Àre you all right?’ she yelled in his ear.
`Just hold on tight, Ms Winters.’
The formality was absurd in the circumstances. He was all that stood between her and possible death. This stranger who’d appeared when she was at her weakest injured, desperate and almost despairing. He’d shared his strength, giving her hope when she most needed it.
And now, wearing nothing but a swimsuit and a pair of manacles, she lay as close to him as any lover. His bulk pressed down on her like a shield against the storm’s savage fury. In the process she was discovering the unique imprint of his body, learning the impressively hard planes and lean muscle of this superbly built stranger.
And she didn’t even know who he was.
She opened her mouth to ask his name, then shut it. He wouldn’t be able to hear her over the tumult.
Instead she did what little she could for the man who risked his life for her. She spread her fingers over the back of his head, hoping to protect him from flying debris. Then she turned her face towards his, finding primitive comfort in the haze of his breath against her skin.
Rafiq felt the moment she surrendered to the inevitable and lay quiet beneath him. The rapid beat of her heart slowed to something closer to normal and her fierce rigidity lessened. But she didn’t relax her hold. Her hands splayed protectively over his skull, as if to ward off hurt.
His lips twisted at the absurdity of the gesture.
Ms Isabelle Margaret Winters, twenty-five, of Cairns, Australia, was a remarkable woman. A fighter, determined to push herself beyond the limits of normal endurance if she had to. She didn’t give up, no matter what the odds.
She’d even tackled Dawud with his own knife!
He smiled at the memory. If they got out of this alive he’d enjoy using that piece of information.
Dawud was an old friend, but sometimes he forgot that he couldn’t make Rafiq’s decisions. He’d even tried to argue that he should stay behind with Isabelle Winters. Dawud should have known better.
Rafiq was responsible for her. He knew his duty. He’d learned early to shoulder his responsibilities and face every challenge head-on.
He shifted his weight, trying to ease the searing pain in his shoulder where something had sheared through the air and slammed into him. The movement only made him more aware of her soft body cushioning him. With her arms over his shoulders, her high breasts tilted against him. Her hips cradled him in a way that made him think of bedroom pleasures. The intimate touch of her lips against his chin made him wonder what her kisses would be like.
He was aware of her with every sense. Could feel her femininity against his hardness. Despite the grit in his nostrils, he inhaled the intriguing scent of her skin. Could imagine the taste of her on his tongue.
And he could sense her confusion and desperate fear.
He dragged his brain back to their predicament, furious at his weakness. To be distracted by a beautiful woman now, in this extremity! It was beyond all logic.
Would flying debris be the worst they’d have to endure? Or would the atoll be washed away? It was in the hands of destiny.
The thought made him recall his grandfather. The old man had firmly believed in the force of destiny. Even when he’d lost his son, Rafiq’s father, he’d remained as proud and stiff necked as ever, saying that his son’s fate had been written and blaming no one for the accident.
If the old man were alive, he’d say it was Rafiq’s fate to be on this outlying isle with Isabelle Winters.
After all, she wouldn’t be here but for Rafiq. He’d made it his business to approve personally the members of the marine survey expedition, expediting visa arrangements. Without his agreement she wouldn’t be in his country.
And now this. Guilt seared him. She was an innocent pawn in a political scheme of which she knew nothing.
The storm would delay Dawud’s return to the main island. He wouldn’t arrive before the deadline for payment of the kidnap ransom. And Dawud couldn’t send a message ahead from the inflatable with news. The radio was dead. A malfunction due to the storm or to sabotage?
Without word that the captives were safe, no one would dare countermand Rafiq’s initial order to pay the ransom if the hostages weren’t found in time.
Much as it had galled him to give in to the demand, Rafiq had known immediately that Isabelle Winters and her companion were in great peril. He knew who was behind the kidnapping. And he knew that without the ransom one or both hostages would be killed.
He refused to have that on his conscience.
He’d bring the ringleader to justice. But it would be too late to save the kidnap victims. So he’d bargained for time. Q’aroum didn’t need the international notoriety that the kidnap and execution of foreign nationals would bring. His country had a reputation for stability, for being a place where it was safe to do business. That couldn’t be jeopardized.