he drew the bedspread over her, then reached for the extra blanket. “No one knows a thing about you,” he murmured. “Devane would have heard if there was anything to hear. Who are you, mystery woman? And how did you end up on that beach?”
His only answer was the steady rise and fall of her chest. “I’ll be in the other room if you wake up,” he said. He let his gaze linger on her for another moment, then he turned and walked out of the room. It would be wise not to spend too much time with her, he told himself. The effect she had on him was too intense and too disturbing.
It would be better once she woke up. He was sure the attraction would disappear once she was conscious and talking to him. What could he have in common with such a young woman?
He felt much better as he sat on the sofa. That was the answer, of course. Once she was awake, he would see that she was just another woman, beautiful but very young. Once she was awake, this ridiculous state of arousal would quickly disappear. Hell, he wasn’t interested in relationships, anyway. Hadn’t they just established that he was better off without Margarita or any other woman? Hadn’t he learned his lesson all those years ago when Heather had forced him to choose between her and his career with SPEAR? His mystery woman would tell him what had happened to her, he would help her deal with it, and they would go their separate ways. It was that simple.
Marcus grabbed the book he had started reading earlier, but put it down after only ten minutes. Restlessly he stood and paced around the living room. Finally, unable to stop himself, he stepped into the dimly lit bedroom. The woman on the bed was still unconscious, but she had moved. She lay on her side and looked as if she was sleeping. Her left hand was tucked under her cheek, and her right hand was curled under her chin. He’d apparently managed to get most of the sand out of her hair, because it was drying in a soft golden cloud around her face. She looked innocent and helpless, and another fierce wave of protectiveness flooded through him.
He might not know much about relationships, but he knew how to protect a woman. And that’s what he would do. He’d get her back safely where she belonged and make sure that nothing else happened to her.
He adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, then crouched next to the bed again. “You’re going to be all right,” he said in a low, comforting voice. “You’re safe now, and you’re not badly hurt. Sleep for as long as you like. When you wake up, we’ll figure out how to help you.”
She moaned in her sleep, but it didn’t sound as frantic and fearful as her earlier cries. Her forehead wrinkled as if she was trying to figure something out. Then she was quiet and still again.
“It won’t be long before you’re awake,” Marcus said, familiar enough with injuries to know when someone was regaining consciousness. “I’ll be close by when you do.”
He stood, intending to walk to the living room. But he was oddly reluctant to leave her alone. She would be frightened when she woke up. She wouldn’t know where she was. Maybe he should stay with her.
“She’ll think you’re one of the people who hurt her, you idiot,” he growled to himself. “Get out of here.”
He moved into the other room, but couldn’t sit down to read. He paced the small room, then went and stood on the tiny porch.
The sounds of the tourists’ voices were lower, muted and more intimate. It was the end of the evening, and soon everyone would be returning to their cottages and rooms. The time for shared gaiety and laughter had passed. Now couples would be dancing more slowly, their bodies touching, hands twining together. Men and women would exchange heated glances, allow their hands to linger just a little longer. Soon everyone would steal away and the resort would be silent and still.
Marcus scowled and walked inside, closing the door firmly behind him. He had a job to do, and the woman on his bed had become part of his job. He’d damn well better remember that.
He threw himself onto the couch and picked up his book again. After staring at the same page for too long, he closed the book and leaned back, willing himself to get some rest.
He had just fallen into a restless sleep when he heard a noise from the bedroom. It sounded as if someone was walking around. He leaped to his feet and ran into the other room.
The woman was no longer lying on the bed. She was standing next to it, swaying, gripping the chest of drawers for support.
Panic leaped into her eyes when she saw him. She grabbed a nail file that had been on the dresser. “Stay away,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I have a weapon.”
Chapter 2
Jessica Burke gripped the chest of drawers with one hand and held the pitifully small nail file tightly in the other. Fear and anger throbbed inside her, and she welcomed it. Her head ached and her legs wobbled, but she wasn’t about to give an inch to the man who stood in the doorway.
He hadn’t been one of the two men who had grabbed her in her workshop, but that didn’t mean a thing. He was probably the one who’d ordered her kidnapping, the Simon that her two kidnappers had talked about.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice deep and quiet. He stood and watched her, making no effort to come any closer.
“You expect me to believe you?” Jessica tried to put as much scorn as possible in her voice.
To her shock, the man smiled at her, and Jessica felt her stomach swoop toward her toes. She scowled and gripped the nail file more tightly. She must have gotten a blow on the head, she told herself. How else could she explain her reaction to a man who had kidnapped her?
The man’s smile disappeared. “You have no reason to trust me,” he said, his voice still quiet, “but I mean you no harm. My name is Marcus Waters and I found you on the beach just before dusk this evening. You looked as if you’d been washed ashore.”
Jessica studied the man in front of her. Rangy and tall, at least a head taller than her own petite five feet four inches, he looked like any other tourist in the Caribbean islands. His blond hair was a little too long. He was dressed casually, in shorts and a T-shirt, and he had sandals on his feet. But his blue eyes burned into her with the intensity of a laser. Those were not the eyes of a casual tourist.
“Are you taking me to Simon?” she demanded.
His face tightened for a moment, and she saw a flare of shock in his eyes. Then it was gone and his face looked no different than it had a moment ago. But there was a new wariness in his eyes.
“Who’s Simon?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that.”
He shook his head slowly. “I told you, my name is Marcus Waters. I have no idea who Simon is.”
“You’re lying.” He’d reacted to the name, she was certain of it.
He watched her for a moment, then he nodded toward the bed. “Why don’t you sit down? I promise not to come any farther into the room. But I’m afraid you’re going to fall.”
Jessica damned her rubbery legs and spinning head, but she knew he was right. If she didn’t sit down, she would fall. And she would lose any advantage she had over him. Gingerly she moved to the bed and perched on the edge, realizing she wore nothing but an unfamiliar T-shirt. Her lack of clothing, and the knowledge that this
