Tempestuous Eden

by Heather Graham

  And then she sensed Craig’s presence.

  It was her chance; a chance to demand to know where they were going, why she was being held, who he was. A chance to reverse roles, to take him hostage, to turn him over to the authorities before he went further in his life of violence.

  He stood ten feet away from her, hands on hips, yellow eyes gleaming without a hint of fear. Slowly she pointed the muzzle in his direction.

  “That is loaded, you know, Blair,” he said flatly.

  She nodded, her throat suddenly gone thick, her tongue too heavy to voice all her questions.

  He started walking toward her. She finally managed to speak.

  “Taylor, I can shoot this thing,” she warned. “I’m an expert marksman.”

  “I know,” he said calmly, pausing right before her. “I also know that you’re not going to shoot me.”

  Blair clicked off the safety. “Don’t count on it, Taylor,” she rasped. Her hand was steady, her aim sure. He moved toward her. “Don’t,” she warned, and for an instant his eyes flickered with a strange light and utter disbelief. He’d come as close as she could ever imagine this man coming to showing shock. Then, just as suddenly, his eyes, his entire expression, showed nothing.

  A silence stretched between them; neither one moved, neither even breathed. There was only the slight rocking of the boat, the sound of the waves lapping against the hull, the call of birds flying above the open sea. Flying free, Blair thought. The gun weighed heavy in her hand, the yellow glow of Craig’s eyes, luminous in the cabin’s darkness, boring relentlessly into her.

  And then she was shaking like a leaf. And Craig was reaching down to take the gun from fingers that had gone cold and limp. With the safety back on, he returned the gun to its niche and reached for Blair, who was now hunched over, head bowed in despair and defeat.

  He pulled her into his arms and she didn’t protest. The tears she had tried to hold on to fell freely, silently, in torrents down her cheeks.

  Lifting her like a child, he carried her to the bed and soothed her, lifting tendrils of hair from her face and smoothing them back as he cradled her in his lap. Then suddenly she gathered strength again, and feverishly pummeled his chest. “Damn you, Taylor,” she cried in a scream and wail, aware that she was pitting such feeble force against him that he wasn’t even protesting. “You’re a goddamn criminal and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it….” Her voice trailed away with her energy and her hands fell limply against his chest.

  “Blair,” he murmured consolingly, “you couldn’t do it because you know I’m no danger to you. You know that I would never hurt you. You couldn’t do it because you know that I love you, because you love me.”

  She couldn’t still her shaking; she could only dimly accept his words. She knew why she couldn’t ever have shot him; it would be a horrendous replay of the past, seeing this man that she loved with all her heart, blood gushing from him, washing away his life. And then she was voicing her thoughts out loud, burrowing to him for the strength he had given her from the start.

  “Oh, Craig, it was so awful”, so awful, he was standing one moment, laughing, waving, so vital, so alive. And then he was down, the life leaving his eyes, the blood, oh, God, there was so much blood….”

  Craig let her talk on and on, feeling her pain, desperately wishing he could absorb it for her. He had seen the results of war and terrorism, and his only comfort was that in some instances he had been able to prevent possible carnage. But as he loved her, he could never imagine the pain of losing her. He could well imagine what the devastation had been for her to view the demise of the man she had adored.

  And so he continued to hold her, uttering soothing words, cradling her with tenderness rather than passion, until she had it all out. Until the sun rose high in the sky, until he could feel her exhausted body relax against his.

  Still they sat silent. Finally her eyes rose to meet his. Emerald and brilliant with the liquid glaze of her tears, they also carried a touching concern.

  “Your head, Craig. I’m sorry, I forgot all about it.”

  He smiled softly. “That’s okay, so did I. It’s all right now.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” It was true. Somewhere along the line the nagging pain had subdued to a slight throb, and now he felt only the slightest soreness at the base of his head. He twisted his head to prove that all was well to both her and himself. “Really,” he repeated. “Much better.”

  She sighed suddenly, a jagged sigh, her emerald eyes still upon him, beseeching him with a weary depth. “Craig …” she began weakly, raising a slender, trembling finger to brush his stubble-rough cheek. “Please, Craig, turn yourself in. Don’t you see? I don’t … I can’t … You’re so good! Turn yourself in. I won’t press charges. Whatever you’ve done, we can straighten it out. I’ll help you.”

  Craig was staring down at her, a very soft, very tender smile curling the edges of the lips set in the square steel jaw. The hazel of his eyes was neither cold nor yellow. But deep, a dark golden color—poignant, wistful.

  He forgot—or if he didn’t completely forget, he pushed aside—the sure notion that she would one day charge him like a proud eagle for stringing her along, for allowing her to make such a plea. All he saw at the moment was the depth of her caring, and the moment was precious to him. He would sell his soul to allow it to continue. He wanted to stretch it out; he craved to hear the words spoken from her lips that she would never say again.

  “Why, Blair?” he demanded hoarsely. “Why would you do this for me?”

  “Because I—I—” She was floundering, her voice was catching, choking. And then she became certain. “Because I do love you.” The words slipped out with a simple dignity—a sweet yearning whisper on the air.

  Craig’s arms tightened around her. “I love you, Blair,” he murmured huskily, his lips trembling against her hair.

  “Please—” she protested, pulling from him and finding the strength to stand and move away from him.

  “I love you, Craig, but I’m not about to become a partner to this, whatever it is.”

  “I told you I would return you to Washington to your father,” Craig said, his eyes narrowing and hardening, his tone becoming guarded. “Do you doubt my word?”

  “No,” she said softly. “I believe you intend to keep your word.”

  He laughed suddenly, a dry, bitter chuckle. “You want me to turn myself in?”

  “Yes,” Blair whispered.

  “But you don’t know all that I’ve done,” he reminded her.

  Blair fixed her gaze on the coffeepot, now grown ice cold.

  “I can’t believe that anything you’ve done can be that bad. They say that a hypnotized man will not obey an order, even in a trance, if that order is against his moral instincts. I believe you’re like that, Craig. Misguided, but moral beneath it. If you turn now, you can go back. Maybe you’ll never be able to do so again, maybe the time will come when it will be too late.”

  Craig had to catch himself, catch himself hard.

  He heard someone laughing, distant, outside himself. But it was he himself. He was sure Blair must think he was cracking up. Was he hysterical? About to laugh until he cried? That was how he was feeling. It was so ironic. So pathetically, damned ironic.

  He squelched the laughter that was bubbling up inside of him. He might as well agree; he was definitely going to see Huntington. And maybe, just maybe, in the few days remaining them, he might store up more sweet memories to take with him and cherish.

  “All right, Blair,” he said gravely. “I’ll turn myself in to your father.”

  Blair stared into his eyes, fascinated by the brown stars that streaked against the lime, creating the illusions of yellow and gold. She was astounded that he had capitulated so easily. It couldn’t be real.

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said impatiently. “I don’t think you can accuse me of being a liar.”

  No
, strangely, she couldn’t accuse him of being a liar. When he made a promise, he stuck to it.

  “I have a question for you.” He interrupted her thoughts quietly.

  “Yes?” She felt a little numb, as if a trophy had just been thrown onto her lap and she wasn’t quite sure what she had won.

  “What happens then?” Craig knew he shouldn’t be pushing the charade. He was twisting a knife wound deeper and deeper before his victim was even aware of the first plunge. But as soon as this ordeal was over she was probably going to hang him anyway. Throwing all caution to the wind, he decided to take it all the way, and the hell with eventual consequences.

  “You and I. Us. What happens then?” He was looking at her blandly, demanding an answer.

  “W-well,” Blair stuttered. “I—I don’t know exactly. It’s going to depend. I don’t know what you’ve done, who you’ve been involved with. There is a good possibility that you will have to serve some time in prison.”

  “Are you going to wait for me?”

  There was no hedging around with Craig Taylor; he asked his questions bluntly, questions that left her fumbling for answers, frightened, unsure, praying she had the strength she now tried to convey to him.

  “Yes.” She didn’t really need to fumble for an answer. She loved him, and she had borne hard times before for love. Yet even the sweet love of the past was nothing compared to this all-consuming emotion. She could stand up to anything, she believed. He was putting himself in her hands, trusting her, promising her. The least she could do was promise in return to be there, through whatever, when the chips were down and he needed her. “Yes,” she repeated, believing firmly in his love considering the enormous step he was willing to take for her. “Yes, I will wait.”

  “What if your father disapproves? He isn’t going to be happy about his daughter and a criminal.” Lord, Craig wondered, what was the matter with him? But he wanted the answers now, and it really didn’t matter if he allowed the devil to niggle him on to have the next few days with Blair. He had, as the saying went, already cooked his goose. Charbroiled, as a matter of fact.

  “Andrew Huntington doesn’t control me,” she answered serenely.

  Now, that one was really worth a good laugh, Craig thought dryly, but he contained himself. His devil was in complete control. “Think about it, Blair,” he warned, stalking toward her with his cat’s tread. “Think about where you’ve come from, where you’ve been. Your family, your circle of friends. I’ll be an ex-con. Will you be able to handle that?”

  “Craig,” she said firmly, and the woman who had broken with the thought of spilling his blood was gone, replaced by the fighter, the assured, cultured Blair who knew her own mind, who had won beyond doubt what he had thought to be a nonexistent heart. “I have never worried about what was. The important thing is that you’re willing to start over. My father is my family; he loves me, he will accept you. He is also a man to judge a person for what he is, not what he was. And my true friends will be your friends. Yes, if you mean what you say, I can handle anything.”

  In a way Craig felt like kicking himself; he was humbled by her steady declaration, humbled by the beauty of the inner woman. But then again, he knew he would have changed nothing to hear her words.

  He reached for her, large hands, powerful hands, hands that could break wood and brick, trembling. His fingers touched her hair, followed the delicate contours of her face. “Blair …” he whispered.

  Then she caught his hand and stopped him.

  “No, Craig, please …” she beseeched him, and there was once more a hint of tears in her eyes.

  “I thought you loved me.”

  “I do love you.” She held the hand that had touched her with such reverence with both her own. “But I’m still afraid of what’s going on. We need to get to a large city fast; I’ll put through a call to Washington.”

  Craig pulled his hand away impatiently. “I said I’d turn myself in to your father when I returned you. That’s still a few days away, two and a half to be precise.”

  At first Blair was merely puzzled, then she felt the dark cloud of doubt and dread spreading through her. Was this just another clever ploy? A ruse for Craig to entertain himself while time inexorably passed?

  “What difference does it make?” she demanded sharply. “If you’ve made the decision to turn yourself in, why not do it now?”

  Craig didn’t answer right away. He moved into the galley and dumped the pot of cold coffee down the drain and set about making another. Once it was set upon the flame, he turned back to her, a man with a decision made. Smiling slightly, he traced a calloused finger delicately down her cheek, making no effort to come nearer. “Blair,” he said with a deathly quiet that both pricked her skin and convinced her immediately of his sincerity, “it’s imperative to your safety and perhaps that of others that we not move toward inhabited land until we reach Belize. I swear to you that when we get there I will go to your father with you. You have to accept that for now. There’s nothing else I can tell you, nothing else that I can do.”

  Blair stared at him for several seconds, but she knew that was all she was going to get. She knew the closed and determined set of his hard features. Her eyes fell first. “I guess there’s not much I can do myself then, is there?” she asked softly.

  “No, not too much,” Craig replied. “But you can keep on trusting me.”

  Blair shook her head slightly, as if still considering the notion of trusting at all as sheer lunacy. “I guess I am trusting you.”

  “You can do one more thing,” Craig suggested.

  “What’s that?”

  “Tell me that you love me again.”

  “I love you, Craig,” she whispered, then admitted, “but I’m not happy about this, not at all. We should be hurrying in.”

  “We can’t.” He reached out to take her into his arms but she went rigid against him. “Craig, please.”

  He released her immediately, but not with anger. His eyes held a deep and strange regret. “I think I understand,” he murmured. She trusted him, but she couldn’t control the doubt planted in her mind by the fact that she had been kidnapped by him. She wanted to see him turn himself in, which would be the end. Charade—which hadn’t been his fault at the beginning—all over. But he couldn’t be sorry. He had come to find out what love was, what it entailed, the joy, the pain. He would never regret that the intensity of his emotion had been returned, even if only for a brief, shining moment between them.

  “Why don’t you make breakfast, or is it lunch, now,” he suggested, that deep sadness and resignation in his voice coming through despite his smile.

  Blair nodded; Craig disappeared up the ladder.

  It was a remarkably undramatic end to the very special time when two people had just declared their love.

  But it was the way it had to be.

  Blair turned her attention to the task of feeding them both. Would everything really turn out all right? she wondered. She wanted so desperately for it to be so. So desperately that she didn’t dare allow her mind to whirl away and question all that happened, all that had been said.

  She would stand by him, she would be there, she would wait forever and a day.

  But there was something else wrong; she could sense it. At times there had been an almost satanic twinkle to Craig’s eyes, but then, at other times, they had been hard, self-mocking, haunted ….

  She bit into her lip as she worked, worried, but feeling a strange jubilation. She was in love, and the man she loved had said that he loved her in return. And she believed him. She didn’t question his sincerity.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TOPSIDE CRAIG LIT A cigarette moodily and stared out at the perfect, clean calm of the sea.

  She was definitely going to be ready to kill him when she knew the truth.

  But he did love her; God, did he love her, and in loving he was discovering all sorts of new facets to his own personality. But had it been so terribly wrong to need to hear
things in return. To grab whatever chance he had?

  Somewhere along the line he had to convince her that the loving was true. It wouldn’t be easy, but she did love him. And wasn’t forgiving a part of loving?

  She was going to be mad. Understated, Taylor, he told himself with a wince. She was going to be more than mad. Furious. Sizzling.

  The question was, would she ever simmer down enough to care whether she loved him or not?

  Today and tomorrow—that was all that he had left. By midmorning of the third day hence he would be meeting Huntington at the dock in Belize … unless something went wrong, which it wouldn’t.

  He glanced around the peaceful cove where they had found refuge. They could stay here today, he thought. Despite the storm and the morning he had run aground, he was ahead of schedule. The wind, if nothing else, had been with him.

  “Breakfast!”

  He glanced up from the position he had often taken by the mainsail to see Blair smiling up at him. Smiling in return, he hopped back to the deck and followed her down the ladder.

  “Brunch.” He corrected her with a smile as they sat down together to ham and eggs.

  “Brunch,” she agreed with a half smile.

  He watched the little furrow in her brow as she pensively sipped her cup of coffee.

  “Tell me about it,” he suddenly commanded.

  “About what?” she asked, glancing at him guiltily.

  “Whatever it is you’re thinking,” he told her with a broad grin. “First you’re smiling like a sly cat, then you’re frowning as if just asked the meaning of X squared equals Z minus four.”

  “I was worrying,” Blair admitted, and her frown deepened as she gazed reflectively upon his handsome features. His hair was long, creeping over the collar of his perpetual blue work shirt. Come to think of it, it was odd that he had started shaving so meticulously since he had first arrived at the Hunger Crew compound. That first day he had worn a stubble, as if he didn’t care. He hadn’t shaved yet today, but he had every other day of their voyage, and today he had been busy calming her.