by the shadowing of hair on the muscular chest, forearms, and long, sinewy legs.
‘Is that what a pirate would do? I think not.’
Before she could guess his intention, or make any more to thwart him, he reached for her, his hands clamping on her waist, hoisting her into the air, and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. For a moment she was stunned, dangling there, staring down at the dusty stones of the quay; then, as he began to move, she came to furious life, struggling, kicking, pummelling the strong, smooth back with her fists.
But it was like punching reinforced concrete, and he didn’t even flinch. To make matters worse, she could hear laughter and even a smattering of applause from the watchers on the quay as he walked off with her.
Mindy was her friend, but he wasn’t lifting a finger to help her, and if he imagined for one moment she relished this kind of treatment then she would be happy to disillusion him, she thought, almost incandescent with rage and humiliation.
She saw the slats of the gangplank beneath her. She expected that he would put her down when they reached the deck, but she was wrong. With alarming effortlessness, he negotiated a companionway, and entered a big, sunny saloon. Then, at last, he lowered her to her feet.
Breathless and giddy, she confronted him. ‘You bastard!’ Her voice shook. ‘How dare you treat me like that?’
He shrugged again. He wasn’t smiling any more. ‘You chose to hold me up to ridicule. You can hardly complain if I make you look a little foolish also.’
‘Well, you’ve achieved your objective,’ Samma said grimly. ‘And now I’m leaving.’
‘But I prefer that you stay.’ His voice was soft, but it held a note which told her that he meant it. That, if she tried to leave, she would be prevented.
‘I don’t know what you hope to gain by this behaviour.’ With an effort, she kept her voice steady.
‘Nothing too devastating, chérie,’ he drawled. ’Merely a companion to share some food and wine with me in the middle of the day.’
Samma lifted her brows. ‘Do you always have to resort to strong-arm tactics when you need company? You must be desperate.’
He laughed, showing very white teeth. ‘You think so?’
No, not for a moment she didn’t. This man would only have to click his fingers and women would come running, but she was on the ropes in this bout, and she would say or do anything to escape.
The saloon was enormous, and luxuriously furnished, but somehow he made it seem cramped.
He was too tall, too dominating, the kind of man she would go out of her way to avoid, and she’d been mad to provoke him with the pirate sketch.
But there wasn’t anything too major to worry about, she tried to assure herself. After all, his employer could return at any time, or so she supposed. And, if the going really got tough, she could always scream for Mindy.
She gave him a straight look. ‘Fine—you’ve had your joke. Now, I’d like to get on with my life—quietly, and without hassle.’
‘Later,’ he said. ‘Nothing happens on these islands around noon, or hadn’t you noticed?’
‘I should do,’ Samma said tartly. ‘I’ve lived here for long enough.’
‘You are a permanent resident?’ His tone held a trace of surprise. ‘But you certainly weren’t born here. I thought you were one of the new generation of island-hoppers, drifting from one location to the next like a butterfly—using your—talent—to buy your living.’
There was something in his voice which told Samma he wasn’t referring to her artistic gifts, such as they were, and in spite of herself she felt a hot blush burn her face.
‘Well, you thought wrong,’ she said grittily. ‘And now we’ve cleared up that little misunderstanding, perhaps you’ll let me go. My friends will be wondering where I am.’
He laughed out loud at that. ‘Oh, I think they know—don’t you?’
Samma almost ground her teeth. Why had she got involved in this kind of verbal sparring? she asked herself despairingly. Why hadn’t she adopted her usual ploy of blank eyes and assumed deafness? Why had she let him get to her like this?
She said quietly, ‘Look, you’ve made your point. Is there any need to go on—punishing me like this?’
‘Punishment?’ His mouth curled, drawing her unwilling attention to the sensual line of his lower lip. ‘Is that how you regard the offer of a meal. The food on Allegra isn’t that bad.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Her eyes met his directly.
‘Yes, I know,’ he acknowledged sardonically, ‘So—what do you suppose you deserve for your impudence in drawing me as you did?’
‘I draw what I see,’ Samma flashed. ‘And everything that you’ve said or done since has only convinced me how right I was.’
‘Is that a fact?’ His voice slowed to a drawl. ‘So, you really think I’m a pirate.’ He shrugged. ‘Then it seems I need have no compunction.’
He moved towards her, purposefully, but without haste and Samma backed away, until the pressure of the long, cushioned seat which ran the length of the saloon prevented any further retreat.
‘Keep away from me.’ To her fury, she sounded breathless and very young, her words more an appeal than a command.
‘Make me,’ he invited silkily. There was a disturbing glint in the dark eyes as he moved closer. With one hand, he pushed her gently down on the cushion, then sat beside her.
Samma’s mouth was suddenly dry. For the first time she had to question her actual physical ability to scream if the situation demanded it. She wanted to look away from him, but she couldn’t. It was as if she was mesmerised—like a rabbit with a snake, she thought hysterically. She tried to steady her breathing, to mentally reject the effect his proximity was having on her. She could feel prickles of sweat breaking out all over her body, allied to a strange trembling in her lower limbs, and she tensed, bewildered by the unfamiliarity of her own reactions.
His gaze travelled slowly and relentlessly down her body, and she shivered as if it was his hands which were touching her. Since her return to Cristoforo, she’d never worn a bra, considering her firm young breasts made such a restriction unnecessary. Now, as they seemed to swell and grow heavy against the thin fabric of her top, she began to wish she was encased in whalebone from head to foot—armour-plated, even.
She saw him smile, as if he’d guessed exactly what she was thinking. His eyes continued their downward journey, resting appraisingly on the curve of her hips, and the slender length of her thighs, revealed by her brief white shorts.
She had never, she thought dazedly, been made so thoroughly aware that she was female.
He said softly, ‘There are many ways of taming a woman—and I am tempted. But for an impertinent child—this is altogether more appropriate.’
Before she knew what was happening, Samma
