The Duke's Proposal

by Sophie Weston

  Jemima grinned. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she said sedately.

  He slipped a strap off his shoulder and she realised that he had been carrying a substantial bag.

  ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘Beer.’

  She hooted. ‘That’s a very masculine idea of an ideal picnic.’

  ‘And your bikini. And my snorkel. And—’ He brought out a long blade. Even in its leather sheath it looked wicked.

  Jemima gasped. ‘What’s that, for heaven’s sake? A cutlass?’

  ‘A machete,’ said Niall calmly.

  ‘You own a machete?’ Her voice rose to a squawk.

  ‘No, I borrowed it from Al. But I know how to use it, don’t worry.’

  She collapsed back onto the lacy shadowed sand.

  ‘I’m alone with an axe murderer,’ she told the blazing sky dramatically.

  Niall stayed calm. ‘This thing only murders breadfruit and mangoes.’

  But Jemima was enjoying herself too much to stop teasing. ‘You’re going to ravish me and then make me become a pirate like you,’ she announced.

  Niall nodded enthusiastically. ‘That sounds like fun.’

  She turned tragic eyes on him. ‘I shall end up walking the plank and never see my family again.’

  ‘Ah, but think of all those life experiences. You might even end up a pirate in your own right.’ He was rummaging through the bag and threw the new bikini at her. ‘If you have the talent. Of course, you need to be a really bad girl.’

  Jemima caught the day-glo scraps of fabric neatly. ‘Ah, then I’ll never make the grade,’ she said, disappointed. ‘I’ve been a good girl all my life.’

  Niall looked up, arrested His eyes gleamed.

  ‘Stick with me, kid,’ he growled. ‘I’ll show you the ropes.’

  And before she could say a word, or even take a breath, he bent and kissed her.

  It was a hard kiss, fast and fleeting. It could have been casual. It could have been half a joke, still part of the pirate game.

  But it wasn’t. Jemima knew it wasn’t. Although Niall turned away at once and continued to unpack the bag without saying a thing. She could still feel the pressure on her mouth. The pressure was more eloquent than any words.

  It said—We’re equals. I want you. Now you know it.

  Yes, she knew it. Knew it more clearly than she could ever remember doing before. But did she know what she wanted to do about it? Not for a moment.

  Sobered, Jemima sat up and started to help him unpack.

  ‘Shoes,’ he said, tossing across the pair that he had shown her on the boat. ‘Keep them on. We’re a long way from the nearest doctor if you tread on a sea urchin.’

  She did not argue. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, and slipped them on.

  She did not want him to touch her again, not while she was in such turmoil. And he didn’t. Without being told.

  Instead he said, ‘Come and see our island.’

  Relieved, she got to her feet. ‘You’ve been here before, then?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes. Sorry. There have been footprints before yours.’

  ‘But it is uninhabited?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Not a McDonalds in sight. We pick and catch our food. In fact, we’d better get started.’ He took an empty can out of the bag. ‘Fresh water,’ he explained, when she looked surprised. ‘I don’t expect my dates to drink nothing but warm beer.’

  His date! It felt as if he was laying claim to her in a couple of negligent syllables.

  Jemima remembered Al’s amused accusations. The man cut a swathe through the female guests! They let him get away with murder! Be careful, she told her tremulous heart. You may think you’re sophisticated. But this man is way, way out of your territory.

  She followed him, a faint frown between her brows. Niall did not seem to notice.

  He clearly knew the island well. He pointed out mango trees only a few minutes from the beach,

  ‘We’ll pick some up on the way back.’

  Once away from the shore, they plunged among dense trees, and the land grew steep.

  ‘Can I hear a stream?’ Jemima asked.

  ‘You’ve got good ears. Yes.’

  Niall was utterly impersonal. She was grateful for it. She was almost sure she was grateful.

  ‘So this is where we get water?’

  He kept up a steady pace. ‘A bit further up. The stream runs over rocks there. It’s muddy down here.’

  Jemima bent forward. ‘I didn’t realise it would be such a climb,’ she said, trying hard not to sound breathless. Niall was breathing as easily as if they were still rolling along the beach. In case he thought she couldn’t keep up, she added hastily, ‘Or that there would be so many trees.’

  Niall didn’t halt, but he did slow down a little. ‘This should all be jungle,’ he said. ‘Only the sea level changed and drowned all but the peaks. You have real Amazon banyan trees here, if you know where to look. The locals say the jungle devils live in them.’

  ‘And you do know where to look?’

  He nodded.

  ‘But I thought you were just a visitor,’ she said slowly. ‘You sound like a long-term resident.’

  He shrugged. ‘I like to know about the places I stay.’

  She considered that. ‘To the point of tracking down your own deserted corner of Amazon jungle? Like marking some territory for yourself?’

  He gave a startled snort of laughter. ‘You’re very shrewd.’

  But he didn’t sound too pleased about it.

  Jemima said curiously, ‘Do you really travel from casino to casino all the time? Don’t you have a home of any kind? Anywhere?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘But where do you keep your books, your music?’

  He smiled. ‘I buy books at airports and leave them in hotel rooms. I have a Walkman and five CDs. I’m not a natural nest-builder.’

  ‘But where do people send you letters?’

  ‘That’s what e-mail is for.’

  Jemima thought about it. They were still climbing.

  ‘What about birthday presents?’ she said triumphantly.

  ‘There’s no one who would send me a birthday present,’ he said indifferently.

  She was honestly appalled. ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I don’t get a lot of useless tat I don’t want and would have to waste time writing thank-you letters for. And nobody expects a birthday present back from me.’

  The bleakness of it silenced her.

  But then he stopped in front of a tree and looked up into the branches.

  ‘Breadfruit,’ he said in congratulatory tones. ‘Stand still. Now you will see the wonders of the machete.’

  He hacked down a fruit the size and shape of a football. He sniffed it.

  ‘Overripe. Oh, well, it may cook all right. Anyway, it will be an experience for you.’

  ‘One of many,’ muttered Jemima.

  Niall did not answer that. He pulled a string bag arrangement out of his pocket, slipped it round the fruit and slung it over his shoulder. Then he turned downhill. An overgrown path led to a small waterfall. He uncapped the water carrier and held it under the stream.

  Jemima hung back a little, watching and listening.

  The water gurgled and gushed round slabs of what looked like granite. The air was full of squeaks and trills and the sound of small animals scampering, though the cicadas were not so insistent up here. There was a smell of vegetation, and something heavy and sweet like lilies. It felt very still and strange.

  Instinctively Jemima moved closer to Niall.

  He was putting the cap back on the water carrier, but he looked up at that.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘This place—’ She tried to put her unease into words. ‘It makes me feel very small. And sort of impermanent.’

  ‘You’re fine as long as you stay on the path.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  He stood up. �
�I’ll take care of you.’ He said it kindly, but it was quite impersonal.

  And suddenly Jemima didn’t want him impersonal any more. She wanted him concerned and protective and…and…

  And piratical. Admit it, Jemima. You want the big production number. Swept up into his arms and carried off aboard his ship. That’s what you’re after. What an idiot you are.

  She swallowed. ‘Of course you will,’ she said in her coolest voice. ‘I just had a wobble for a moment. I’ll be fine.’

  They went down to the beach a whole lot faster than they had come up. By the time they came in sight of their little tree, with its lacework of dappled shadows, she was almost running.

  ‘I want to swim,’ she said.

  She turned her back on him and scrambled into the bikini without letting herself think about it. And then she ran into the sea as if all the jungle devils were after her.

  She half thought Niall would follow her. But he did not. She didn’t know whether to be glad or affronted. And then she forgot her equivocal feelings in the sheer pleasure of swimming in sea like warm silk.

  Jemima had always been a strong swimmer. This water, with its gentle swell and startling clarity, was no effort at all. She did several lengths of the beach in a strong fast crawl. And slowly, slowly, all the agitation dissolved.

  Niall Blackthorne was a sexy stranger and she didn’t read him very well; that was all. It was no big deal. She didn’t need to feel as if her whole world was turning upside down. If he touched her again she could handle it. And if he didn’t—well, she could handle that too.

  Calm again, Jemima allowed herself to play for a while. She turned somersaults, then dived deep, as far as her breath would take her, and came up spluttering. She swam along just under the surface, among jewel-coloured fish who swam round her curiously, surfacing from time to time to take another long breath.

  She kept checking her distance from the shore. Sometimes when he saw her looking Niall waved. But he did not join her.

  Eventually, even Jemima had to admit she was tired. She swam to shore with lazy strokes and trod wearily up the beach.

  But she still said, ‘That was wonderful,’ as she flopped down on the sand.

  Niall, she found, had built a small bonfire of twigs and driftwood and was now stretched out in the shade, his shirt bunched under his head.

  Jemima averted her eyes from his alluring bare chest and said brightly, ‘Got the boy scout’s badge for making a fire, did you?’

  He chuckled. ‘Oh, I did the full woodsman’s thing.’

  ‘Congratulations. And we need a fire why?’

  ‘Barbecue,’ he said briefly. ‘When you’re hungry I’ll go catch a fish.’

  Jemima shook her head, revolted. ‘Absolutely not. I’ve just been swimming with those fish. They’re my friends.’

  There was a moment’s disbelieving silence. Then he flung back his head and laughed until he choked.

  She glared, mock affronted. At least she hoped it was mock. She didn’t want to turn into an over-sensitive wimp, not with unpredictable Niall Blackthorne.

  When he stopped laughing, he said, ‘Just as well I did bring some food from the market, then.’

  Jemima narrowed her eyes at him and made a discovery. ‘You’ve been winding me up. You never meant us to live off the land today.’

  His eyes danced. ‘Let’s just say I brought some insurance.’

  The insurance was a deliciously sweet lettuce, avocados, tomatoes, a cold chicken and a great bunch of bananas. Jemima ate with relish and washed it down with the sweet water they had collected from the stream.

  ‘Wonderful. Though it’s a shame to waste your fire.’

  He was sitting cross-legged, all mahogany skin and vitality. He shrugged those strong shoulders and Jemima caught her breath. She turned it into a cough.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said with determined lightness.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Someone else will land and use the fire eventually.’

  She pulled a face. ‘You mean someone less squeamish than me?’

  He smiled suddenly. It made his eyes crinkle up at the corners. It was unnervingly sexy. She looked away before he could read her thoughts.

  ‘I like you for being squeamish,’ he said. ‘If striped sticklebacks are your friends, you should stand up and admit it.’

  Jemima sighed. ‘You think I’m awfully girly, don’t you?’

  His eyes darkened. Very unnervingly sexy. He shook his head. ‘You don’t want to know what I think.’

  ‘Go on. I can take it,’ she said dryly.

  ‘Can you? Sure about that?’

  Their eyes locked. She could not tear her gaze away. And she felt all her defences crumble. Against him, against herself—they all turned to water and leaked away into the great sunny ocean behind his head. Every last weapon in her armoury melted—the wry self-mockery, the teasing, defensive laughter. Last to go was the sophistication. After years of the worst that the fashion industry could throw at her she would have said that she could handle any man in the world. But that went too. It left her felt naked and bewildered.

  And vulnerable.

  ‘Can you, indeed?’ said Niall Blackthorne.

  And took her in his arms.

  It was like walking off the world. Jemima’s head fell back. Her eyes closed as if the air was too bright for them.

  She became aware of every last atom in her body. They all seemed to be quivering. Heat engulfed her. Heat and the sense of sheer physical power—his, her own. She put her newly charged hands on his shoulders and felt the electricity surge through him.

  She thought, He’s out of control. That makes two of us.

  They fell to the sand, locked and breathless. She heard his heart. It seemed to be slamming through her body too. How could a simple kiss seem this big?

  Except, of course, it wasn’t a simple kiss. It was a journey to the furthest galaxy. It was a probe into the core of her being. When their lips parted she was changed.

  Niall raised himself off her. He shook his head, laughing a little, as if he were as amazed as she was.

  ‘Wow,’ was all he said. But Jemima knew what he meant.

  She meant it too. She could feel a smile breaking through, bursting out like a butterfly out of a chrysalis. Wholly new. Entirely gorgeous.

  ‘Wow to you too.’ She could hardly stop herself from laughing with delight.

  He touched her lips. His mahogany-brown arm was covered with a fine dusting of sand. She ran her fingers along it in wonder, barely touching his skin.

  ‘You look frosted.’

  He shivered under her touch. But his voice was still that laughing Niall voice she would know, now, in her heart’s core for the rest of her life. ‘I don’t feel frosted,’ he said dryly.

  Jemima gave a hiccup of startled amusement. ‘No, you don’t,’ she agreed appreciatively. She mimed a kiss.

  His eyes went black. He hauled her against him again, as if he could not bear even that tiny distance between them. This time it was she who kissed him. They were sticky with sand and sweat and salt from the sea water, but it made no difference. She wanted him. Needed him as she had never needed anything or anyone.

  And it was mutual. Even out of control and starving, she knew that. His body told her.

  He raised his head. ‘Let’s go back to the boat.’ It was not much more than a gasp.

  ‘What?’ In her frenzy, Jemima was not sure she had heard him properly.

  ‘The boat. Now.’

  ‘No.’ She could not believe that he could even contemplate not touching her, even for a moment. She ran a voluptuous hand over his thigh. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  He groaned. ‘Jay Jay—’

  She wriggled under him. It was deliberate. ‘Do you?’

  He caught her hand and rolled off her. He caught her other hand and held it between them, his chest heaving.

  ‘I want to make love.’ His voice was rough. ‘Properly. That means protection. No sodd
ing sand. God help me, even a pillow for your head.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was shaken back to sobriety. But it was a new sort of sobriety, with her blood beating like a steam hammer and her heart full. She could not think of a thing to say.

  He dropped his head so that his brow rested against hers.

  ‘Let me take care of you, Jay Jay.’ His words were muffled. ‘I need to.’

  She was shaken by a huge tenderness. She cupped a powdery hand round his head. He was shaking.

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply.

  They ran back to the boat. Hand in hand again. But this time, thought Jemima, it was real.

  On the boat, they dusted sand off each other with grave ceremony. He brought cushions from below and made a bower for her, out of the sun. Then he peeled her bright bikini away, between kisses. She was rougher with his Bermuda shorts. But she was far out on the ocean of love then, and so was he.

  Afterwards, she lay in his arms, feeling bone against bone as she never had before. Feeling complete.

  ‘Amazing,’ she said, drifting off to sleep.

  She thought he kissed her hair. The famous Titian glory had never looked worse. It was damp and tangled, smelling of sea water and full of sand. And he kissed it!

  ‘This,’ she said drowsily, ‘is a new experience.’

  And slept, feeling loved.

  She woke to the smell of coffee. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. She felt as if her whole body was smiling. Still feeling loved, then. This was new, thought Jemima.

  She looked round. The sun had moved. The sky had changed. There were a few clouds, away on the horizon.

  Niall put his head through the hatch.

  ‘Awake?’

  Jemima turned. He was smiling at her. His eyes were clear. The raging intensity was exhausted. But something else had taken its place.

  She thought, You know me now.

  It was like having their first breakfast together. It was like being on an old-fashioned honeymoon. Love again!

  She put out a hand to him.

  He kissed it, quite unselfconsciously. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if he loved her too.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  He brought two mugs of black fragrant coffee onto the deck and lay down beside her. He had put his shorts on again. Jemima plucked at the waistband, making a face.