The Price of Pleasure (Sutherland Brothers 2)

A limb cracked nearby and tumbled against the roof, startling her. She couldn't imagine what Cammy must be going through. Though to be honest, Cammy had never voiced a fear of ships. Still..."You're a cold-blooded bastard for doing this to her."

His eyes grew dark and forbidding. His voice was brutal when he said, "You're not the first to call me that and you won't be the last. Regardless, it's logical. If I get her on the ship, I know you'll follow. And I have a responsibility to get my crew out of here."

"Cold-blooded."

"Shrewd," he grated.

"Go to hell, Captain Sutherland." She lay down and turned from him in a huff.

"Fine thanks for someone who just saved your life."

Over her shoulder, she said, "You can't imagine what I'd have said if you hadn't."

For the entire night, the storm lashed the shelter, but the hut kept out the elements flawlessly. Grant struggled to stay awake, reasoning that he wasn't sleeping alone with his ward in her room. He was guarding her, as was his duty.

At dawn, the rain abated, and Grant blearily stumbled down the ladder to check for the ship. When he found the bay empty, he scuffed to a rain trough on the side of the hut and set up to shave. Just as he finished, she walked by, changed from his stolen shirt. Her face was still pink with sleep, and the morning breeze toyed with the tips of her hair and the ragged fringe of her clothes.

"The ship hasn't returned." Her voice was raw.

"No, not yet."

"Why? It's fair weather."

"The storm might have blown them farther out. Don't be worried--this sometimes happens." Remembering the way she'd felt in his arms last night after the fall, he couldn't draw his gaze away. Even when she looked at him with disgust.

"Don't be worried? Are you jesting? I don't even know you, much less your ship or your crew. I don't know that they are good men. I don't know that they aren't sinking somewhere as we speak. Every minute that ship is missing"--her lips thinned--"is a minute I despise you more." She snagged a covered basket hanging from the platform and a broad-brimmed hat, then swished by him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"How can you think that's any of your business?" she tossed back.

"I'll simply follow you if you don't tell me."

She slowed and turned. "We've established that you've got a one in two chance of catching me." As he approached, she openly scrutinized him, as if sizing him up and finding him lacking. "I feel good about making it one in three."

Without warning, he snared her handwoven basket. His brows drew together as he recognized the leather from his boot.

To be honest, it did make a fine handle.

"Give it back!"

Holding the basket so she couldn't reach, he opened the lid to find a knife, bone hooks, some type of thin, fibrous line. "Fishing? If I were inclined to let you out of my sight--which I'm not--I would go fish and leave you here to do more ladylike things."

She hopped up and snatched it back. "Such as?"

"Perhaps mending some of the more unfortunately placed holes in your attire." He gave her blouse, where a tear gaped from the shoulder toward her chest, a pointed look.

"If I were inclined to let you out of my sight--which I've been from day one--I would leave you here and go fish since I'm much better at it than you."

He shook his head. "How do you know that? I could be a master fisherman."

Her chin shot up. "Because I'm the best ever. So no one could be better."

"Victoria, you'll learn in England that young ladies aren't usually so arrogant." He frowned, then added, "Well, they might be, but they hide it better."

"Hide arrogance." She tapped the side of her head. "There. Noted. Now, good day."

"Wait." He put his hand on her arm. "It seems to me that you'd want to keep me in sight."

She gave his hand a withering glance. "Why? If you're truly the gentleman you brag to be, then you'd never leave without me."

Damn it, he hadn't bragged. His mind cast about for some kind of leverage over her. "Listen, you want things from me--"

Her eyes widened. "I want nothing from you."

"Don't you? It's possible I could be persuaded to stop at Cape Town to break up the journey for your friend and find a doctor."

"If I did what? Let you kiss me again?"

He felt himself flush. "That...that was a mistake. It won't happen again."

"You don't know how right you are about that," she said vehemently.

Was it so terrible for her to be kissed by me? "I was thinking more along the lines of cooperating with me, and staying close by." She was an easy read. Her emotions warred on her face. He knew the instant she determined to go along with him, because her face fell.

"You must swear we'll stop at Cape Town."

"I swear it."

"I'll agree to it, but"--she put her weight on one leg and cocked her hip in a saucy stance--"if you get in the way of my fishing, I will leave you. And it's not to be held against me."

His lips curled. "Don't worry yourself on that score, Victoria."

"We'll see," she scoffed, then whirled around to rush down a steep path--Grant following close behind her--until they came upon an inlet draped in shade. Grant had traversed this section of the island before and remembered the mangrove trees that littered the water's edge. Now he noticed the thick fish darting among their roots and the din from hungry terns racketing above the canopy.

Seeming oblivious to his presence, Victoria dropped her basket, then grabbed a spear from within a rotting tree trunk. When she walked to the bank, she stopped only to ruck up the ends of her skirt and tuck them into the waist.

He battled an urge to look around and make sure no one saw her like this. Most of her legs--her thighs--were bare. "I don't understand you at all," he said in exasperation. "You think nothing of decorum but won't be caught dead without a hat."

She shrugged as though he had it exactly.

"Aren't you embarrassed to be seen like this, or in your transparent blouses?"

She arched her eyebrows. "Noticed them, did you?"

He flushed and said gruffly, "Answer the question."

"Well, now, there's the crux of it. All my clothes are like this or worse, so would it embarrass me more for you to continue seeing what you've already seen, or for you to see me blushing and stammering when I can do nothing about it?"

"Why don't you borrow Miss Scott's, then?" he asked reasonably.

"And ruin hers as well when I have to work?"

He scowled because she had a point.

She'd already begun scanning the water, and within seconds, she lofted her spear and stabbed it down with incredible speed, then kicked it on its opposite end to display a plump fish. "I didn't sign on as your provider, Captain," she said while levering the fish off. She took a line tied to a n

earby root and looped it through the fish's gills. "If you want to eat, you better get to work."

When he snagged another spear from the trunk, she faced him, raising her chin in challenge.

Grant was reminded of two duelers meeting at dawn. But with her gauzy clothing hugging her body and her hair shining all around her face, he was terrifically outgunned.

"Ready, master fisherman?" she said, smirking.

So she wants to lay down the gauntlet? "Always."

Tori had studied the captain and determined that though he was brave, he was obviously miserable on the island as it worked against his straitlaced manner, his impossibly crisp shirts and shined boots. He appeared as stiff-necked as Tori was carefree. No, the captain wasn't easy; he wasn't amenable. He would not be a man who reacted well to losing. All the better when she handed him this defeat on a platter.

Though her arms were like slabs attached to her shoulders, she refused to rest. He took his first fish, and then another. She spiked two more.

Irritation stamped his face and settled in tight lines. The madder he appeared, the more of his clothes were yanked off. First, his broad hat, so he wouldn't have to remove it to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. Then his shirt. Then his boots, so he could wade deeper. She wondered for a moment if he was trying to distract her--it was effective--but seeing how intent he was on his catch, she discounted the idea.

Tori brushed her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand and surreptitiously surveyed him, noting how his lean body flexed, then stilled just before he launched his spear. Her gaze followed his long arms raised above him as he stretched afterward. When he leaned back to dunk his head underwater, the muscles in his bronzed torso tightened, and her lips parted.

Tori frowned. She hadn't ever wondered if she could acclimate to society--she'd just assumed she could do anything necessary of her--but now she felt a pause. She was beginning to see that there was a yawning gap in her knowledge, that there were questions she couldn't begin to divine answers for. Like how was it possible to detest a man and yet get more pleasure from simply looking at him than she'd ever known? What she felt when she watched him move--was it attraction? Or even lust, when she wanted to put her hands on him? Why had she momentarily enjoyed his kiss when she hated him? Mysteries all, she thought with a sigh.

When he caught another fish, Tori impatiently marshaled her thoughts, determined to win. They were tied when her arms finally gave out completely. Yet he continued, spear raised, waiting, waiting. The fish must be huge for him to take so much time with it. She shrugged. Though she'd have one fewer overall hers were still larger. She took pleasure in knowing they were competing by total pounds, not quantity. Even if he wasn't aware of that fact.