Lola Carlyle Reveals All

of her situation sank deeper into the pit of her stomach.

There was no way off the boat. At least not tonight. There was probably a life raft somewhere, but she wasn’t so stupid or irrational that she would leave a forty-seven-foot yacht in the middle of the night in favor of a rubber dingy. Even if the yacht did come with a crazy man. She was stuck, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. There was no way off the boat. No way out. For the first time that night, she was truly helpless.

She was at the mercy of the currents and a kidnapping pirate.

Lola woke with the sun warming her left cheek. For a moment she forgot where she was and almost rolled off the bench seat. She opened her eyes to the blinding Caribbean sun and rolled onto her back. Disoriented, she shut her eyes for a moment before everything came back to her in one horrifying blast. The fear and helplessness grabbed at her stomach, and she abruptly sat up. She looked down at her blouse twisted around her waist; her pashmina covered one of her bare legs before trailing to the deck. Lola glanced through the open door of the galley as she sat up and pulled the ends of the red cashmere wrap around her hips. Her flashlight lay on the seat, but the knife was gone. She glanced around for Baby and didn’t see him. She didn’t see Max, either, but she heard him.

“Goddamn!” he swore from the direction of the bridge. A mixture of Spanish and English cursing peppered the still morning air. Lola didn’t speak Spanish, but she didn’t need too. His tirade was followed by a series of whacks, as if he were hitting hardwood with a hammer.

Lola rose and slipped into the galley. Morning light poured in through the tinted windows, and she found her Louis Vuitton purse on the table just as it had been the night before when she’d come in here searching for a weapon-everything inside was dumped out.

The thumping continued, and she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Not only had the jerk kidnapped her, he’d gone through her things. Within the mess on the table, she found a safety pin and pinned her pashmina together above her left hip. She took down her hair from the night before, then snagged her brush before shoving everything back into her bag.

As she brushed the tangles from her hair, she walked through the salon and into the stateroom, quietly whistling for Baby. Patches of light landed on the rumpled bedspread and across the blue carpet. Lola looked inside the master bathroom, at the big spa tub and tarnished brass fixtures. She checked in the closet and found a few men’s shirts printed with palm trees and flamingos hanging inside along with a few tropical print sundresses, but she didn’t find her dog.

She tossed the hairbrush on the couch as she moved back through the salon. Since Baby wasn’t inside the boat, he had to be outside, and if he wasn’t outside… Her thoughts were interrupted by one final whack above her head, and she raced to the aft deck. If he hurt her dog, she’d kill him.

She climbed the stairs to the bridge two at a time, then came to a complete halt at the sight that greeted her eyes. The helm looked much worse in the light of day, black and melted, with a big hole in the center. Baby sat in the middle of the deck, so rigid he looked like he was stuffed, staring down the enemy, who sat with his back against the gunwale, his black boots spread wide, his forearms resting on his knees, and a wrench held loosely in one hand.

It was a sad fact of Baby Doll’s life that he was compelled beyond his control to take on the biggest dog. No matter size or breed. He’d obviously decided to take on Max, and the two males were locked in a staring contest, neither moving. A light breeze didn’t so much as muss Max’s short black hair or ruffle Baby’s brown fur.

“Your dog took a crap in the corner,” Max said, his voice as raspy as she remembered. He turned his attention to her, and for the first time she got a really good look at him. In the light of day, he didn’t appear much better than he had last night.

Some of the swelling in his face had gone down, but it was still puffy and very black and blue. He was only slightly less scary.

“I’m sure he couldn’t help it,” she said, determined not to show her fear. She glanced about the bridge but didn’t see a dog mess.

“I cleaned it up. But from now on, that’s your job.”

She returned her gaze to his and noticed that his eyes were blue. The same light blue of the Caribbean waves just before they hit the beach. Given his dark complexion and hair, not to mention his bruises, they were a startling contrast.

“I don’t like worthless dogs,” he said. “And yours is as about worthless as they come.”

“You’re a thief and a kidnapper, and you’re calling a little dog worthless?”

“I told you last night that I commandeered the yacht, and you aren’t kidnapped.”

Lola shrugged. “That’s what you say, but here I am. Taken against my will on a boat that doesn’t belong to you. I don’t know where you’re from, but I think in most countries around the world, that’s against the law.”

He reached behind him and grabbed the top of the gunwale. As he struggled to his feet, Lola took a cautious step back. “If you hadn’t set the helm on fire, you’d be in Florida right now all safe and cozy, with nothing more to worry about than what to order for breakfast. Or you’d be on your way to Washington, where at least one general would be kissing your ass and apologizing on the behalf of the U.S. of A. Instead you had to get hysterical and fuck things up.”

“Me!”

“Now I’m stuck in the Bermuda Triangle during hurricane season with an underwear model and a wussy dog.”

He made it sound as if the whole situation was her fault. Anger replaced her fear and she pointed a finger at him. “Now, just a minute. None of this is my fault. I was asleep when you snuck aboard and ‘commandeered’ Baby and me.”

“Probably more like passed out. I made enough noise to wake the dead.” He made a sound, half grunt, half groan, and pressed a hand to his side.

“I wasn’t passed out. I was very tired,” she defended herself, although she didn’t know why she bothered, since she really didn’t care what he thought.

“And you aren’t commandeered. The yacht was commandeered. You weren’t supposed to be here.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he interrupted her before she could speak. “And you aren’t kidnapped, either.”

“Than what am I?”

He shook his head. “Offhand, I’d say you’re a real pain in the ass.”

Baby, having finally given up on the stare-down, scrambled over to Lola and she picked him up. She didn’t even bother with a reply, and instead turned on her heels and left him alone on the bridge. She had more important concerns than arguing with a deranged kidnapper.

There had to be a way to signal a rescue vessel, she thought as she entered the galley and dug around until she found a box of granola bars in one of the cabinets. She chose honey nut for herself, cinnamon crunch for Baby, and slid behind the dinette table. She would have killed for a cup of coffee, and once again thought of the knife in the buckskin-colored sheath. He must have taken it from her while she slept. She wanted it to back. As she polished off her breakfast, Max entered the galley, seemingly filling the space with his broad shoulders and dark energy. “Do you have my knife?” she asked.

“Yep.” He tore into the box of granola bars and added, “I took it back.”

“I need it.”

He ripped open a honey nut and raisin and looked at her. “Why?”

“I just do.”

“Are you going to stab me in the back while I’m not looking?”

“No.”

His blue eyes stared into hers as he reached behind him and pulled the knife from the waistband of his pants. “Sure you won’t,” he said, and took a step toward her. She sank back into the seat cushions as he set the knife on the table.

“You can stop that.”

“What?”

“Jumping like I’m going to attack you.”

“I’m not.” But she knew she was, he frightened her, no doubt about it. She estimated him to be at least six-