Devil And The Deep Sea

He was the image, she thought contemptuously, of some old-time pirate chief, surveying the captive maiden from his quarter-deck. He only needed a cutlass and a parrot—and she would give them to him!

Her mouth curving, she drew the preliminary outline, emphasising the stranger’s nose almost to the point of caricature, adding extra rakishness with earrings, and a bandanna swathed round that shock of dark hair. She transformed his expression of faint amusement into an evil leer, gave the parrot on his shoulder a squint, then pinned the sketch up on the display board behind her with a flourish.

He would never see it, of course. The boat’s owner had clearly left him on watch, and probably with good reason. Only a thief bent on suicide would want to tangle with a physique that tough, and shoulders that broad.

She had a quick, retentive eye for detail, but it annoyed her just the same to find how deeply his image had impressed itself on her consciousness. One eyeball-to-eyeball confrontation and a quick sideways glance, and she’d been able to draw him at once, whereas she normally allowed herself a much more searching scrutiny before she began. Yet this sketch had worked, even if it was a shade vindictive.

And, in its way, it turned out to be a good advertisement. People strolling past stopped to laugh, and stayed to be drawn themselves. They seemed to like the element of cartoon she’d incorporated, although Mindy, loping across with a slice of water melon for her, raised his brows when he saw it, and murmured, ‘Friend of yours, gal?’

‘Figment of my imagination,’ she retorted cheerfully.

Another swift glance had revealed, to her relief, that the rail of the boat was now deserted. Doubtless he’d remembered the owner didn’t pay him for standing about, eyeing up the local talent, she thought, scooping a handful of hair back from her face with a slim, suntanned hand.

She was putting the finishing touches to the portrait of a pretty redhead with amazing dimples, undoubtedly on honeymoon with the young man who watched her so adoringly, when a shadow fell across her pad.

Samma glanced up in irritation, the words ‘Excuse me’ freezing unspoken on her lips.

Close to, he was even more formidable. Distance had cloaked the determination of that chin, and the firm, uncompromising lines of his mouth. There was a distinct glitter, too, in those midnight-dark eyes which Samma found distinctly unnerving.

It annoyed her, too, that he was standing over her like this, putting her at a disadvantage. He was the kind of man she’d have preferred to face on equal terms—although to do so she’d probably have to stand on her crate, she thought, her mouth quirking involuntarily.

But there was no answering softness in the face of the man towering over her. He was looking past her at the display board, where the pirate drawing fluttered in the breeze.

He said, ‘I have come to share the joke.’ His voice was low and resonant, with the faintest trace of an accent.

‘Is there one?’ Samma, aware that her fingers were trembling, concentrated hard on the elaborate combination of her initials which she used as a signature, before passing over the new sketch.

‘It seems so.’ His voice cut coldly across the excited thanks of the young couple, as they paid and departed. ‘They say it is always instructive to see oneself through the eyes of another. I am not sure I agree.’

The pirate sketch was outrageous, over the top, totally out of order, and Samma knew that now, but she wasn’t going to apologise. He’d damned well asked for it, staring at her like that. Mentally undressing her, she added for good measure.

She smiled lightly, and got to her feet, hoping he’d step back and give her room, but he didn’t.

‘An interesting philosophical point,’ she said. ‘Forgive me if I don’t hang around to debate it with you. It’s time I took a break.’

‘Ideal.’ The brief smile which touched his lips didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I was about to offer you lunch, mademoiselle.’

So, he was French. Samma could see Mindy listening avidly. She said, ‘Thank you, but I’m not hungry.’

She used the tone of cool, bored finality which worked so well with the would-be Romeos at the hotel, but its only effect on this aggravating man was to widen his smile.

‘A drink, then?’

‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Samma was angrily aware she was being baited.

‘Then a tour of Allegra. You seemed very interested in her earlier.’

‘Then my interest has waned—sharply,’ Samma snapped. ‘And maybe you should learn to take “no” for an answer.’

He shrugged. His skin was like teak, she noticed irrelevantly, darkened even further 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?’