Island Fire

by Bobbi Smith

  "The pool looks inviting, does it not?" Tana purred as she unwrapped her sarong and carelessly tossed it aside.

  "Not nearly as inviting as you," he answered as he took her in his arms and kissed her.

  "Let's swim first," she encouraged.

  Konga chuckled knowingly as he untied his pareu and followed Tana to the water's edge, but before she could enter the water, he pulled her back against him and openly fondled her full breasts.

  Tana, responding eagerly to his desire, rubbed herself sinuously against him. "You feel good to me, Konga. Your touch fills me with fire."

  Aroused by her words and actions, Konga turned her to face him and kissed her passionately. Tana, as always, was more than receptive to his lovemaking. She clung to him, wrapping her arms about his neck and arching against his hardness.

  "I am yours, Konga. Love me . . . please, love me." Her voice was a husky plea as his hands explored the curves of her writhing body.

  Lifting her, Konga swung around and laid her upon the lush grass, his lust driving him to take her quickly. His big body covered hers, and they moved together in the soft light of the moon, their bodies intertwined, their heated words echoing through the silence of the night.

  Espri did not want to watch, but she was trapped in the haven of the waterfall. The narrow shelf of rock on which she stood did not allow her to turn away. She closed her eyes in an effort to give the couple privacy, but visions of Tana and Konga filled her mind, and the tightening deep in the womanly heart of her disturbed her greatly. She wanted to run and hide, but there was to be no escape. Unless she was willing to make her presence known, she was trapped until the two lovers chose to leave.

  The sound of splashing interrupted Espri's troubled thoughts and she looked up to see the pair running playfully into the water. A sudden fear of discovery immobilized her, and she bit her lip to steady herself. Terrified, she waited as Tana and Konga swam out into the pool.

  "Come, I'll race you to the waterfall!" Tana laughed delightedly as she started off in Espri's direction.

  Espri tried to think of a good explanation for not making her presence known as she nervously watched Tana draw nearer to her position, Konga in hot pursuit. She sighed deeply when Konga reached out and snared Tana's ankle, stopping her progress just before she reached the ledge.

  Tana sank beneath the surface and came up sputtering angrily, but Konga was there to hold her and silence her protests with a passionate embrace.

  "Do you not want to play in the waterfall?" Tana asked breathlessly as she held onto his broad shoulders, allowing him to support her weight as he treaded water.

  "The waterfall holds no attraction for me," he told her as she pressed kisses to his throat and shoulder. Slowly, he began to swim back toward the shallows.

  When they had stepped from the pool, Tana led Konga back to the soft bed of grass, and she smiled as she urged him to lie down. Eager to keep Konga in her thrall, she lay beside him and began to caress him, first with her knowing hands and then with her lips. He hardened instantly at the touch of her hot, wet mouth, and she was thrilled to know that she had that much power over him. He climaxed quickly, drained by her expertise; then he pulled her up on top of him to rest. Had Konga thought about it, he would have been surprised to note that at that moment he was not thinking of Espri.

  However, Espri was thinking of him. She had had a basic knowledge of what went on between a man and a woman when they made love, but she had never been a witness to the act. She had tried not to watch what Tana had done—she had finally closed her eyes against the sight—but the other woman's sexual manipulations had amazed her. She had had no idea . . .

  Espri had often heard the village girls insisting that men were essentially the same, so it occurred to her that Mitch might enjoy Tana's lovemaking just as Konga had. There was no doubt in her mind that Tana would be back to look in on Mitch, and she knew that she would not be able to bear it if Tana approached him sexually. Though she tried to dismiss the distressing prospect of Mitch and Tana sharing heated embraces, the threatening thought lingered on.

  Looking across the pool to where Tana and Konga lay motionless and seemingly asleep, Espri wished she could somehow escape before they began to make love again. Her emotions were in turmoil due to what she'd observed, and she knew she needed to get away, to get back to Mitch. When a low, scudding cloud briefly obscured the moon's clear light, she decided to chance leaving. She slipped into the pool, the sound of her entry disguised by the splashing of the waterfall. Then she ducked under the water and swam the entire distance to shore beneath the surface. Quickly, she climbed up the bank, and snatching up her rumpled dress and the bucket of water, she disappeared silently into the forest.

  Chapter 5

  As quickly and as quietly as she could, Espri rushed back toward her home, pausing only once to dress. The sights and sounds of Tana's and Konga's mating were burned into her mind, and no matter how she fought to put them from her, she would never again be truly innocent.

  Breathless, she finally reached the glade. Without hesitation, she went to check on Mitch, and she didn't know whether to be disappointed or happy when she found that he had undergone no change. He was seemingly unconscious, and his fever had not abated. Since his skin still felt hot and dry to her touch, she quickly began to bathe him again, soaking her cloth in the cool, fresh water and drawing it in a constant soothing motion over his heated flesh.

  With visions of Konga and Tana still fresh in her mind, she couldn't stop herself from remembering what it had felt like when Mitch had touched her, and she wondered what it would have been like had he not stopped. Would she have cried out in pleasure like Tana? Did it actually feel that good to take a man inside your body?

  Espri paused in her ministrations to reach out and caress Mitch's chest, letting her fingers rest just over his heart. Then, suddenly conscious of what she was doing, she withdrew that light contact, and for her own peace of mind, she retrieved the light covering and placed it over his hips. Moving to her own mat just a handbreadth away from Mitch, she lay curled on her side, facing him, and tried to rest. Her thoughts reflective, Espri quietly let the tension of the day drain from her. Soon, despite her efforts to stay awake, sleep overtook her.

  Her dreams in those predawn hours were filled with confusing, erotic images of Tana and Mitch and herself. At one moment she was sharing a passionate embrace with Mitch; in the next, Tana was in his arms, kissing him and tasting of his desire. The dream was heart wrenching in its power. It taunted her with visions of Tana working her womanly wiles upon Mitch, drawing him to her body and making him her own.

  Abruptly awakening, Espri sat up, her heart pounding from the force of some unknown emotion. Glancing quickly at Mitch, she breathed a deep sigh of relief when she noted that he was resting quietly. Tana's and Mitch's lovemaking had just been a very disturbing illusion.

  Bewitched by her fantasy, Espri sat staring at him for long, curious minutes. Never before had any of her dreams been so vivid or so arousing, and she couldn't resist touching him, just to make sure that this was reality. Leaning forward, she let her gaze fall upon his lips, so firmly chiseled yet so beautiful and so capable of giving pleasure. She had never thought of a man's mouth in those terms before, but his kiss had done wondrous things to her. It had awakened her to the world of sensuality.

  She trailed her hand across his hair-roughened chest and then down his arm, her fingers lingering in silent sympathy over the rope tied securely to his wrist. She longed to free him, to give him at least that much peace, but common sense warned her against doing so. No matter how much it upset her to see him bound, it was better that he be restrained than allowed to injure himself or her unknowingly.

  Without conscious thought, she shifted closer and bent slightly to press her lips softly to his, his name escaping her on an anguished sigh.

  "Mitch . . ." When there was no answering response to her touch, Espri drew back, embarrassed by her own bold foolishness. />
  Deciding to keep busy so her mind would not dwell on her dream, she soaked the cloth in the cool water and began, once again, to bathe him. To her dismay, she discovered that this was no longer a mindless job for her. She was more cognizant of him as a man now, and each stroke of the cloth became a caress. Through the balance of the night she cared for him, ceasing only when exhaustion claimed her shortly after daybreak.

  Though his eyes were open, Mitch found that he was surrounded by darkness. He lay still, trying to understand exactly what had happened to him. His head was pounding, his mind reeled, and he felt as if he had just suffered the torment of the damned. He wondered where he was and why every inch of him hurt so badly. He tried to move, to shift his position so he would be more comfortable, and it was then he discovered that he was bound, his limbs stretched tautly away from his body, his position immobile and extremely vulnerable.

  His thoughts were muddled as he struggled to comprehend his situation. Forcing himself to relax, he took a few deep breaths and then let his mind roam as he attempted to sort through the jumble of impressions his senses were relaying.

  Mitch knew immediately that he was not at sea for there was no rocking motion, no telltale creaking of timbers. He frowned as memories of Tommy and the Seastorm and Captain Warson's cruelty came to him. He moved his shoulders tentatively, and the tenderness in his back affirmed that, indeed, the flogging he'd suffered had been real. His restraints, too, convinced him that his run-in with Warson over the captain's excessive brutality had also been real. Those long, dark days and nights, in chains, in the damp, disgusting hold, had happened. But this was certainly not the cargo hold of the Seastorm. He was on land, of that he had no doubt; yet he was still shackled. Why? What had happened that he couldn't remember?

  The storm! In a flash of blinding brilliance, it came to him. Tommy had rescued him from his bonds just in time to save him from certain death. They had been trying to get off the floundering ship when a towering wave had washed them both overboard. But where was he now?

  Overcome by his sense of helplessness, Mitch grew despondent. He couldn't move, he couldn't see. For the past six months, ever since he'd been shanghaied and taken aboard the Seastorm, his life had been a living hell. Forced to do the work of two men because the crew had been shorthanded, he had suffered the indignities of the sadistic Warson in silence—at least he had until that fateful day when the captain's cruel mistreatment of a cabin boy had driven him over the edge. It seemed to him that he was caught up in the same set of circumstances. Evidently the captain had survived the wreck, and had seen to it that he'd been put in bondage the moment they'd reached shore.

  "Oh, my God," Mitch groaned hoarsely as his despair deepened. Then, in an explosion of frustration, he fought his fate. Raging, violent in his need to be free, he used all of his remaining strength to battle against his unseen bonds. In a frenzy of anger, he strained repeatedly at the ropes, until in one last desperate burst of energy he pulled from the ground the stake that had held his right arm pinioned. Panting, his breath rasping painfully in his throat, he quickly reached up to pull off what he thought was a blindfold.

  Espri, asleep when she first heard Mitch's voice, low and troubled, thought she was dreaming. Only when he began to move did she realize she was actually awake. Thinking him in the tortured grasp of the fever again and giving no thought to her own safety, she rushed to his side, pleading with him not to remove the wrapping from his head.

  "Wait! Mitch! Don't touch your bandage!"

  About to throw off the "blindfold," Mitch was unprepared for the sound of a woman's voice and he stopped suddenly. "Bandage?"

  "You're better." Espri sighed gratefully, and she touched his arm as she knelt beside him.

  Mitch flinched at the contact so she hastened to reassure him.

  "I'm sorry if I startled you," she told him earnestly. "It's just that I was surprised to find you awake. You've been ill with the fever for some time now. Here"—Espri hurriedly disentangled the ropes—"let me finish untying you."

  "Fever?" Mitch caught the relief in her voice and wondered at it. "What are you talking about? What fever?"

  "You were cut by coral when you were in the sea and the wound became infected. That's why you have the bandage."

  "Where am I? And who are you?" he demanded, trying to place this woman's intriguing accent. It seemed vaguely familiar to him—almost as if he had heard her voice before.

  Smiling widely in her joy at his recovery, she answered him honestly, "My name is Espri Duchant, and we're on the island of Malika."

  Mitch was silent. Malika? He'd never heard of it. He wondered just how far off course the vicious cyclone had blown the Seastorm.

  "I'm glad that you're finally better," she continued as she struggled with the last knot in the rope that bound his left arm. "I'm sorry I had to do this."

  "What do you mean?" Mitch asked, stunned to learn that he hadn't been restrained on the orders of Captain Warson.

  "I had to tie you down last night. Your fever was high, and in your delirium, you knocked over one of the candles and started a small fire." She decided not to tell him of his violence toward her. "It was safer for you this way."

  Mitch nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry if I've caused you any trouble." His mood was lightened by knowing the reason for his restraint, but the thought of Warson still gave him pause. He asked cautiously, "Was the captain rescued?"

  "I'm not sure," she replied, moving to untie the ropes at his ankles. "I do know that another man was washed ashore, but that was on the other side of the island. He's being cared for in the village. I haven't yet learned his name. Would you like me to find out for you?"

  "Please." He idly rubbed his chafed wrists and then touched his forehead carefully. "Will I be able to remove this bandage soon?"

  "It would be best if you would leave it on one more day. The cut was deep and you'd complained earlier that your vision was blurred."

  "I did?" He sounded incredulous.

  "That's how I came to know your name—at least your first name."

  "My last name is Williams," he said quickly. "I don't remember talking to you before . . . although your voice does sound familiar."

  Flushing guiltily, Espri answered, "You were feverish . . . and you thought I was someone else."

  "I did? I don't remember." He was mystified by the news. "Who did I think you were?"

  "I believe her name was Fifi," Espri replied, grateful that he did not recall the intimacy they'd shared. It had been one thing to imagine, when he'd been ill, his lovemaking being taken to completion, but it was another thing entirely to face him as a rational, healthy male. She was glad that he couldn't see her face and read the confused embarrassment there.

  Fifi? The only woman he'd ever known by that name was Fifi LaRue and it had been a long time since he'd even thought of that delectably wild Frenchwoman who'd worked for Madame Sauvigne at her infamous house of pleasure. Surely, he couldn't have mistaken this gentle, caring woman for Fifi. A flash of a remembered, sensuous embrace played about the corners of his mind, but he quickly dismissed it as ridiculous. The fever must have affected him more than he realized.

  "I'm sorry."

  "There's no need for you to apologize," Espri told him, and then, unable to stop herself, she asked as casually as possible, "Is Fifi your wife?"

  "No, I'm not married. Fifi was just a friend and she was French. It was probably because of your accent that I mistook you for her. Your accent is French, isn't it?"

  "Yes, I suppose it is; my father came from France and the missionary who comes to our island is French."

  Tired of lying down, Mitch levered himself onto an elbow in an effort to sit up, but a moment of dizziness stopped his progress. Espri hurried to assist him. Bending near, she slipped an arm around his wide shoulders and helped him to an upright position.

  Until that instant, Mitch had had no definite impression of Espri as a woman. In his mind, she had seemed ageless—an exotically voi
ced creature to whom he was grateful for saving him—but when she touched him, pressing close to aid him in his struggle to rise, all that changed. The feel of her bare arm, the thinly clad swell of her firm bosom against his back, sent shock waves of sensual awareness through him, and the delicate scent of her perfume—a combination of tropical wildflowers and coconut oil—lingered on, sweetly tantalizing him. Mitch was glad when she moved away, but he knew a moment of supreme confusion when she reached across his lap and strategically adjusted the lightweight covering.

  "How's that? Are you comfortable?" Though she managed to keep her tone coolly efficient, Espri's feelings were anything but cool. Just touching Mitch had filled her with an unexpected longing to be in his embrace . . . to have those powerful arms pull her close, to feel his thighs hard and demanding against her, his mouth exploring hers once more. She moved hastily from him, flustered by the direction of her thoughts.

  "Yes, thank you, Miss Duchant," Mitch answered, struggling to maintain a sense of control despite the unwelcome urging of his body.

  "Please, call me Espri," she returned quickly.

  "Espri . . ."

  His voice was deep and gruff and she was spellbound for a moment by its innate sensuality.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked, forcing herself to think of other things.

  "I know I'm alive." Mitch grinned fleetingly, but Espri could tell that the smile was strained. "There's no way I couldn't be, not the way my head aches right now."

  "Would rum help?" Espri offered.

  "It certainly couldn't hurt," he admitted wryly.

  "I'll be right back."

  Mitch listened to the sand-muffled sound of her footsteps as she left the hut, and he wondered at the power of his reaction to her. Through the years he had had more than his share of women, yet none had disturbed him so with just an innocent touch. Was Espri Duchant that different? He pondered the question only briefly before his more rational side asserted itself, then he smiled at the absurdity of his thoughts. Good Lord, he hadn't even seen the woman. Surely, his reaction to her was instinctive and basically the result of all he'd been through. No doubt in this situation any woman would have had the same effect on him. Shifting uncomfortably on the hardness of the pandanus mat, he arranged the cloth more securely about his waist and then sat back to await Espri's return.