And here I am, she thought. Thank God for YMCA swimming lessons.
Rhianna dove underwater, held her breath and counted to twenty. When she emerged, she smiled up at the brightening sky. "I'm alive."
She dove under again, this time holding her breath as long as she could. Seconds ticked by, but still she remained beneath the surface. Slowly expelling her breath, she relaxed completely. Finally, she rose from the depths and took in a labored breath.
One final test.
"You no longer have power over me, Peter Waverley."
Swimming to the base of the falls, she ducked under the pounding streams of water. The pressure was intense, as if tiny hands were pushing her under.
Break free!
Rhianna dove beneath the surface. She was slightly disoriented by the pressure of the falls, and when she emerged, she was surprised to find she was behind the waterfall.
Pale dawn light radiated through the curtain of water and illuminated a small cavern carved into the limestone knoll. The cave extended back several yards and there was a hole that let in more light situated on the left side of the ceiling. Light danced on the rock walls and the sound of the waterfall reverberated in the cave.
"Beautiful," she murmured.
She pulled herself up onto the smooth stone ledge that rose a foot from the surface. She sat with her feet dangling in the water, while an unfamiliar calmness washed over her. There was something about this pool, about Angelina's Isle. Something healing and promising. It teased the fragrant air, the powdered sand, the silky water. The island had started working its charm from the second she'd stepped onto it, bathing her in freshness. She'd never felt so clean.
"I wish I could stay here forever."
Sadness swept over her.
Soon, Roland would whisk her away in the boat. He'd take her back to the mainland and she'd fly back to Miami. Back to JT. And while she missed the old man dearly, she realized that going home meant leaving Angelina's Isle.
And Jonathan.
The thought sent a sharp pang through her heart.
~ * ~
Jonathan fingered the white bathrobe. Rhianna was here―somewhere―but the pool seemed undisturbed. Was she lying in the shadows, lids half closed, mouth partly open, with lips he wanted to kiss?
He wanted other things too. More skin on skin. The desire he felt for her had increased daily, making him crabby and uncomfortable. He could admit his flaws. And being tested by such a beautiful woman, being constantly reminded that she was out of his reach in every way, was enough to reduce any man to frustration.
"Rhianna?"
No answer.
She had to be here. Her clothes were still on the tree.
He tried another tactic. "If you're hiding because you're embarrassed, I'll have to come in and find you."
His threat resulted in more silence.
Damn, woman! Where the hell did you go?
He had a terrible thought. What if Rhianna had gone for a swim but had slipped and hit her head on the rocks? What if she was unconscious―or worse?
Jonathan waded into the water. With strong strokes, he swam around the pool's edge, into the shadows, but he came up empty. No Rhianna.
Flashes of memory besieged him. The day he'd found Rhianna sleeping on his dock, the smile on her face when she saw his home, her gentle encouragement with Misty, how she looked with her hair down…right before he kissed her.
I can't lose her now. I'm just getting to like her.
He dove now, panic overwhelming him. His fingers grazed the bottom. There was nothing there but rock and sand. He swam to the other side and searched the floor of the pool. Time after time, he came up empty.
Fear ate at him. What if he lost Rhianna?
~ * ~
Rhianna slid into the water. It was time to go. She pushed beneath the water and swam a few yards before surfacing in the center of the pool―a few feet from a shocked Jonathan. Not that she wasn't shocked too. Her pulse was beating so loudly she was sure even he could hear it.
"Where the hell were you?" he demanded.
"Why, did I scare you?" She could tell he was going to deny it, so she shrugged. "Now you know how it feels."
"I thought you were…" He looked away.
"You thought I was what?"
Jonathan's jaw flexed. "Never mind."
She stared at him for a moment. Then it hit her. He must have seen her clothes and gone looking for her, never suspecting she'd found the cave behind the falls.
"I was behind the falls."
Jonathan's head jerked up. "You found the cave?"
She nodded. "By accident."
"It's almost the only natural thing here," he murmured, gazing at the pool.
"What do you mean?"
He laughed, a rich sound that made Rhianna shiver. "Did you think this was a natural waterfall?"
Rhianna blinked. "It isn't?"
"We're on a small island that only has a few hills. You'd have to go to one of the big islands to see natural falls." He jerked his head. "I built this. The pool, the waterfall, everything except the cave."
"Wow. Who would've guessed?"
"There was a pond here, but it always dried up in the summer. That's what gave me the idea for this."
"How do you keep the water in it then?"
"Well water," he said. "The waterfall is rainwater driven, with pipes that create a circuit from the pool to the top of the falls. The well keeps it topped up."
"Your ex-wife must've loved it," Rhianna murmured.
He scowled. "Sirena and nature don't mix. Unless it's the wild jungle of Hollywood."
Silence.
"I think this place is unbelievably beautiful," she said.
"I think you are," he blurted, swimming up to her.
Jonathan's lips fastened on hers so quickly that she didn't have time to think or react. He didn't touch her anywhere else, just with his lips. A soft pressure, enticing her to respond.
And she did.
When she kissed him back, he gently pried her lips apart. The kiss deepened. She drew him in with an eagerness that surprised her. There was no holding back, no fear. Just this heavenly bliss that rushed through her body.
Jonathan touched her then. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close. The satin boxers brushed against her. And something more.
He was rock hard.
When his chest met hers, Rhianna sucked in a breath. His tongue invaded her mouth. She let out a soft moan of pleasure, lost in the sensations, in the sweetness of his breath and the satin strokes of his tongue.
"Rhianna," he whispered, pulling away.
Reaching up, she drew his head down until his mouth met hers. She wasn't done. Not by a long shot. She had years to make up for, years to wash away, until there was only this―the most perfect, glorious kiss.
She slid her hands through his wet curls as he kissed her eyelids, her nose, her chin. She arched her back when his hot mouth moved down her neck.
Lost. That's how she felt when he kissed her.
"Jonathan…"
He kissed her lips hard, drawing out a moan of ecstasy. Then his mouth fastened on her shoulder and his tongue licked a line across the tiny beads of water that settled on her collarbone.
"I want to taste every inch of you," he said hoarsely.
She shivered.
Before she could say a word, a movement at the far end of the pool caught Rhianna's eye. She blinked, uncertain if she was imagining it.
She wasn't.
"Snake!" she screamed.
Chapter 16
A gray-black snake slithered across the surface of the water and moved slowly toward them.
"Get out of the water!" Rhianna shrieked. Swimming to the shallows, she glanced over her shoulder. "Hurry up! Why aren't you moving?"
Jonathan snorted. "It's an anhinga."
When she glared at him, he added, "A bird."
A raspy croaking erupted from the anhinga.
Crouc
hing in the shallow water, Rhianna tried to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. She'd nearly climbed out of the pool. Naked. In front of him.
"A bird," she said hesitantly.
"An anhinga is similar to a cormorant," Jonathan explained, wading toward her. "It has an elongated neck. When they swim, that's all you see. Locals call it the snakebird."
"Seems fitting to me," Rhianna said with a scowl.
"There are anhingas in Florida, you know."
"I don't get outside much."
"Why is that?"
"I like to stick close to home. In case I'm needed."
The anhinga raised its long, thin yellow beak and stared at them. Then, with a raucous croak, the bird swam toward the rocks, where it waddled ashore and spread its wings, standing motionless.
"What's it doing?" she asked.
"Drying his wings."
"Oh."
"They're also called water turkeys."
"Somehow I don't think he'll go too good with stuffing and mashed potatoes."
Jonathan chuckled. "You're probably right."
"How come you know so much about them?"
"Marvin's a walking encyclopedia."
She frowned. "Marvin?"
"Mr. Atkinson."
The anhinga let out a loud squawk.
"They're sure noisy," she said.
"In Brazil they're called devil birds."
"Great," she muttered. "We were swimming near that thing."
A smile tugged on the corners of Jonathan's mouth. "We were doing more than swimming."
Heat surged through her and she looked away.
Damn! Her robe and clothes were out of reach―too far to casually stroll up to them without Jonathan seeing every inch of her nakedness.
"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping from the water.
She swallowed hard. "I need you to look away."
"Oh, right. You're naked." He turned, his boxers clinging like a second skin.
"I thought I'd be alone."
It's what Rhianna had wanted. At first. Now she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips caress hers.
Did Jonathan feel the same?
In the glow of a rising sun, she studied his back. Jonathan looked like a cover model for People Magazine's Top 10 Sexiest Men, a magazine she'd discovered on Mrs. Fletcher's bookshelf. There was a difference, though, between flipping pages and staring at photos of gorgeous hunks and having one in the flesh only a few feet away.
A tremor raced up her spine.
Get a grip, Rhianna.
She blew out a slow breath and moved toward the rocky edge of the pool. She tugged the robe from the tree and watched as Jonathan leaned down to wipe the sand from his feet before slipping on his sandals.
Rhianna tried not to stare. It wasn't easy.
~ * ~
Jonathan gave her time to dress. He could afford to be a gentleman. He'd gotten what he wanted. The kiss. He did everything to convince himself that was all he wanted, but he'd be a fool not to admit that if Rhianna hadn't stopped things, he would have taken far more than he had.
"Okay," Rhianna said behind him. "I'm dressed."
"That was fast," he said, turning to face her.
With the robe tightly cinched around her small waist, Rhianna held a bundle of white in her hands and looked at him nervously.
Was she naked under the robe?
Don't think about that.
He stared at her, his desire mounting.
"I think we should go," she murmured.
"We should," he agreed.
She turned away and made for the path to the house.
"Wait up," he called after her. "I've got the flashlight. I should go―"
Suddenly, Rhianna stumbled, crying out in pain.
Jonathan rushed to her side. "Are you okay?"
"I think I broke my ankle."
"Let me take a look."
He handed her the flashlight, then knelt on the ground, easing her foot into his lap. There was already some swelling. His fingers gently prodded around the ankle bone.
She hissed in a breath.
"Sorry," he said.
"What's the verdict? Will I live?"
He smiled. "It's not broken, so you're in luck."
She tried to take a step and let out a yelp.
"Here," he said, scooping her up in his arms.
"What are you doing? Put me down."
"You need to stay off that foot."
"But―"
"No buts. Unless you want to land on yours."
"Ha ha," she said dryly.
"Put your arm around my neck."
She hesitated.
"I won't bite." He sighed. "I promise."
When she did as he suggested, he grinned. "Now isn't that better?" It sure felt good to him.
"Yeah. Thanks."
"No problem." He chuckled. "I'd say any time, but I think you have enough bad karma."
Rhianna looked away. "It does seem so, doesn't it?"
He laughed, then headed down the path. A few yards in, he veered off the trodden grass and followed a sandy path.
"Where are you going?" she demanded. "This isn't the way to the house."
"Trust me. We need to get some ice on that ankle right away. I have ice in my studio."
"Well, there's ice in the house too."
He let out a huff. "Are you going to argue with everything I say?"
Rhianna clamped her mouth shut.
When they reached the small cabin, Jonathan nudged the door open and strode to the sofa. Carefully easing Rhianna onto the cushions, he paused, his attention caught by her pouting lips.
God, he wanted to kiss them.
Ice, damn it! Get the ice.
But all the ice in the world couldn't cool the fire that was burning inside him.
~ * ~
When he released her, Rhianna bit her bottom lip and struggled to remain calm. She lost the battle.
Oh my God! What the heck is wrong with me?
Her pulse raced and a thin bead of sweat broke out on her forehead as she thought of the kiss in the pool. She'd responded in a way she'd never done before―carelessly, wantonly. She hadn't pushed Jonathan away like she had the handful of men who'd tried to get close to her in the past. Why?
Because she wanted him.
It was the only answer that made sense.
If the anhinga hadn't made noise in the pool, God only knows what would have happened. The bird had definitely dampened the mood, and she suspected she wasn't the only one unraveled by what had occurred. Jonathan had been uneasy too. It would explain their frivolous conversation about water turkeys and devil birds.
Now here she was, sitting on his sofa, alone with the man. No other distractions―except his hands on her ankle, his bare, tanned chest with its seductive contours and a smile that turned her into a molten mass of yearning.
How was she supposed to act now?
Jonathan took charge of the situation.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked.
She nodded, wondering if he regretted kissing her.
"You don't look so good."
"Thanks," she muttered.
He gave her a grim look, then grabbed a pillow from the armchair and tucked it under her foot. "Keep it elevated. It'll help relieve the swelling."
"What are you, Dr. Tyler M.D.?" she said wryly.
"I've learned to deal with small accidents." He strode toward the kitchen and tugged open the freezer door. "I pretty much have to out here. The closest doctor is almost an hour away." He popped ice from the tray onto a towel and rolled it carefully.
Returning to her side, he placed the makeshift icepack over her ankle. "This should help numb the pain."
"Aren't you worried about Misty?" she asked, trying to ignore the sharp sting of cold.
"Usually I have a radio for emergencies."
She blushed. "Oh, yeah…sorry."
Jonathan shrugged. "This isn't an emergency." He made a beeline for a kitchen cabine
t. "Drink?"
"Sure." She took the opportunity to stuff her nightshirt and panties into the cushions behind her.
A few minutes later, Jonathan returned. "I hope rum and orange juice is okay. It's all I've got here."
"It's fine. Thank you."
As he passed the glass to her, their hands met. A spark of electricity shot between them.
"Sorry, it's the carpet," he murmured.
I don't think so, she wanted to say.
Jonathan's eyes flashed, as though he knew what she was thinking and was calling her on it.
Coward!
Unable to stand the tension, Rhianna blurted, "What were you painting?"
"What are you talking about?"
She pointed to the cloth covered easel. "That."
Jonathan frowned. "So you were spying on me."
"Not spying exactly, just…" She fumbled for an explanation. "Just checking to see if anyone was here."
"The fact that the light was on should've told you that."
She mentally kicked herself. "I guess it should've."
"Hmm…"
"What do you mean, hmm?" She gave him a mocking smile. "You think I'm some James Bond spy, here to steal your precious art so I can sell it on the black market?"
"The thought never crossed my mind."
But Rhianna could tell by his guilty expression it had.
"Listen, Picasso…I don't know the first thing about art or paintings, other than whether I like them or not. You can rest easy. I won't be making off with your treasures in the middle of the night."
"Of course you won't." At her questioning look, Jonathan added, "There's no boat. Remember?"
"How can I forget?" She paused. "You didn't answer my question. What are you painting?"
He grabbed a bath sheet from a hook and wrapped it around his waist before answering. "I haven't started it yet. I'm waiting for…inspiration."
"So is this what you do for a living? Paint?"
"You could say that." He sat down in the chair across from her and stared at the wall behind her head.
"Can I see some of your work?"
Surprise flickered in his eyes. "I never show anything until it's in a gallery. Call it superstition, but I don't need any more bad luck."
Lancelot's Lady Page 11