Children of Destiny Books 4-6 (Texas: Children of Destiny Book 10)

by Ann Major

  But she was too paralyzed with fear to move.

  The towering wave seemed to hang there. In reality it was rushing toward her with the power of a freight train screaming down a track at top speed. Within seconds it would smash her to pieces.

  In that last desperate moment Nicholas lunged for her. His hard arms and hands were like steel holding her safely aboard while the great wave broke over them, flooding torrents of salt water over them until the decks and the cockpit were awash and the water swirled to their waists.

  He was holding the wheel, holding her, too. She clung to him, wondering if they would live or die.

  Against the hurricane roar of the wind and the waves, her scream seemed no louder than a whisper. "Are we going to die?"

  "No."

  She felt his incredible strength, the incredible force of his will. He was life—her life. With all her heart she believed his power was more than a match for the fury of the storm. She was slim and weak, but it didn't matter as long as she was in his arms.

  The boat heeled dangerously. Water was pouring through the open hatch into the cabin. Zak was yelling and cursing and pumping madly down below.

  In that endless black moment when Rogue Wave hung to the outer limits of a watery death and disaster, Nicholas stared into her eyes with a fierce intensity. All hatred, all desire for revenge left him. They were no longer two separate people with two separate hearts and souls, no longer at odds, but together; they were one.

  The terror of knowing they would either live together or die together was both exquisite pain and exquisite pleasure. She clung to him, consumed by the heat of his will to love her and to save her.

  Even as she watched him in wonder, Rogue Wave slowly began to right herself and glide down the remnants of the shattered wave.

  They were safe, and still Eva could not hold Nicholas close enough. The coiled sheets had come undone and were in tangles. A spar was broken, but they were safe.

  She wanted to weep with joy, to cling to him forever, but he had regained control of whatever emotion he’d felt during the crisis.

  They were alive! But there was no joy in his face. Only a new and terrible hardness.

  "Don't ever do that again!" he growled.

  It took Eva's shocked brain a second to interpret the harsh bite in his voice and to realize that he was furiously angry.

  "I—I came up to see if you were all right."

  "You little fool, do you think that's any excuse? What could you have done if I wasn't? That wave would have swept you overboard."

  "I'm surprised you care."

  A muscle jumped convulsively at the corner of his mouth. His lips were clamped together in a thin white line. "You could have jeopardized the boat and everybody on it." His tone was grim. "Get below and help Zak pump. Now!" The last word was like the blast from a cannon.

  She stumbled through the companionway into water that was ankle deep. The life preservers and cushions were floating; the charts that had fallen to the floor were sodden pieces of garbage. There was the faint, almost undetectable smell of chlorine gas.

  His ebony face tight, Zak jammed the hatch closed behind her. "It's like trying to bail a lake."

  He resumed pumping with quick, deft strokes.

  She stared at the ankle-deep water, the ruin and mess. The enormity of what she had done hit her full force. Numbly she put her hand beside his and lent her strength to his. A long time later, when every muscle in her back and arms ached with exhaustion, she whispered, "Nicholas is furious."

  "With good reason."

  This truthful remark, uttered without a trace of animosity, only made her feel worse.

  Ten minutes later during another lull, Nicholas came down and Zak took the helm. Nicholas was sopping wet and haggard with cold and fatigue, but he gave her a quelling look. She wanted to apologize, yet she didn't dare do anything other than pump.

  He went wearily to the stove and lit it. Soon the smell of fresh coffee mingled with the dank smell of the cabin. Her stomach quivered uneasily, and she clutched the side of the boat for support until she felt a little better.

  He ignored her, sipping his coffee, savoring the hot warm liquid until, at last, his brooding silence drove her to despair.

  "Well, aren't you going to say anything?"

  His tired face turned in her direction. "All right, then… What you did was damned stupid. I didn't bring you on this joyride to get you and everyone else killed.

  "I-I'm sorry."

  "From now on you'll do exactly as I say. If we're to get out of this alive, we have to work together, not against each other. You have to help me."

  "But what can I do?"

  "You can cook, can't you?"

  It didn't seem a very good time to tell him that she couldn't, so she nodded weakly.

  "Hot drinks and hot food are very reviving in a storm when you're wet and cold. Come over here, and I'll show you how the stove works."

  She stood beside him and watched as he lighted and extinguished the propane stove, which remained level because of gimbals.

  She tried to concentrate as he explained Zak's and his "passage" routines, but the boat rocked continually. She began to feel seasick again.

  "During storms I usually take six-hour watches and Zak three-hour watches. He does the navigation, engine and systems maintenance and repair. Usually he cooks. But with you aboard, he can stand longer watches. You can keep us going."

  She was feeling sicker by the second. His dark face swam in a queasy whirl. "I—I think I'm going to be..." Her throat felt dry. Her voice was a curiously empty sound, trailing away.

  The cabin reeked of teak oil, chlorine gas and stale salt water.

  "Ooo." She put a frantic hand over her mouth to warn him.

  That motion and her pale distraught face must have communicated her need, because he slid an arm around her to steady her, his face grave with concern. "You sick?"

  She nodded.

  Very quickly he lifted her toward the sink and stood behind her, supporting her while she shuddered into the aluminum basin. Afterward, deeply ashamed, she wanted to cringe away from him.

  "Thank you. It was kind of you to help me," she whispered, too aware of the terrible taste in her mouth.

  "Nonsense," he said gruffly as he reached past her and pumped cool fresh water from the reserve tanks into the sink and cleaned it. Then he poured her a glass of fresh water.

  Even though the water tasted faintly of plastic, she drank deeply until he advised, "Just a little."

  With the boat heaving beneath them, he led her to his cabin and helped her down onto the bed. When she settled, and he left her, she thought he was done with her.

  He returned almost immediately. "Close your eyes, Eva, and I'll wash your face."

  Because of the constant movement of the boat, she was too weak to resist. He had brought a rag, and he stroked her hot skin gently with cool, wet, soothing cotton, dampening her brow, her dry lips, her throat. Then he dried her face off with a fresh towel.

  He was about to leave. "Oh, I almost forgot—" He pulled out a tiny, pink, circular adhesive.

  "What's that?"

  "A patch to put behind your ear. Zak uses them to prevent seasickness."

  "You're a little late."

  "I should have thought…"

  Her eyes met the tender, luminous darkness of his.

  She couldn’t stop staring at the heavy dark lock that fell across his forehead, at the softening of his harsh-featured face as he tended her. He had held her so fiercely outside when the wave had crashed over them. Then she'd been almost sure that he’d felt something beyond passion, felt some emotion that was deep and eternal which she could cherish as hers alone.

  Lying still, she held her breath as he fastened the patch behind her ear.

  Her eyes closed, she enjoyed the feel of his callused fingertips against her neck and earlobe. When he finished, he gently smoothed the tangled red curls back from her forehead and readjusted the bandage at her
wrist.

  It was almost worth the wretched nausea to have him beside her like this. With her eyes shut, she could almost imagine that he was always so tender in his regard. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than for him to stay with her through this wild night. Then she wouldn't mind being sick or that he’d stormed back into her life and ruined everything by forcing her to come with him on this boat.

  But when she opened her eyes to beg him to stay, he was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  The dark gray dawn was a mass of purple clouds when Nicholas, icy with wet and his bad leg burning, dragged himself wearily to his cabin. Despite his pain, fatigue and their grave danger, when he opened the door, nothing existed but the curl of soft, beguiling woman beneath the rough cotton sheets of his bed.

  His wild elation jolted him. Hell, she'd almost gotten them killed. How could it matter so much that when she’d stumbled out onto the deck and flung herself into his arms, he’d seen that she’d been wild with fear for him?

  Okay, so she cared? Why did that matter so much to him?

  His disturbing questions dissolved, not due to exhaustion, but because she looked so helpless and lovely and aroused a deep, hungering urgency.

  With the sheet thrown off, her bare arms hugged his pillow against her abdomen. Her red hair was spread across the sheets in a pool of flame. Her thin T-shirt and tight jeans, unclasped at the waist for comfort, revealed the lush curves of her body. Her cheeks were flushed. No longer did she look ill. Instead, she seemed to be resting peacefully.

  The picture was perfect until his gaze fastened upon the black fur ball nestled against her hip. Watching him through slitted, yellow eyes, the cat’s pointed black ears flattened with disapproval.

  Nicholas almost welcomed the unreasonable surge of jealousy he felt for the cat since it erased the misplaced tenderness and need that threatened to swamp him. Allergic or not, he was almost glad the feline devil stood guard over her.

  Unbidden came the memory that the damned animal had saved his life.

  Not that Nicholas felt an ounce of gratitude or had any intention of allowing the fleabag to remain in his bed.

  Silently Nicholas began to strip. He pulled on a dry shirt and briefs. Then he leaned down, caught Victor under the belly and scooped him onto the floor. The thud of paws on teak made the most satisfying sound. There. He had shown the devil who was boss.

  The mattress dipped as he slid his icy body in beside Eva. When he turned out the light, the cabin melted into darkness. Then he stretched out his lean frame, every muscle aching with cold and exhaustion, his old wound hurting more than the rest of him put together.

  He had thought he could ignore her in the darkness. Instead, the sweet scent of honeysuckle combined with her own elusive essence made him remember long, hot nights when the heavy, Louisiana air had smelled of damp earth, crepe myrtle, magnolia blossoms and wisteria, nights he'd lain with her and made love to her beneath slanting, silvery moonlight.

  He remembered too clearly the way her mouth had been soft and sweetly giving, the way her body had fitted his perfectly, and despite his weariness, the memories stimulated masculine reflexes and unwanted emotions. She tempted him as no other woman could. She was French. A part of everything that he’d been bred to. Dear God...

  Beneath the sheets her warmth slowly seeped into him, and it took all his strength of will to cling to the hard wooden edge of the bunk and hold himself as far from her as possible. When adrenaline and an overload of testosterone pumped through him, his fingers knotted in an iron grip around the teak railing.

  Exhaling softly, her breathing gentle, she was as undisturbed by his presence as he was violently disturbed by hers. He lay there, a shivering, wretched ball of nerves. Wound too tightly by his fiery desire, he ached for her with every cell in his being. Rogue Wave fought her way through the heavy seas, but he thought only of the woman beside him who breathed more gently and slept more soundly now that he was near.

  Surely being trapped with her in his bed was the design of the devil himself. But if he took her, he would only become more bitterly in her thrall.

  The sound of his own breath, so quick and harsh, shook him. He wanted her with an intensity that truly frightened him.

  Because she was so still, he didn’t realize that she was awake, too, or that she was just as acutely aware of his presence and needy.

  At last sleep came to them both. Because he was so tense and the boat never stopped moving, he dozed fitfully at first. Then slowly her warmth stole through him, relaxing him, easing his exhaustion and the pain in his leg until he slept as carelessly as a child.

  He awakened and was startled to discover her warm, satin-soft body cuddling him trustingly, the perfumed waves of her honeysuckle-scented hair spreading over his chest and arms, her long jean-clad legs tangled deliciously in his.

  She stirred, and without thinking he brushed his lips into her hair, against her throat. When he felt her pulse race in response beneath his mouth, he stroked her breast, wanting more. As his hand drifted from her breasts to her belly where her jeans were unfastened, as it slid inside to caress the bare flesh of her stomach, he told himself to stop.

  He had no right to touch her, nothing to offer her but more pain. Besides, to do so was to inflict the most exquisite form of torture on himself. With a groan, he rolled away from her to a spot where he lay shaking all over.

  For a long moment he felt that he had pushed himself too far, that he would die if he didn't have her. With a supreme effort of will, he forced himself to remember Otto and Paolo. The bastards would try to hunt them down and kill them as soon as the storm lessened. Paolo had nearly beaten him half to death. If it hadn't been for that cat and that blind, lucky blow into Paolo's thorax, Nicholas might be dead already because of her.

  Reminding himself how dangerous it would be to get more involved with Eva, Nicholas got out of bed and sank to the floor. The boat was still pounding into the waves, but the teak felt cool against his feverish skin. He forced himself to remember Africa, the coldly savage murders of his men, and his own fierce thirst for revenge and was finally able to calm himself down sexually.

  A velvet paw touched his hand. Then Victor jumped down beside him and curled up against his thigh. Nicholas, whose eyes began to water, pretended to ignore him. Then since there was no one to see, he let the beast stay. They sat together, male to male, in silent camaraderie.

  *

  One minute she was cozily nestled in warm sheets, dreaming that she lay in Nicholas's hard arms. The next minute he yanked her covers from her body. Beside her Nicholas looked so bright and alert, she knew he'd been awake for hours.

  "Galley slave," he said provokingly. "It’s nearly noon. Time for you to get up and earn your keep! You damned sure weren't much use last night after you got sick!"

  Her eyes widened. Gypsy dark, he loomed over her with his unpleasant, wolfish demands, rousing her in the worst possible way a woman could be awakened.

  Forgotten was the tender lover of her dreams. Forgotten, too, was her fierce protector in the storm and the nurse who'd gently tended her.

  In a daze she wondered how she could have slept through the storm. It must have been the patch, she thought.

  "Get up! Your clothes are all over the floor. Your contact lens stuff and cosmetics all over the bathroom!"

  "You!" Her chin shot up stubbornly and she glared at him.

  "Who did you expect, chere, Prince Charming?"

  "Certainly not, with you aboard!"

  "I hope you're feeling better."

  She nodded weakly, grumpily. "I hope so, too." She dragged her fingers through her mussed hair. She still felt weak, and the patch made her sleepy. “If only your boat would stop moving, I’d be fine.”

  "No can do, but you'd better get up anyway. You're in my bed, hogging my pillows and covers. If you stay there much longer, I might decide to join you."

  When he made a move toward her, she sprang out of the bed. Then his eyes raked her,
and she snatched the sheet from him and pulled it around her.

  He laughed at her show of modesty. "Good. As I said, it's time you started earning your keep. I imagine you would prefer to earn it in the galley...rather than in my bed."

  "As if those are the only places a woman belongs!"

  "On this boat they are."

  His expression altered subtly. His gaze ran from the curve of her slender neck down to the swell of her breasts. Her skin felt hot—almost as if he'd actually touched her. It infuriated her that he could do that with just his eyes.

  "You sexist… You…you belong in the dark ages!"

  "Most women who have sailed with me have not objected."

  “How dare you compare me to other women!”

  “Jealous?”

  “No!” She glared at him fiercely.

  “Liar.” His white grin was smug.

  She remembered the way he'd clung to his edge of bed for hours and ended up on the floor. Then it came to her—he was deliberately baiting her. Why? Did he fear the chemistry between them as much as she did? She mulled the idea over.

  Her abductor was afraid of her, and he was covering it up with a bluster of sexist insults, hoping to rile her. What would happen if just this once she turned the tables on him?

  She ran a hand through the fiery tangles of her hair, fluffed them, and let the radiant mess fall against her ivory cheeks. Remembering that he had always liked her shape, she tossed the sheet she'd been cowering behind to the bed so that the slim curves of her body were revealed.

  "What are you doing?" His tone was low and hoarse.

  "I'm not much of a cook. Maybe...like those other women… I prefer your bed. You said I was...good. Well, you were the best."

  At his dark frown, she smiled. Lowering her fiery head, she peered up at him through the thick, lush curls of her lashes. Then she got on the bed and crawled toward him slowly, like some hot wanton tigress on the prowl. She'd seen a movie star do it in an R-rated movie.

  "What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

  When she saw that his hand was trembling, she felt a fierce gleeful satisfaction. "You can have me," she whispered, crawling closer. "If you want me." She made her voice huskily musical.