Deception Island

“Hurry it up,” he said.

Footsteps padded down the steps. “Where are we going?”

“A trail circles the island.” Recon plus a workout. That should stop his mind straying to places it shouldn’t.

He set off down the hard-baked path behind the villa, going slowly for Laura’s sake, though his body urged him to push harder, to the point physical effort consumed thought. As a child soldier he would spend weeks on the move, hauling a rifle, his legs whipped if he slowed. His Legionnaire training had him marching eighty kilometers from the Pyrenees almost to Carcassonne in full patrol gear, and then every year the two hundred kilometers from one end of Corsica to the other with a fifty-kilogram backpack. After Simone died, he would spend his rare leave days running near-marathon distances. Anything to get out of that haunted house with a silent son and a mother-in-law whose stoicism thinly veiled her heartbreak. Losing a child had almost broken her. Losing the grandson who’d kept her functioning would be the death of her.

That wasn’t going to happen.

“Hey, Usain Bolt, slow down. Some of us like to breathe occasionally.”

“You go in front,” he said, hanging to the left to let her pass. He stared at the back of her head, forbidding his gaze from trailing down her body again. He hadn’t even looked at a woman that way since Simone. Their relationship had been a failed experiment, and that part of him had died with her. Or so he’d thought.

After his upbringing, he should have known better than to drag anyone into the twisted debris of his life. Not only had he dragged a woman into it, but a child, too. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He’d rescue Theo, then spend the rest of his life doing nothing but protecting him—even if it meant disappearing with him and leaving behind the Legion and Simone’s family. He might never be able to show Theo the love his mother had, but he could keep the boy safe, which was more than Rafe’s own parents had been able to do.

He frowned. But a kernel of hope was still buried deep in his chest—that he could placate Gabriel, that Theo could return to Simone’s family, where the boy was safe and loved, and Rafe could go back to the Legion, where he could do the most good—and the least harm. Was he deceiving himself?

He settled into the heiress’s pace. She wasn’t tall, but her strong, regular stride was comfortable enough to follow. As they ran, she seemed to relax, as if she was equally relieved to do something physical.

The trail was reasonably clear, at least. Whoever owned the island must employ someone to keep nature from reclaiming it, though gnarled tree roots snaked across at intervals. Intended more for romantic strolling than hard running, no doubt. The jungle smelled of overripe fruit, rotting leaves, rich dirt. Nothing like the deserts and plains he’d grown up in. He closed his mouth, breathing solely through his nose to let the scent wash through him, as if it could clean the muck from his brain.

The jungle eased out into a clearing. Laura bent double and clutched her thighs. He hurriedly pulled focus from the bottom of her shorts, which had ridden up almost to her butt cheeks. Merde.

“I need a rest,” she panted.

“We’ve just started.” He lowered the bag to the ground. “Two minutes. Have a drink.”

As she recovered, he dropped to the dirt and started push-ups, willing his muscles to burn, keeping a silent count in French. A couple of hundred followed by the same in abdominaux at the next stop would make up for the leisurely jog.

“You’re a freak,” she said, still breathless.

You have no idea.

* * *

Holly’s damn eyes wouldn’t stop staring. It was an anatomy lesson, at the least. Muscles pumped and rippled across Jack’s slick back like some kind of hydraulic machine. His biceps looked like they would burst like balloons, though he was jerking up and down so quickly she struggled to get a fix on him without bobbing her own head in time. Two greenish stones swung from leather cords around his neck, bouncing against his chest.

Just watching was exhausting. She stretched her arm in front of her and bent back her hand to ease the ache in her forearm. What was that from—holding onto the inflatable last night? Wow, this time yesterday she’d been sailing across the ocean, congratulating herself that for once something good had happened to her, and now she was on a deserted island with He-Man. One day this would be a story for her grandchildren.

Grandchildren. Hardly. She’d have to have children first, and no child deserved to share her life. And given that the only man she’d been stupid enough to love had used and betrayed her, she wasn’t gagging to start dating. Loneliness was a small price to pay for safety and freedom.

No, she’d stick to her plan, pirate kidnapping or not. In the new life she’d create, she wouldn’t be trailer trash fresh out of prison. Hell, she might even shave some numbers off her age—wipe away the lost years. She’d rent a cabin by the sea twenty miles from Nowheresville and live like a hermit. She’d find an honest job to pay the bills, and spend her free time fishing and sailing and watching movies, needing no one else to make her happy, and letting no one ruin that happiness.

Finally—finally—the capitaine sprang to his feet, barely sweating. She might as well be showering in hers. The air was so thick you could almost grab a handful and squeeze out the water, like a sponge. So much for the seduction act. She felt as sexy as a slug.

“After you,” he said, zipping up the bag.

He wasn’t even having a drink? She’d sunk half a bottle. She set out on the trail, scanning the path for snakes. He was military, no doubt, but not here in an official capacity—she’d seen no gun, he wore no uniform. A mercenary? Maybe he was part of some international security company, the kind former soldiers joined to earn big money.

There was at least one thing that might tempt a man like that to defy orders. If she enticed him to break a few rules, would his tight self-control begin to disintegrate? Sometimes, picking at a fraying end could loosen an impossible knot.

Determined as she was to leave her old skill set behind, right now it was her only weapon. Her idea of lighting a bonfire on the beach last night had come to nothing when she’d failed to find matches or a lighter. Besides, she’d fallen into a deep sleep while waiting for him to doze off, and had woken well after dawn—her best sleep in months. She’d felt oddly secure with him on guard. How dumb was that?

Throwing herself at him would be too obvious. The men she’d seduced on the job had either been so unaccustomed to female attention they couldn’t resist, or so arrogant they didn’t question it. Jack wasn’t arrogant or insecure. His confidence came from deep within, but he had troubles down there, too. And with troubles came weaknesses.

The path began to climb. After a few minutes her breath became ragged. The canopy lightened up and the air temperature seemed to surge with each step. She slowed to a walk, clutching her sides.

“I’m done.”

“Good timing.” He gestured to a rustic park bench, just off the path.

“You think of everything.”

As she stumbled over the crest of the hill, the lagoon spread out below them, a pool of turquoise spilling into a mass of liquid sapphire.

“Wow,” she breathed. “You really do think of everything.”

“Sit,” he said. “Drink. Eat.”

He unzipped the bag and handed her water and a nut bar. As she unwrapped it, he glugged from his bottle, then scuffed around on a patch of long grass behind the bench.

He met her quizzical look. “Checking for snakes.”

Evidently satisfied, he dropped, rolled onto his back and tucked into swift, noiseless stomach crunches. Oh, good grief. She pried her eyes away from his abs and gratefully flopped onto the seat, sucking in the sea view instead. The line marking the horizon was fuzzier than it used to be—her eyesight had shortened in prison. Too much time staring at cinder-block walls.

She bit into the nut bar. Maybe she could seek out a spot like this in her new life and live on fish and freedom. People just brought problems—especially people with washboard stomachs.

After Jack had done about a thousand sit-ups, he sat on the other end of the seat, the musky scent of dirt and exertion wafting from him. She sneakily inhaled. What was she, a cave woman?

“You know you don’t have to impress me, right?”

He scoffed. “I don’t want to impress you. I just want to watch you. I mean, need to watch you.” She raised her eyebrow. “Guard you.” He clenched his fists.

Oh yeah, that armor was chinking. “Looks to me like you’re punishing yourself. Guilty conscience?”

“I’m keeping fit.”

“It’s more than that.” She knew that urge for physical oblivion. In prison, hard exercise was the only thing that had blotted out the anger. She’d run around the yard until she was emptied of everything—every thought, every regret—counting her steps to stop herself from thinking, like a meditation. “You’ve got issues.”

“Only Americans talk about ‘issues.’ The rest of us just call it life.”

“You kidnapped the daughter of one of the most powerful men in America. I’m thinking your issues are bigger than most.”

He studied her. Flecks of caramel swam in his chocolate irises. “And you’ve been captured by a bloodthirsty pirate. Also not the kind of problem normal people face.”

“Ever met a normal person?”

“I married a normal person.”