Stranded with the Captain Page 8

  She met his gaze, eyes wary. “What?”

  He leaned down and kissed her mouth. Her lips were salty, delicious, and Lord help him he wanted her again.

  “Just so you know, I will never be able to forget what happened last night,” he said.

  “You won’t?”

  “And neither will you.”

  She released a breath, and looked away. “No.”

  “But we can pretend.”

  “Please, let’s pretend,” she said softly.

  “Was it that awful?” he asked. He didn’t remember their sex that way, but had she just insulted him? Perhaps he was the notch in her belt. He’d heard of charters where the women staged a contest to see who could bed the captain first.

  She shrugged, and again he couldn’t read her.

  “You know it was a mistake,” she said.

  “Sure.” He lowered his arm. “One more thing.”

  She looked up again, cheeks pink.

  “Put on a lot of sunscreen today,” he said. “True redheads burn easily.”

  * * *

  FEET DANGLING OVER the side of Spree, the sun warming her shoulders, Cat did exactly what Javi suggested—applied a lavish amount of coconut-scented sunscreen to her legs and arms while hiding from her so-called friends. Deb and Joan were below, cleaning up their pancake brunch—a meal which had been a nonstop roast of both her and Javi.

  She’d begged them to let it go, but they’d had way too much fun. The captain had eaten standing up, responding to their jokes and sexual innuendo only with shrugs and grins. But she could tell by the tightening around his eyes that he was annoyed.

  She, of course, was hugely bothered by all the fuss. She hated being the center of attention. But respite was coming.

  Joan and Deb had convinced Javi to take them ashore in the dinghy to explore the island, an experience she could do without. Cat eyed the distant beach dotted with mangroves and their odd thin trunks. She needed to be alone for a while to process what had transpired on this vacation. Had she really sailed across an ocean with a dashing pirate and then had wild sex with him? Well, she wanted an adventure, and that’s what she’d gotten.

  And it had only been two days.

  Now she needed some downtime, time all to herself. Even if she only got an hour or two of solitude, afterward she’d deal with the relentless teasing better.

  Javi stood on the swim platform that hung off the stern, lowering the dinghy to the water for the trip to shore. He’d kept his word, remaining polite and courteous, as if nothing had happened between them. All would be fine if Joan and Debbie could do the same. If only.

  At the sound of an approaching boat, she looked to her right. A motor yacht had joined them in the anchorage. She could see two figures on deck, but they were so far away she couldn’t tell if they were men or women. Sandra Lou was written on the stern.

  She glanced back to Javi and found him eyeing the Sandra Lou through binoculars.

  As if he sensed her attention, he lowered the glasses and smiled at her.

  And there it was, that tug of attraction she got every time she looked at the man. What was wrong with her? Obviously sex with him hadn’t cured her problem.

  She smiled back.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go ashore?” he called out.

  “I’m sure,” she said. “I think I overdid the excitement yesterday.”

  The dinghy apparently ready, he moved toward her.

  “It won’t be all that exciting,” he said. “Good birding if you’re into that, but there’s also a strong odor because of the rookeries.”

  “If it’s smelly, Joan and Deb won’t want to stay long.”

  He handed her the binoculars. “What are you going to do while we’re gone?”

  She shrugged. “Read. Maybe snorkel. Someone said something about conch.”

  “There’s definitely conch around. If you find any, I’ll show you how to make fritters for dinner. Make sure they’re white with pink or orange, though. Don’t collect any that are gray.”

  Joan arrived in the cockpit wearing bright blue shorts over her yellow bathing suit, and a huge straw hat. Debbie was right behind her dressed similarly and carrying a tote bag.

  “Damn, ladies,” Javi said. “You’re going to scare away the birds.”

  “Funny,” Joan said. “Have you changed your mind, Cat?”

  “No. I’m staying on the boat.”

  “But the captain will be with us,” Debbie said. “What fun can you possibly have?”

  Cat narrowed her eyes. “I’ll manage.”

  “It’s not nearly as much fun alone,” Joan said.

  “I think you’re onto something, Joan,” Deb said. “Maybe now we know why Cat likes to spend so much time by herself.”

  Javi rolled his eyes, and opened his mouth, obviously intending to add his own thoughts to the discussion.

  “Have fun, guys,” Cat said before Javi could speak. She caught his gaze and shook her head. Anything he said would only escalate the mocking. And no matter how embarrassing this was, she refused to let them bait her into a snarky comment of her own.

  Javi helped Joan and Deb into the dinghy, started the outboard, and soon the three were on their way toward Gun Cay.

  Cat closed her eyes and sent a prayer heavenward. Peace and quiet. No hunky captain interfering with her brain neurons and no annoying friends trying to prod her into things she didn’t want to do.

  She’d always been this way, feeling the need to be by herself when the world got too crazy. And that awful afternoon in the convenience store had only increased her aversion to crowds. Not that Joan and Debbie were a crowd. And most times she was fine with small groups of friends. Just not today.

  Maybe they ought to go home. The more she thought about leaving, the more she liked the idea. She’d had her adventure, and look where that had led. Now she’d be all awkward and weird around the captain the rest of the trip. How much fun would that be? Not much. He probably thought she was some free spirit who jumped into bed with men all the time, but nothing could be farther from the truth.

  Would Joan or Debbie be upset if she asked to cut the charter short? Neither one was having the best time. If the island stunk as bad as Javi alleged, they’d probably jump at the chance to return to Florida.

  She nodded, relieved with her decision. She’d break the news she wanted to leave when everyone got back from Gun Cay.

  Feeling better, Cat positioned herself in the shade of the mast, placed several large cushions behind her back and stretched out her legs. The dinghy putt-putted toward land, the noise thankfully diminishing every second. When comfortable, she opened the book she’d brought, a novel her mother had raved about.

  She awoke with a start when the book fell off her lap onto the deck. She’d only gotten ten pages in before she’d fallen asleep. With a sigh, she put the book aside. She should have known she wouldn’t enjoy a story her mother recommended.

  She raised the binocs and focused on the island, quickly spotting the dinghy on the narrow beach. Joan and Deb were stretched out on their towels soaking up the sun. So much for birding or hiking to search for buried treasure. Javi wasn’t in sight.

  From the angle of the sun, they’d been gone maybe two hours. Hopefully they’d remain a little longer.

  Cat swung the field glasses toward the new boat in the anchorage, but no one was on deck. They were likely doing what she should have done after her crossing—sleeping below. If she had, she wouldn’t be the brunt of constant jokes from her friends.

  Maybe it was her imagination, but the Sandra Lou seemed closer. Had her anchor dragged? Probably a trick of the light. The water was so clear distances were deceiving.

  Sweat trickled between her breasts. The sun had traveled across the sky w
hile she dozed, leaving her without the benefit of shade. She stood and stretched her arms high overhead, feeling much less stressed if a little too warm.

  So why not cool off by hunting for conch or whatever else might be on the bottom? This would be her only chance to snorkel if her friends agreed to leave.

  She went below to grab her gear and a dive flag, lowered the ladder and jumped into the cool water to search the ocean floor for treasure.

  * * *

  HIS THIGH ACHING from too much activity, Javi returned to the two women on the beach after a hike into the interior of Gun Cay. As expected, he hadn’t seen much of interest other than the usual seabirds. The abandoned lighthouse looked the same as the last time he’d seen it. He shouldn’t have stressed his leg by going so far, but the thought of remaining on the beach and listening to Joan and Deb’s constant sniping had driven him inland.

  He slowed his pace as the narrow sandy beach came into sight.

  He envied Irish, safely out of earshot on Spree. The woman knew what she was doing when she’d remained behind.

  Truth was he did want to be alone with her. They needed to talk, get things straight between them. She’d developed a lot of misconceptions about him that he hadn’t bothered to correct. Why bother? He let all Marlin’s charterers believe he was some kind of slacker, but he liked Irish, Cat, whatever her name was. The woman had what one of the trainers at Quantico called grit.

  He didn’t want her to believe he set out to bed all his charterers, that she was just another in a long string of conquests. Although he couldn’t figure out why it bothered him that she thought so.

  He called out to the women when he emerged from the trail through the mangroves.

  “There you are,” Joan said. “Thank goodness.”

  “We’re ready to go,” Debbie said. “It seriously stinks on this island.”

  Javi nodded. He’d warned them about the odor from so many roosting birds.

  He helped them load their gear into the dinghy and ferried them back to the boat, the noise from the outboard thankfully preventing any conversation. Spree looked good as they approached, setting well on her anchor, which hadn’t dragged an inch.

  As they grew closer, he spotted a dive flag in the water near the starboard side. Irish must be in the water. Pleased she’d listened to his safety instructions about always putting out a flag to warn boats in the area, he maneuvered the dinghy next to Spree.

  As soon as Joan and Debbie stepped on board, they hurried to the galley to blend a pitcher of margaritas. After he’d lashed the dinghy into place on its davits—deciding to oil the squeaky mechanism later—he grabbed the binoculars out of their holder in the cockpit and searched the anchorage for Irish.

  Maybe fifty feet away he saw her snorkel jutting into the air and the gentle splash of the plastic fins on her feet. He noted she’d put on a T-shirt.

  He flashed to how luminous her pale, flawless skin had been beneath him in the pale light of his cabin and lowered the binocs. Maybe he needed a cool shower.

  With a shake of his head, he went below.

  “Cat’s missing again,” Joan said as Debbie poured a thick, frosty mixture into two glasses. “What have you done with her?”

  “She’s snorkeling,” he told her.

  “Oh, I hope she finds some conch,” Debbie said.

  “Could be,” Javi said. “If you ladies need anything, I’ll be in my cabin.”

  “Don’t worry,” Joan said in a saccharine voice. “I’m sure Cat will be back soon to join you.”

  Without replying, Javi entered his cabin and locked the door. He collapsed onto his bunk and stared at a clear blue sky through the open hatch overhead. His injured thigh still ached, but had subsided. He could take a painkiller, but the meds dulled his senses and he was responsible for this boat and the three women who’d hired it.

  Four more days until this charter ended. Four long days of listening to Joan and Debbie rag on Irish. All the unwanted attention really bothered the redhead.

  What would they want to do now? The trip ashore had been a bust. Although they weren’t alone in the anchorage anymore, the area was pleasant enough and they could remain here. Marlin said these charterers mostly wanted to just chill. He could offer a return to Alice Town. They could sail back to the Keys or make the shorter trip to Fort Lauderdale. NOAA still predicted a storm, so they’d have to schedule any crossing around its arrival.

  One thing for sure, he needed to stay out of the women’s way as much as possible.

  Footsteps on the companionway told him Joan and Debbie had entered the cockpit with their ’ritas.

  Javi reached for a book on forensic pathology, determined to shut out their voices. No such luck. They commented on how peaceful the anchorage was, how great the weather, how smelly the beach. “Look at our new neighbor,” Joan said. “I swear that boat is leaning to one side.”

  “Or you’ve had too much tequila.”

  Javi rose and looked out a porthole. No question the Sandra Lou was listing to starboard. Had she sprung a leak? If so, why hadn’t the owners tried to raise Spree on the radio? He needed to render aid.

  A terrified scream from one of the women tore his attention away from the sinking yacht. What the hell?

  “Shut up, bitch,” said a slurred male voice. “You’re giving me a damn headache.”

  Someone—someone high on something—had boarded Spree. Javi reached under the mattress for his service weapon.

  “If you do exactly what we say, you won’t be hurt,” said another male voice, this one with a Bahamian accent.

  Javi tucked his Glock into his waistband. There were two of them. What did they want?

  “Oh, my God. They’ve got guns,” Debbie said, her voice panicked.

  And they were armed. Had they come from the Sandra Lou on a dinghy looking for refuge? If so, why bring guns?

  “Who are you?” Joan asked.

  “What do you want?” Debbie demanded.

  “Your boat,” one of the intruders answered. “Is there anyone else on board?”

  Javi closed his eyes, willing the women to say no. Surprise was his best weapon.

  “Yes,” Debbie said. “Our captain is below.”

  “Come on up here, mate,” the accented voice yelled. “Or one of these women gets it right between the eyes.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CAT HEARD THE piercing scream even though her head was underwater admiring a pretty conch shell on the ocean floor. She aborted her dive, kicked to the surface and removed her mouthpiece. Treading water, she scrutinized Spree.

  Four figures occupied the cockpit: two of them her friends, two of them strange males. One black, one white.

  Who were the visitors? Not friendly or Debbie wouldn’t have screamed. How did they get on the boat? Did they swim? Drop from the sky?

  What did they want?

  The black man yelled something.

  The white male took a step back, allowing her to see a gun in his hand.

  Cat gasped, and sank below the surface, taking an unexpected swallow of salt water. Spitting, she surfaced and pushed wet hair out of her face.

  What the hell was going on aboard Spree?

  The man aimed his gun skyward. A shot crackled through the air.

  Disbelieving, Cat pumped the water with her swim fins, remaining in place. Where was Javi? Already dead? No, she hadn’t heard another shot, but maybe they’d used a knife on him. Who knew how long the men had been on Spree. She’d been oblivious, gathering the conch in her mesh bag for supper.

  She glanced to shore. Should she swim to the beach or back to the boat? She couldn’t help her friends if she joined them, but what could she do on an undeveloped island? She didn’t have a cell phone or any way to contact the—

  A
figure emerged from the hatch in the forward cabin and slipped over the side, barely making a splash as he entered the water. Javi.

  She blinked. It happened so fast she wasn’t sure what she saw had been real.

  No one in the cockpit noticed his escape, their view of the bow blocked by the cushions she’d left propped against the mast earlier.

  Disbelieving, Cat kept pumping her fins to hold her head above the water. What had Javi done? The captain had abandoned Joan and Deb to the intruders and their gun. Why would he do that?

  Because he was a coward. Disappointment surged through her, stronger than her confusion.

  And where was he now? She surveyed the anchorage, waiting for his dark head to appear. How long could he hold his breath?

  One of the men on Spree yelled something else, forcing her attention back to the boat. The white intruder hurried down into the cabin. Was he searching for the captain? Oh, my God. His partner was also waving a gun.

  What should she do?

  Javi surfaced five feet away from her and sucked a deep breath into his lungs. Treading water, he placed a finger over his mouth signaling her to stay quiet, then swam toward her.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  “Pirates have taken over Spree,” he said, breathing hard.

  She stared at him. Pirates?

  “I’m going to swim away from you. They might not know you’re out here, and it’s better if they don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Pay attention,” he said. “We need to swim to shore before they realize where we are and start shooting. Stay underwater as much as you can. Don’t use your snorkel.”

  “What about Joan and Deb?”

  “Don’t argue. Start swimming.”

  “But we can’t just leave—”

  “Swim.” After a huge breath, Javi dove underwater with a powerful kick, angling away from her.

  A shout came from Spree again. A scream from Joan this time. Oh, God. Joanie.

  The white man reemerged in the cockpit yelling something. Both men looked toward Gun Cay.