Island Fire

by Bobbi Smith

  Island Fire

  Bobbi Smith

  Copyright © 1986, 2019 by Bobbi Smith. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of The Evan Marshall Agency, 1 Pacio Court, Roseland, NJ 07068-1121, evan@evanmarshallagency.com.

  Version 1.0

  Published by The Evan Marshall Agency. Originally published by Kensington Publishing Corp., New York.

  This work is a novel. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidentally.

  Cover by The Killion Group

  bobbismithbooks.com

  This book is for my very bestest TBOC—Donna Lee Poulos Byerlotzer and her husband Jimmy. Thanks, Poul-louse! Also, a special note of thanks to Margaret Smith for her invaluable assistance in researching San Francisco, and to Mike and Marilyn Maurer for introducing me to the joys of a hot tub.

  ISLAND FIRE

  "I hate you!"

  He stood behind her and ran a warm, gentle hand down the curve of her spine until it rested on her hip. She shivered beneath the caress, but didn't move.

  "We both know that's not true, don't we, Espri? Look at me. Tell me to my face that you don't want to make love with me."

  Heart pounding, Espri stood motionlessly as he took a step forward and crushed her against his chest. His mouth took hers, trying to force the response he knew her so capable of giving.

  Espri fought the excitement that was sweeping over her as he parted her lips. She didn't want to give in to his sensual power, but her body was betraying her.

  "Tell me you want me, Espri," he whispered. "Tell me."

  "Yes," she whispered. "Yes . . ."

  BY BOBBI SMITH

  BRIDES OF DURANGO: TESSA

  CAPTIVE PRIDE

  DESERT HEART

  DREAM WARRIOR

  THE LADY AND THE TEXAN

  TEXAS SPLENDOR

  WANTED: THE HALF-BREED

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Prologue

  San Francisco

  The casual way in which the two men faced each other across the broad expanse of the desk belied the undercurrent of tension between them.

  "No," Mitch Williams declared, meeting his brother's gaze levelly.

  "No?" Jonathan surged to his feet, unable to believe that he had been refused.

  "I'm sorry, Jon," Mitch added succinctly, his tone implying that the matter was closed.

  "Sorry? I won't settle for that. I love Catherine and I mean to marry her!" the younger man exclaimed.

  "Marry Catherine if you wish"—his brother shrugged—"but you'll never get a cent of your trust fund if you do." His answer, though blandly stated, hinted at the steel will that governed all of Mitchell Williams's decisions.

  "That's blackmail!"

  "Call it whatever you want, but until you reach your majority, I'm in complete control of your assets. Rest assured, Jon, that I won't hesitate to cut off your more than generous allowance, should you let yourself be carried away by the 'heat of the moment,'" Mitch told him arrogantly. "Do I make myself clear?"

  Jon glared at his brother. "You're an unfeeling bastard—"

  "Hardly," Mitch drawled. "Our parentage is well established." His amused smile only served to make the hot-headed Jon more angry.

  "Someday you'll regret this!"

  "Possibly, but I doubt it. I think, in fact, that someday, little brother, you'll be thanking me."

  "For ruining my life?"

  "I seriously doubt that my refusal to grant you permission to marry Catherine will ruin your life. After all, Jon, all you have to do is wait until you're twenty-one. Now"—Mitch glanced up questioningly as he gestured toward the papers that cluttered his desktop—"if that's all you wanted to discuss, I do have other business to conduct."

  "Damn, but you're callous. Catherine and I are in love."

  "If she loves you, then she'll be willing to marry you whether you have your inheritance or not," Mitch pointed out.

  "No man wants to marry if he can't support his wife." Jon's shoulders slumped slightly as he fully realized his position. "Haven't you ever loved a woman?"

  "I've loved many women, but I've never been 'in love,' thank God," Mitch remarked dryly as he leaned back to regard his brother. "Love somehow manages to make fools of even the wisest men."

  Jon bristled. "Well, this is one 'fool' who's glad he's in love! Catherine's a wonderful woman and I mean to marry her."

  "The decision is yours to make. Now, if you don't mind, I really am busy."

  "By all means, don't let me interfere with your work!" Jon headed for the study door and slammed it as he left the room.

  Mitch stared after his brother for a moment before turning his attention to the contracts spread out before him. Diligently, he picked up the top sheaf of papers and began to read, but, unable to concentrate, he threw them down in disgust. Rubbing the back of his neck in a weary motion, he flexed his broad shoulders and rose from his place behind the desk. Stalking to the window, he stared out at the gray dullness of the autumn day.

  Catherine Chamberlain . . . At the thought of the calculating blond beauty, Mitch scowled blackly. He knew her well . . . almost too well . . . and he knew the real reason behind her interest in Jon—money. He had been tempted to tell his brother the truth about her, but common sense had prevented him from doing so. Jon was stubborn, and Mitch knew he would deny any and all allegations against Catherine, no matter how they were substantiated.

  Mitch only hoped that once Catherine discovered the stipulations regarding Jon's inheritance, she would drop him and search for a more likely candidate for a husband. If her financial situation was as dire as he'd heard, she would probably do just that.

  He turned from the window and settled back in at his desk, wishing somehow that he could spare Jon the pain of Catherine's rejection, though he knew this would serve his younger brother well for the rest of his life. Hadn't he himself learned the hard way about women and their avarice? He had been young then, and more than a little idealistic, but he had learned.

  Mitch now firmly believed that true love does not exist and that most marriages are not made in heaven. Instead, he saw such conjugal alliances as mergers that served the purposes of both parties. Although some husbands and wives did seem to share a deep affection for one another, he was firmly convinced that they were exceptions to the rule. Positive that his decision not to consent to the marriage was right for Jon, Mitch picked up the contracts from his desktop and got down to business.

  "Well, darling, I've done it." Catherine Chamberlain smiled triumphantly at Roland Stuart as she settled herself on the sofa in the parlor of her fashionable home on Rincon Hill.

  Stuart glanced at his beautiful lover inquiringly, one hand poised to pour himself a tumbler of bourbon. "Done what?"

&n
bsp; "I've accepted Jonathan Williams's proposal of marriage."

  "Wonderful! He's an excellent choice. When's the wedding?"

  Catherine frowned slightly. "I'm not sure. He's meeting with his brother Mitch this afternoon to tell him the news, and we're to set the date this evening."

  "You look concerned. Is there some kind of problem?" Roland joined her on the sofa, his bourbon in hand.

  "No, not that I know of. It just irritates me that Jon has to check with his 'big brother' before we can make definite plans."

  "I wouldn't worry about that. From what I understand Jon and Mitch are extremely close; after all, Mitch has been head of the family since their parents died."

  "I suppose," she agreed, though she was not convinced. "I just wish the whole ordeal was over."

  "Eager for young Williams's money, are you?" Stuart grinned, for he knew Catherine's motivation in consenting to the marriage.

  "Desperate, darling. You, of all people, should know that. What do I owe you now? Fifteen thousand? Twenty thousand?"

  "It was well over twenty thousand at the last count, but you know I'll never pressure you for it."

  "I know that, but you must realize I have an image to maintain. I must marry, and soon, if I'm to prevent word of my debts circulating. Why, I wouldn't be able to face anyone in my circle if it became known that I'd lost all of Papa's fortune at the gaming tables."

  Roland set aside his empty glass and pulled her into his arms. "Your secret is safe with me."

  "Now it is, but you weren't feeling so generous to me a few months ago." Catherine drew away slightly as she recalled the unorthodox manner in which he'd maneuvered her into his bed. "Would you really have revealed everything to my banker if I hadn't come to you?"

  "What do you think?" Roland's expression hardened as he remembered the threats he'd used to force her to sleep with him.

  Catherine pondered a moment before answering. "Yes, you would have. You're totally ruthless when you're in pursuit of something—or someone—you want."

  "You know me far too well, my love," Roland growled as he pressed a heated kiss to her throat.

  "And you wanted me then, didn't you, Roland?" she taunted.

  "I've never wanted any woman more," he admitted. "But you wouldn't come to me in the beginning. That's why I extended you so much credit at my casino. I knew I could use your indebtedness to force you into my arms."

  "And you did."

  He shrugged. "How I did it doesn't matter. You're mine now."

  "Completely." Catherine's arms encircled his neck, and she kissed him passionately.

  "Are you sorry? Have you ever regretted a moment of our time together?"

  "Only the first time . . ." Catherine smiled slightly as she remembered how furious she'd been at Roland's blackmail, how resentful and frightened. But her feelings had changed after their first encounter, for he had introduced her to the wonders of carnal delight.

  "You regretted our first time together?" He looked at her, his confusion obvious for he vividly remembered their wild, sexual encounter.

  "I regretted," she purred, rubbing against him, "that I'd fought you for so long. I should have come to you sooner."

  Roland kissed her deeply. "We're alike, you and I. We know what we want and we go for it, consequences be damned."

  "What will happen to us when I've married Jonathan?" Catherine was suddenly apprehensive.

  "Nothing will change. We've managed to keep our liaison hidden from Susan, so I don't think we'll have a problem with Jon. We just won't be able to meet in your home any longer, that's all."

  "That's true. By the way, how is your wife?"

  "Susan is fine, but I don't want to waste our time together talking about her. I want you, Cat, and I mean to have you, now." Standing, he pulled Catherine to her feet and swept her up into his arms.

  She clung to him excitedly, knowing that the rest of the afternoon would be spent in amorous bliss. "I love you, Roland," she declared.

  Striding into the main hall, he mounted the staircase to her second-floor boudoir, then closed and locked the door behind them.

  The rowdies in the saloon were boisterous, but Jonathan took little notice of them as he sat at a corner table with his friend Nash McKenna.

  "I can't believe Mitch told you no," Nash sympathized as he poured them both another drink from the bottle of whiskey the barkeep had left with them. "He's never denied you anything before. Why do you suppose he'd start now, when you've found the woman you want to marry?"

  "I don't know. He didn't give me a reason. He just said if I marry Catherine before I come of age, he'll see to it that I forfeit my trust fund."

  Nash grimaced, knowing that Mitch Williams was a man of his word. "And you haven't told Catherine?"

  "No, not yet." Jon ran a hand through his dark hair in a nervous gesture. "Damn it, Nash! Catherine expects to finalize our plans tonight. How in the hell am I going to explain?"

  "Listen, Jon," his friend said soothingly, "your brother didn't say you couldn't marry her. All he said was that you had to wait until your birthday. Surely if Catherine loves you, she'll be happy to wait."

  "I suppose, but the whole situation seems ridiculous. I'm a man, not a child! I shouldn't need anyone's permission to marry."

  "I agree, but there's nothing you can do. Mitch is in control of your funds."

  "But I'm a Williams, too, you know, and one of these days, very soon, I'm going to have an equal hand in running everything."

  "I'll be glad when you do, but until then you have to follow Mitch's orders."

  "I realize that," Jon ground out. "But it isn't easy to accept the situation." Draining his tumbler of whiskey, he stood up and tossed several silver dollars to Nash. "This should cover the bill."

  "Thanks." Nash pocketed the money. "Are you going to see her now?"

  "Not until eight, but I think I'd better get out of here before I drink much more. Catherine wouldn't approve of my showing up on her doorstep drunk, and if I stay here matching you drink for drink that's exactly the shape I'll be in in a few hours." His smile was derisive.

  "Very true." Nash rose and clapped him on the back. "But don't worry. It's not going to be as bad as you think. I'm sure Catherine loves you, and you'll figure out a way to get around Mitch."

  "Right." Jon frowned at the thought of trying to outmaneuver his brother. "I'll see you later."

  "Good luck!" Nash shouted as Jon made his way from the crowded bar, and his friend lifted a hand in salute as he exited through the swinging doors.

  "Yes? What is it?" Catherine called out in a sleepy voice as a knock upon her bedroom door woke her.

  "Mr. Williams is here, Miss Catherine. He's just arrived and he's waiting downstairs for you," the maid explained through the closed portal.

  "Oh! Is it that late already?" Catherine sat up and glanced quickly around her darkened bedroom.

  "Yes, ma'am. It's about a quarter to eight."

  "I've overslept, Florence. Please make Mr. Williams comfortable and then come and help me dress."

  "I will, ma'am."

  Rising from the bed on which she'd passed such pleasurable hours in Roland's arms, Catherine lit the lamp on her nightstand and stretched leisurely, relishing the slight feeling of soreness in her slim body. She smiled wickedly as she thought of her afternoon of frenzied lovemaking, and knew it was no wonder she'd slept so deeply once Roland had departed. Running her hands over the tenderness of her full breasts, she sighed contentedly. Soon she would have Roland's passion and Jonathan's money.

  Catherine had to force herself to hurry. After bathing quickly, she slipped into her silken undergarments and selected a suitably demure, yet stylish, gown of a deep rose color that would enhance her pale beauty. Laying it out on her bed, she seated herself at the dressing table and began to brush out her tangled, golden hair.

  "Come in," she called when Florence knocked at the bedroom door. "Is Mr. Williams settled in?"

  "Yes, ma'am. He's in the pa
rlor, having a bourbon."

  "Good. Hurry and fix my hair for me. I don't want to keep my future husband waiting too long!"

  "Husband, Miss Catherine?" Florence was taken by surprise, for she knew her mistress well and it didn't seem plausible that she would marry the young man downstairs.

  "Yes. Mr. Williams has proposed and I've accepted him," Catherine explained abruptly. "Now, finish my hair. I mustn't keep him waiting longer than necessary."

  Without another word, the servant set to work. She combed Catherine's shimmering tresses into an attractive, upswept style that set off the perfection of her features. That accomplished, she helped her mistress don the chic rose gown with the modestly cut bodice. Then Catherine stepped into the matching slippers, fastened a single strand of pearls about her throat, and put on pearl and diamond earbobs.

  "I want you to see to it that Mr. Williams and I are not disturbed," she ordered as she touched the stopper of her scent bottle to her pulse points.

  "Yes, Miss Catherine."

  "Good. I'll ring for you if I need you."

  "Yes, ma'am," Florence replied as she watched her mistress leave the room.

  Catherine paused at the top of the staircase and took a deep breath before descending to greet Jonathan. Though she had plotted carefully to elicit his proposal, she found herself slightly unnerved now that the time had come to set the date for the wedding. Not that she didn't want to marry Jon—the thought of all that Williams money was enough to make her hurry unfaltering to the altar—but she was not in love with him. He was nice and certainly handsome, but he was not Roland. Resigning herself to her need to marry for money, she unconsciously squared her shoulders and entered the parlor.

  Jon had been deep in thought. The bourbon that Florence had served him, though a fine one, had tasted bitter as he'd contemplated the upcoming scene. How would he tell Catherine—the woman he loved—that they would have to postpone their nuptials until he came of age? The prospect was so humiliating that he'd been tempted to leave, but he'd forced himself to remain and face the situation squarely.

  "Good evening, Jon." Catherine's voice was suitably breathless as she joined him in the sitting room. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long."