Deception Island

“Uh.” He uncrossed and crossed his legs.

Stifling a triumphant smile, she began to assemble a sandwich—ham, lettuce, tomato, olives. Anything basic and relatively fresh made her drool like a mastiff after prison food.

“Are you French, Jack? I can’t pick your accent. And I swear your English is better than mine.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple rising and dipping. “I’m a lot of things, and nothing. If I was a dog, I’d be a stray mongrel.”

Just like her. “Guess that makes me a prize Chihuahua.”

The bench shook with his laughter, deep and throaty, and only half-bitter. It did gooey things to her stomach. Man, that was so wrong.

“Pampered but scrappy as hell,” he said.

“That’s me.” Half the truth, at least.

“Your foot—it’s bleeding.”

“Really?” Blood trailed from the arch of her foot, mixing with water and grains of sand. “It’s nothing. You should have seen what I did to the shark.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“I cut myself on the coral. No big deal.”

His forehead crinkled. “We need to wash it. Coral carries dangerous bacteria and toxins. And in the tropics the last thing you want is an infection. I’ll find a first-aid kit.” He disappeared into the cabin.

She bit into her sandwich, closed her eyes and tilted her head back. The sea washed in and out, the breeze teased her face. No matter what became of her in the next week, at least she’d had the simple pleasure of this moment. In prison right now she’d be lying sleepless on her bed, trying to zone out the unvarying soundtrack of cries, groans and jeers of the other inmates. If the senator’s people hadn’t approached her, she’d be fighting a bunch of other homeless people for a spot under a freeway bridge. Here there were goddamn frangipanis. There were worse places to die—not that she planned to.

We may as well make the most of a bad situation.

Yep. They might as well.

Chapter 8 (#ulink_7db603ed-0741-53de-be23-c56b6034e4cc)

After a couple of minutes Jack’s footsteps trailed back from the cabin. “You’re not supposed to be enjoying this.”

Holly opened her eyes. He stood over her, a wry half smile imprinting a dimple in his cheek. A pirate with a dimple—who’d have thought? “You’re in my sun.”

“Sorry, your highness.”

He settled on the grass in front of her feet, his long legs sprawled, with a bowl of water and first-aid kit beside him. Crap—he intended to play doctor?

She pulled her foot under the bench. “I can do it.”

“You eat. I like having something to do with my hands. Doing nothing drives me crazy.”

She blew out a breath. When was the last time she’d willingly let a man touch her? An hour or two ago, he’d pinned her to a tree. She could let him clean a stupid cut. Laura would have no problem with someone worshiping at her feet—and it was a chance to get close to him, maybe draw him out.

“Come on, I won’t bite,” he said.

The run and swim sure had relaxed him. She inched her foot forward. He grabbed the heel and pulled it onto his knee. Awareness reverberated up her leg and pooled in a part of her that hadn’t seen action in a long time.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” he said, all business. “But I’ll give it a thorough clean.”

He poured a cloudy liquid into the bowl and directed her foot into it. It was as warm as the air surrounding them.

“This might hurt.” With a piece of gauze, he gently brushed over the wound.

She flinched.

“Painful?”

“Ticklish,” she said, through a mouthful of baguette. Thank God boredom had prompted her to raid Laura’s bathroom supplies on her last layover and wax her legs and paint her toenails, for the first time in six years.

“Suck it up, princess. The guy who taught me to do this ordered us to spend a good ten minutes cleaning coral wounds.”

“Is first aid something you were taught in the military?”

He froze. Dark eyes flicked up to meet hers. Bingo.

“Don’t look so scared,” she said. “It’s obvious you’re some kind of military man—you don’t smell bad enough to be a real pirate. I won’t tell, I promise. But I can’t help wondering how you got caught up in all of this.”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you. In fact, I’d have to kill me.”

“I’m not asking for name, rank and serial number. Just a, ‘Once upon a time there was a nice young pirate called Jack...’”

“Consider ignorance your ticket to freedom.”