Calypso Magic (Magic Trilogy 2)

"Did I give you no pleasure at all?"

She wanted to fling the fish at him. No, it was their dinner, and she didn't want it to get sand all over it. Oh, dear, sandeverywhere. "No," she said. "What would you expect if I forced you? To enjoy yourself immensely?"

He stretched out on his back again, spread-eagled, his arms out. "I'm yours. Force me."

"My body is a temple," she said inanely, harking back to Dido's off-repeated lecture when Diana had started her monthly flow at the age of thirteen.

"Behold an ardent worshiper. Incidentally, that is the most amazing thought. Do women really think like that? Lord, you make yourself sound like a holy relic."

"Isn't it you damned men who want a woman to protect herself? To be chaste and virtuous?"

"You have no worries. You will be. Except with me, your soon-to-be husband."

"And what about you, Lyon? Will you continue with your little amours?"

"I do wish you would attend me, Diana. Don't you remember? As a husband, I will be the most faithful of hounds. Shall I begin sniffing around your chemise?"

She quickly finished wrapping the grou

per in layers of palm fronds, and shoved it in among the glowing embers. She got to her feet. "I am going to find some conch. Some queen conch to be specific. Since your contribution to dinner isn't all that impressive, perhaps I can make some conch steaks."

"A woman with ambition. That pleases me. Now, as I said, my dear, I shall sleep now and garner my strength."

She could never remain angry with him long, she thought as she walked along the beach, her toes in the warm surf. He made her laugh. It would be rather nice to spend one's life with a man who made one laugh.

"Oh, dear," she said to a circling pelican, "I am losing what little sense I have left."

She made her decision late that afternoon. She left Lyon swearing as he tried to hone a rock to make a sharper spear tip. She made her way to the small pool, stripped off her chemise, and jumped in. She bathed, then washed her hair, spending ten minutes to rinse out all the sand.

When she returned to the beach, he was weaving together some more palm fronds for thatch on their shelter. It covered them, nothing else. She prayed it wouldn't rain hard, else they'd be left under collapsed fronds.

"You're getting quite proficient at that," she said, her voice a bit thin, for she was seeing him now with new and very determined eyes.

"Yes," he said absently, not looking up.

Her new eyes became a bit impatient. She'd even gotten the tangled out of her hair and carefully positioned a scarlet hibiscus over her ear. He could at least look and show his interest.

"You know," he said after a moment, still not looking up, "I dearly wish for a deck of cards. Any ideas?"

Yes, she had some ideas, but they had nothing to do with any wretched cards. "We could mark some small rocks, I suppose, and make dice."

"What a brilliant ---" His voice broke off as he looked up at her. "Lord, woman, you look good enough to eat. Better than that grouper even."

She'd gotten her wish, but found that all of a sudden she could think of nothing to say.

"This I do believe is your example of flaunting. Am I correct, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart? His voice was so smooth, the bees would mistake him for honey.

"I'm not sure," she said, relieved that she could say that much. She felt as if she were on display, a discomfiting feeling that she didn't like. To her combined chagrin and relief, Lyon merely nodded and rose.

"I do believe I'm bored. I think I'll swim a bit before dinner. See you later, Diana."

"I hope a stingray gets you," she called after him. "One barb from its tail and you'll howl like a banshee!"

Lyon didn't reply, nor did he turn around. He was grinning, a triumphant, satisfied male grin. He finally had her where he wanted her. She'd finally decided to accept him, all of him.

He hummed a sailor's ditty he'd learned from Rollo. It was about a female pirate who found her errant husband in a bordello in St. Thomas and stabbed him. He wondered if the story were true.