by Sarah Monzon
The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed. “I promised myself that if we survived that flight I would do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”
“Which is?”
His eyes dropped to her lips. “This.”
Before she knew what was happening, Summer was crushed against his body. One hand wrapped around her waist, and the other supported the base of her head as he tilted her back. His moist lips didn’t hover or linger above hers, nor were they timid or shy. They moved over hers with the assurance of a man who knew what he wanted and was going after it.
Chapter Eleven
Atlantic Ocean, 1689
Isabella’s pulse throbbed as she hurried after little Luis down the dark passageways of the ship. Why did he think his father was dying? Did it have anything to do with what she had overheard in the hold? Fear ran its icy-cold fingers up her spine. She had left Spain hoping to leave the danger behind on its shores, never realizing a new threat may await her.
“Calm down, Luis.” The deep voice of Captain Montoya stopped her in her tracks, and she shuffled back a few steps into an alcove.
Staying in the shadows had kept her safe thus far. Except for the sword fight the day before, she had been nearly invisible. No one paid much attention to a small errand boy without rank or responsibility.
Peeking around the wooden frame, the captain filled her vision. He knelt in front of Luis, a hand on the boy’s shoulder. What were they saying? If only their hushed voices would carry. The captain stood, and Luis hurried back the way he’d come, the captain’s long stride easily keeping pace.
Isabella pressed her back against the rough wood as they passed. When they rounded a corner, she let out a breath. She took a step and stopped, rubbing the long linen shirt between her fingers. Indecision twisted her gut.
Sunlight seeped through the open doorway that led to the outer decks. She could walk right through it and be about her duties. No eyebrows would be raised, and no attention would be directed to her. She’d be safe.
Her eyes swung to the opposite direction, following the path the two had trod. If she followed them and offered to help, then she would lose her anonymity. She could be placing herself in a situation where her secret would be found out.
The sunlight beckoned. I do not even know Luis’s father and surely do not owe him anything. Besides, the captain is quite capable. I am sure there is nothing I could do that he himself would not be able to see to.
Isabella took a step toward the light, then stopped. The weight of her conscious anchored her feet. There may not be anything she could do to help, and it may lead to her undoing, but she could not turn away. Even if it was to stand beside the boy, she would do it. Goodness knows the uncouth sailors do not possess an ounce of compassion to offer him. Shoulders back, she marched back into the belly of the galleon.
The sound of coughing reached her before she stepped through to the gun deck. A few hammocks were slung across the space, with more mats littering the floor. This was where the crew slept. Those not officers privileged with their own private cabins, anyway. Isabella sidestepped the prone form of a sailor not on duty and shuffled closer to the small group of people clustered not fifteen feet away. She kept to the wall, her ears strained for any information that may pass the lips of someone who knew what was going on.
The elder Luis lay on his mat, his skin pallid and glistening with sweat. His eyes were sunken, making his already sharp cheekbones look like the peaks of the Andalusian Mountains. A thin arm draped across his midsection. Suddenly, his whole body convulsed, a deep cough racking his slight frame. He pressed a square of cloth to his mouth. Isabella didn’t have to keep watching to know that when he pulled the cloth away, it would be red with his blood. She had seen it before. Wasting disease. Young Luis was right. His father was dying.
Isabella’s focus had been so consumed with the sick man that she hadn’t noticed the large form of the captain approaching, until he was right upon her. He regarded her, and she balled her fists behind her back in an effort to keep from fidgeting. A normal boy aboard the ship would have no reason to cower in the man’s presence, and that was all she was to him.
“I can see in your eyes that you have rightly judged the situation.”
The situation? Was he talking about…
A loud sniff drew her attention to the sagging body of a scared boy.
Right. The situation.
“I do not wish for the sickness to spread among the crew. We must try to contain it.” He stroked his fingers along his pointed goatee. “Luis will be moved into my cabin.”
She could feel her eyes widen. “What about you, señor?”
“The quartermaster will be receiving a bunkmate until…well, until the need for my quarters is no longer there.”
He stepped even closer, filling her line of vision and blocking the huddled group not far away. Unlike the rest of the men on board whose stench welcomed a swarm of flies, the captain smelled of sweet ocean breezes and the promise of adventure. A thrill shot through her, tickling her senses.
“Benito.”
Benito? Why is he calling me—
Realization dawned. So few of the men besides Pepe talked to her that she had forgotten the false name she had taken as part of her disguise.
“I will need you to care for Luis until his time comes.” His eyes searched her own. “I do not wish for his son to shoulder that burden. Can I trust you in this?”
He was the captain. He could be ordering her to this new duty as nursemaid instead of asking. But he knew. He knew this latest assignment could lead to death. Tío Pepe was correct. Captain Montoya was a good man.
***
A warm hand on her shoulder tugged Isabella from her slumber. She jerked to the side, her hand going instinctively to her chest and Abuela’s jewels. Safe, but she would need to sneak away for a moment later to rewrap her bindings. They were loosening and beginning to slip again.
“I did not mean to startle you.”
Isabella looked up, her eyes colliding with the dark orbs of Captain Montoya’s. She scurried to her feet, her numb backside protesting against the few hours’ rest she’d received while propped up against the wall. The night had been long. Luis had suffered greatly with a raging fever, his wasted body convulsing violently with coughing fits. There was not much she could do besides pray and bathe his feverish body with a cool cloth. She had done both without ceasing until he had finally drifted off, his breathing labored yet even, his body warm, not scalding.
“How is he this morning?” A voice that could boom across the quarterdeck to the main deck was restrained in respect for his inferior.
“A difficult night, but he is resting now.”
He nodded and turned his attention to Luis’s sleeping form. The slashed leather jerkin the captain wore over a woolen shirt pulled taut across his chest as he took in a deep breath. He pulled off his broad-brimmed hat and ran a hand through his inky hair.
“If only…”
The captain did not have to finish that thought. How many times had the same two words skipped through her own mind? If only Mother had never married Hernando. If only Isabella had been able to convince her mother to run away before it was too late. If only Tío Pepe had been at port. If only Díos had answered her prayers.
And now, here they were again. So many if onlys, and God was going to let another of his children suffer and die.
Captain Montoya pointed to his bed along the wall. “Luis would be more comfortable on the mattress instead of the floor.” He tugged her elbow. “Come, let us move him.”
“No.”
He turned, his eyebrows raised. “No?”
Heat crawled up her neck. “Pardon. But this illness, you know it spreads quickly and spares no man. I fear Luis may leave the illness behind on whatever he touches.”
“Superstition.” He placed his hat back on his head. “But we will do it your way.”
Isabella dipped her head in recognition.
&nbs
p; “Now, I must speak with the pilot and review the charts for the day.” Without a backward glance, he exited and shut the door behind him.
Her grandmother’s necklace slipped, a jewel scratching at her navel. She swung her gaze from the door to Luis, still fitfully sleeping, back to the door again. There did not appear to be a lock or a way to bar it. Would anyone enter knowing the room was filled with sickness? Luis wheezed on the other side. Did she have enough time to rewrap the jewelry in her bindings before he awoke?
She chewed on her lower lip. There did not seem to be much choice. She had to take the chance and be quick about it or risk the necklace slipping farther. Grabbing fistfuls of the oversized shirt, she tugged the tails out of her breeches and bunched them under her arms and chin to hold them up. Her fingers worked to untie the knot, her frustration and anxiety growing with each second the stubborn material would not give. Finally, it loosened, and the strip of cloth unwound around her.
Coughing interrupted the silence, and Isabella whirled around, dropping the ends of her long shirt. Sunken eyes wide with shock and rimmed in black bore into her.
“Y-y-you are a woman.”
Chapter Twelve
Bahamas, Present Day
So Jonathan finally decided to find his cojones. Good for him. Trent folded his arms across his chest. That didn’t mean he was going to back off though. If a woman didn’t have a ring on her finger, she was fair game.
His foot tapped the thin carpeted airport floor. Of course it would be nice if he knew what was going through Summer’s mind as she was getting kissed so soundly. Not that he wouldn’t try to persuade her if her thoughts had suddenly changed for the man previously concreted in the friend zone. She wasn’t kissing Jonathan back, but she wasn’t pushing him away either. If he were a gentleman, he’d look the other way and give them some privacy, but where was the fun in that?
Seconds ticked by.
Okay, that was long enough.
He cleared his throat. Jonathan raised his head, a goofy grin on his face. Summer dabbed at her pink lips with the back of her hand. She dipped her head, fidgeting with the bottom of her tank top.
“Are we ready, Casanova?” Trent mentally berated himself for the edge he let creep into his voice.
Jonathan smirked. “After you, Lupo.”
No way was Trent some silly sidekick. The muscles in his jaw tightened. The boy might have found his cojones, but he’d stumbled upon a bucket of stupid as well.
“I don’t think anyone checked a bag, so let’s just go get the rental car.” Summer’s subdued voice was more effective than a pair of scissors at cutting the invisible cord tying his focus to Jonathan’s answering glare.
Trent blinked, wisps of red hair moving past and then ahead of him. Summer walked on, not looking back to see if he or Jonathan followed. Her back was rigid, her movement not as fluid as usual. The kiss had affected her, but was that good or bad news for him?
Jonathan slowed and bent his body toward Trent as he passed. “Game on.” Without stopping, he pulled his navy-blue carry-on behind him.
How many times had he thought of women as a piece in an epic game? He’d been wrong. Oh, so very wrong.
***
“I’m driving.” Summer snatched the keys out of Trent’s hand. The Chevy Impala might’ve been rented under his name, but she needed to be behind the wheel, needed her hands to be busy at something. If the sun wasn’t already starting to set on the horizon, she’d suggest going to the marina, getting their boat, and beginning their search for that blasted ship right now.
She cursed the day she let Jonathan talk her into getting in that shark cage. Two little letters would’ve been all she needed to get past her lips to keep her world from turning upside down.
N-O. That was it.
But she’d said yes, and now look where she was. How had everything gotten so mixed up?
Jonathan had been her friend since freshman year. They’d shared laughs. They’d shared angry words. But had never, ever shared kisses.
Until now.
She felt like banging her head against the steering wheel. What was she going to do? She loved Jonathan, just…not like that. He was her best friend. She didn’t want to hurt him, and she didn’t want to lose his friendship. Ugh. Why’d he have to go and ruin everything?
The trunk slammed shut, and the car rocked as Jonathan slid into the front, leaving Tent in the back. Seat belts clicked, and Summer turned the key in the ignition. She looked in the review mirror. Trent winked in the reflection.
No, no, no. If only she could clip the wings of the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. Nothing was going right. Jonathan wasn’t supposed to kiss her, and God help her, she wasn’t supposed to be wishing it had been Trent’s lips pressed against hers. He wasn’t good for her. He wouldn’t stick around, not like… Her eyes slid to the passenger seat. A groan lodged in her throat. What was she going to do?
One thing was for sure—she wasn’t going to be able to figure it all out in the parking lot. She looked back to the review mirror. “Did you happen to get directions to the hotel, Trent?”
He wiggled his cell phone. “Already programmed in the GPS. Once you pull out of the parking lot, you’re going to want to take a right.”
It didn’t take long to pull up to the resort. The Bahamas were nice, but the islands weren’t all that different from Florida. Two buildings roughly ten stories tall stood on either side of the one-story lobby. Palm trees lined the asphalt, and as Summer opened the car door, the salty spray of the ocean filled her senses. Seagulls cawed overhead, and the sun warmed her skin.
Car doors slammed, redirecting her focus. The key fob fumbled in her hand before she pressed the button to unlatch the trunk. Trent pulled out her purple zebra-print luggage while Jonathan leaned in to grab his small case.
Frigid air blasted them as the automatic doors of the hotel slid open. A middle-aged woman stood behind the desk, her wide smile showing lipstick on her teeth. Summer reflexively ran her tongue across her own incisors.
Trent leaned against the desk. “We have reservations. I booked them under the name Trent Carrington.”
“Very good, Mr. Carrington.” The woman flashed another smile, then turned to type on her computer. “It looks like your suite is on the seventh floor. The room is ocean facing, so you’ll have some lovely views as you enjoy your stay with us.”
Red flags waved. The woman had said room. As in singular. One. No way was Summer going to be able to survive this trip without a space to decompress. The walls of her mind already closed in on her. There was just too much to deal with.
“Here are your keys.” The front desk worker handed over three card keys. “Our complimentary breakfast is served from six to ten. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”
Trent thanked her and stepped back the few feet to where Summer and Jonathan waited out the transaction. He jerked his head to the left. “Come on. Elevator should be this way.”
Summer reached out her hand and placed it on his arm. “You only booked one room?” Her harsh whisper echoed off the travertine floors. Good thing the lobby was empty. She didn’t want to make a scene, but if she needed to march back to the front desk and book her own room, she would.
Trent’s eyebrows wiggled. “I thought it’d be more fun this way.”
Sure. She knew just the kind of fun he had in mind. Hotel rooms were pretty standard. You either got a room with one king-sized bed or two queens. Even if every room in the resort was full, there was no way she was crawling in between the sheets with either Trent or Jonathan.
Trent’s finger traced a line down her nose. “Better watch out, or your face is going to freeze that way.”
Summer swatted away his hand.
He laughed, and she squashed the thought of how handsome he was with his eyes shinning like that. Or she tried to, anyway.
“Relax. It’s a suite. There are two separate rooms connected by a common area. I’ll even let y
ou assign sleeping arrangements.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Although my vote is that you and I share, and we let the Jolly Green Giant over there have a room to himself. I bet he snores.”
The color in Jonathan’s face mounted. Much redder and she’d think he’d been out all day without sunscreen. Better diffuse the situation before more than verbal punches were thrown.
“You boys can play nice together. I’ll room by myself. A girl needs her privacy, after all.”
Trent’s lips turned up in a lopsided grin. What had she said that was so funny? Then again, maybe she didn’t want to know the secret thoughts churning in his head. They might prove dangerous.
The elevator was located down a long corridor, and they waited a few minutes before the doors dinged and opened. The three stepped in, and Summer pushed the button for their floor. She stood in the middle and felt eyes on her from both sides. She glanced to her right. Trent looked down, his grin still in place, his eyes sparking with fun and adventure. An indiscernible feeling caused bubbles in the pit of her stomach. She moved her gaze to the left. Jonathan’s eyes bore through hers, then darted behind her and back again. An aura as stormy as a hurricane clung to him. She squeezed her eyes shut, then checked her watch. Only 7:30. Would either of them believe her if she feigned a headache and went to bed early? Maybe when she woke up, everything would magically be right again.
The elevator jerked to a stop, and they wordlessly exited. Summer watched the numbers on the doors go up as they walked along the hallway. Trent stopped and fished one of the card keys out of his pocket. The door clicked, and he turned the handle.
She was speechless. Her mom’s hotel was nice, but this…nope…she still didn’t have any words to describe it. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors beckoned from the opposite end of the room, the full moon shimmering off the tropical crystal waters below. She ran a hand along the main wall as she entered. Glossy, flat, glossy, flat. Painted stripes of the same color in different finishes. She moved in a circle, taking it all in. A tall, dark armoire. A kitchenette with granite countertops. An overstuffed white linen love seat. She looked at Trent. How could he afford this?