smile. A dazzling grin that lit the uncompromising angles of his face into a less austere, but still riveting male beauty. Dazed, Belle’s eyes widened. She’d thought him sexy before. Now he was simply stunning.
No real-life pirate had ever looked that good!
‘Your patience has been rewarded,’ he said, dropping the metal to the floor. ‘And just in time.’ The rain had arrived, a thunderous downpour that swept in through the door and gushed through the holes in the roof. Belle shivered as her covering grew wet. The wind was notching up too. Soon they wouldn’t be able to hear each other.
‘My hands…’ He shook his head and held up the discarded lock. The tool he’d used had broken, jammed in the rusty metal.
Hope died in her breast, flattened by the solid weight of despair. Would she ever escape this nightmare? It grew worse and worse by the hour.
‘No time,’ he said as he hefted the torch, directing its beam upwards. It played over the roof that heaved like a living thing. And then the bulging walls.
She heard a whisper of a curse from the man before her. Then he was on his feet, shouldering his backpack.
He loomed before her, big and solid. She caught a glimpse of his determined face before he bent and the light went out. Then his hands were on her, pulling her up. ‘Lift your arms,’ he said in her ear.
She felt the brush of his hair against her arms. He pulled her wrists so that she strained up against him, her arms encircling his head. Then he lifted her in a single easy movement, tucking her close. A wall of solid muscle supported her, warmed her. Strong arms bound her and she sank gratefully into him, finding comfort in his strength and the steady, calming rhythm of his heart.
Despite the roar of the storm, the living pulse of the waves smashing on the shore, she could almost believe nothing bad would happen while she was with him.
‘It’s not safe here,’ he shouted over the screeching wind. ‘Hold on tight.’ He turned and strode out through the door.
And then the storm swallowed them.
CHAPTER TWO
THE maelstrom buffeted them, almost knocking him to the ground. How he managed to steer a course for whatever shelter he’d found, she couldn’t imagine. But his arms held her in a grip of steel as if he’d never let her go.
She buried her head into the base of his neck, shielding herself from the stinging sand. His skin was wet, slick, and scented with something she suspected was unique to him. The heavy thump of his heart, regular and strong, tempered the fear that crowded in on her.
He lowered her on her back into what felt like a hollow in the sand. As she settled in the dip he lay down above her. He was taller, broader, more solid than she. He covered her completely, a barrier against the terrifying wind that roared through the night. It was difficult to draw breath with him pressing down on her. Sand clogged her nostrils and her breathing came in rapid pants. She had to calm herself, slow her breathing.
She had to get free. She moved to slide her hands over his head. Immediately one large hand clamped hers.
‘Leave them.’ His lips brushed her ear. ‘Less likely to be separated.’
The wind escalated to a scream, and through the din she thought she heard another sound, a heavy thud beside them.
The man above her flinched and sagged onto her, heavier than before. For a moment he was limp, squashing her down into the sand. Then he gathered himself and lifted his torso just enough so she could breathe again.
‘Are you all right?’ she yelled in his ear.
‘Just hold on tight, Ms Winters.’
The formality was absurd in the circumstances. He was all that stood between her and possible death. This stranger who’d appeared when she was at her weakest: injured, desperate and almost despairing. He’d shared his strength, giving her hope when she most needed it.
And now, wearing nothing but a swimsuit and a pair of manacles, she lay as close to him as any lover. His bulk pressed down on her—a shield against the storm’s savage fury. In the process she was discovering the unique imprint of his body, learning the impressively hard planes and lean muscles of this superbly built stranger.
And she didn’t even know who he was.
She opened her mouth to ask his name, then shut it. He wouldn’t be able to hear her over the tumult.
Instead she did what little she could for the man who risked his life for her. She spread her fingers over the back of his head, hoping to protect him from flying debris. Then she turned her face towards his, finding primitive comfort in the haze of his breath against her skin.
Rafiq felt the moment she surrendered to the inevitable and lay quiet beneath him. The rapid beat of her heart slowed to something closer to normal and her fierce rigidity lessened. But she didn’t relax her hold. Her hands splayed protectively over his skull, as if to ward off hurt.
His lips twisted at the absurdity of the gesture.
Ms Isabelle Margaret Winters, twenty-five, of Cairns, Australia, was a remarkable woman. A fighter, determined to push herself beyond the limits of normal endurance if she had to. She didn’t give up, no matter what the odds.
She’d even tackled Dawud with his own knife!
He smiled at the memory. If they got out of this alive he’d enjoy using that piece of information.
Dawud was an old friend, but sometimes he forgot that he couldn’t make Rafiq’s decisions. He’d even tried to argue that he should stay behind with Isabelle Winters. Dawud should have known better. Rafiq was responsible for her. He knew his duty. He’d learned early to shoulder his responsibilities and face every challenge head-on.
He shifted his weight, trying to ease the searing pain in his shoulder where something had sheared through the air and slammed into him. The movement only made him more aware of her soft body cushioning him. With her arms over his shoulders, her high breasts tilted against him. Her hips cradled him in a way that made him think of bedroom pleasures. The intimate touch of her lips against his chin made him wonder what her kisses would be like.
He was aware of her with every sense. Could feel her femininity against his hardness. Despite the grit in his nostrils, he inhaled the intriguing scent of her skin. Could imagine the taste of her on his tongue.
And he could sense her confusion and desperate fear.
He dragged his brain back to their predicament, furious at his weakness. To be distracted by a beautiful woman now, in this extremity! It was beyond all logic.
Would flying debris be the worst they’d have to endure? Or would the atoll be washed away?
It was in the hands of destiny.
The thought made him recall his grandfather. The old man had firmly believed in the force of destiny. Even when he’d lost his son, Rafiq’s father, he’d remained as proud and stiff-necked as ever, saying that his son’s fate had been written and blaming no one for the accident.
If the old man were alive, he’d say it was Rafiq’s
