting passion, moving with instinctive rhythm to him, plumbing the depths of a desire which she did not know existed.

  The grey sheet of rain was fading away. Through the cabin window, she could actually see patches of blue sky

  struggling to peep through the dense pillows of black clouds. They lay back next to each other, Emma still in the crook of his arm.

  'Silly, isn't it,' she said, more to herself than to Conrad, 'a virgin at my age?'

  'Not silly at all. Rather special, in fact.' He seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts, and as Emma watched his face, resisting the urge to reach out and caress it, she could feel the first drops of cold reality begin to trickle over her, just as the sun began filtering into the cabin.