She really had a bad feeling about this now. Foreboding sliced through her. She hunched lower under the protection of her blanket.
`There’s a storm coming this way. A cyclone.’ His voice was steady, unemotional.
Her heart plunged and her hands clamped, white-knuckled with effort as she willed herself not to shake.
`Dawud’s left. He should just have time to reach port before it becomes too dangerous. But it would be suicide for him or anyone else to return tonight.’ The buccaneer scrutinized her, as if watching for signs of weakness. `We’ll be stranded here until the storm passes. Maybe for another twenty-four hours.’
Twenty-four hours. It sounded like a lifetime.
And, if the cyclone hit head-on, time enough to die.
She felt sick with disappointment after the certainty she’d been rescued. Nausea welled and the swallowed hard, oblivious now to the raw abrasiveness of her throat.
At least Duncan had got away safely.
Belle stared at the man before her. His gaze was impenetrable and his utter stillness gave nothing away. Neither urgency nor the fear that would be natural in the circumstances. The fear that froze her own limbs right now.
But something about the set of his shoulders, the casual grace of his hands resting at his folded knees, told her he was ready for anything, even a hysterical woman.
She gnawed at her lip, willing the trembling to subside. She’d seen tropical cyclones as a kid on the Great Barrier Reef coast. She knew how devastating they were. Involuntarily she looked up at the barely-there roof. It shifted and groaned in the gale. `How can we prepare?’
He inclined his head and the waiting stillness left his body. As if she’d passed some test. He’d expected her to panic, had braced himself to handle a distraught woman.
He gestured to her blanket. If you’ll permit?’ When she nodded he folded it back to reveal her bare feet. She shuddered as the torchlight illuminated her, and she felt a ridiculous urge to tuck her feet back out of sight.
They were filthy with sand and dried blood. Each ankle ringed with red welts where the shackles had bitten into her skin as she moved.
In the gloom his face was impassive. Yet she read tension in his clamped jaw as he surveyed her injuries. And the air between them was electric, charged with some fierce emotion that radiated from him in waves.
Anger? Or frustration that he had this to deal with as well as the approaching storm?
She shrank further under her cotton wrap as she felt his eyes on her face. She wished she could read his expression. Instinct warned her to be wary of this man. It was crazy. She had to trust him. He was risking his life for her, a stranger. What danger could she be in from him?
Despite the fine, dusty sand swirling around them Belle could identify what had to be his own natural scent: clean male skin with a slight salt tang. She shivered.
`Shouldn’t you release my hands first?’ Then she could help strengthen the shelter. And she’d be less dependent on him. She’d feel better if she could help herself.
`Later. It’s important that your legs are free.’
Why? They had nowhere to go. And with the sea churning in the strong winds the surface of their atoll could only get smaller. It was only a couple of meters above sea level that was nothing if the cyclone hit them full-force.
The truth was sudden and horrifying.
He must have sensed the immediate tension in her. He looked up, his eyes darkly gleaming. Àre you all right?’
Oh, she was just dandy. Wearily she inclined her head. Now she understood his reasoning. It’ll be easier to swim with the shackles off,’ she said. Ìf we get swamped.’
He shifted, and the torchlight glanced off his strongly honed features. It revealed a calm certainty and a strength that, beyond all reason, reassured.
Ì will look after you,’ he said slowly. Ì promise you.’ It sounded like a pledge. In that moment she had no doubt he’d give his all to save her.
But would that be enough to preserve either of them?
`Have faith, Ms Winters,’ he said in a steady voice. Ì will see you through this. The eye of the storm is predicted to track further west. It will be unpleasant here, but we will survive it together.
Now, sit still while I do my best with the lock.’
He spread a small packet of tools beside him. Then one large, warm hand cupped her heel and she sucked in a stunned breath as her reeling senses reacted to his touch. It was impersonal, she assured herself, merely steadying her foot to give him better access to the heavy shackles.
But she couldn’t ignore the tiny, trembling waves of awareness that spread her leg. Reaction to her ordeal. That was what it was. No man, no matter how starkly sexy, had the power to generate electricity with his bare hands.