Eyes of Fire

The diver hung up, shaking. It should never have come to this.

“What?” Sam demanded.

“What was your relationship? He came to study the Beldona. You apparently told him everything you knew. You went diving with him constantly.”

“Hardly constantly,” Sam said, her eyes narrowed.

“What was your relationship?” he insisted.

Sam tried to draw away from him, her temper so fierce that she seemed to be on fire again, her entire body shaking.

But his hold on her seemed fueled by a sudden rise in his own temper. His fingers gripped her arms, his leg, thrown over her lower body, seemed like an iron bar, blocking her.

“Why are you bothering to ask me? It seems to me as if you’ve already decided what my relationship with him was. Let’s see. You think I had a baby with the man, but God forbid I should admit it. So I gave the baby to Yancy and insisted that she raise him. That’s it. Hank came to the island, and I thought, wow, I never get a chance to have a relationship, and this guy has come to stay a while. Is that what you think? What the hell difference does it make to you? What right do you even have to ask?”

“I need to know!”

“Well, you know what? That’s too damned bad, because I’m not telling you anything. Now, move. Just move. Get your leg off me.” She threw her hands between them, pressing, straining against his chest. He caught her wrists and rolled atop her to stop the rising impetus of her attack.

Her eyes met his. She wanted to kill him.

She wanted him again.

The sun was murder. Just murder.

Jerry North loved it, but she knew too well what it did to the skin. She’d showered, and now she stroked lotion over the length of her body.

She was in pain.

Not in the flesh, but in the spirit.

And, of course, she knew of no way to ease that pain.

She had made her own choices in life. She couldn’t complain of rough beginnings, of having been an abused child. She couldn’t blame her actions, her choices, on anyone but herself. She could only blame them on being young. Foolish. On not seeing the forest for the trees. And then…

Well, then it always seemed that one mistake led to another. That once a bad path was chosen, it led farther and farther into ruts and bogs, darkness…even terror.

And now…

Now she could lie down and cry for a week straight. Now she almost longed to die from the pain that filled her, the pain of what she had done and, worse, the pain of what could have been.

She wasn’t evil. She knew that. But she had lived in the miasma of evil, and she had not remained unscathed. For her now, there was nothing left but the mechanics of going through day-to-day life. Washing, bathing, dressing. Eating, breathing. Responding.

Watching, and living in the hope that she could, having learned from her mistakes, perhaps keep the blood of evil from touching others.

Still wrapped in her towel, she sat at the foot of the bed, mechanically applying coral polish to her toes.

She realized suddenly that Liam had come into the room, that he was standing in front of her, his hands on his hips, staring at her.

“You’re going to dive.”

She didn’t reply.

“God damn you, bitch, you’re going to dive!”

Jerry shrugged.

Then she gasped, stunned from her self-absorption as the back of his hand came flying against her jaw, the force stinging and powerful enough to send her flat against the bed, staring up at him.

Forgotten, the bottle of polish rolled to the floor.

Liam leaned over her, jaw locked, eyes cold. “You are going to dive. And you are going to get me to that ship.”

She tried to crawl away from him, but he caught her by the ankles, flipping her violently onto her back again. He smiled. Gripped her ankles harder to drag her closer to him. She didn’t know if he meant to strike her again or force himself on her.

She didn’t know if she saw much of a difference between the two choices at that moment.

Either way, he would hurt her.

And either way, he would be careful not to leave a bruise.

She lay sleeping.

Propped up on one elbow, Adam watched Sam, smiling bittersweetly. She had to be completely on edge, but Sam was tough, cool, independent. Life had to be taking its toll, but she just kept moving right through it.

But now her exhaustion was evident. Not that they hadn’t expended a fair amount of energy between fighting and making love. It was just that the level of tension between them always seemed to remain so high.

Words were exchanged so heatedly. Okay, so maybe he was an ass. Maybe a great bout of sex shouldn’t be followed up by a question about a previous lover. It was just weighing so damned heavily on his heart and mind. He was wondering on the one very painful hand just what had befallen Hank, and then on the other hand wondering what had gone on between Hank and Sam. And then there was the question of the baby.

No question. That child was Hank’s. There should have been a question, he knew. Most babies just looked like little old men. Sometimes they were bald, sometimes they had hair, but they always had big eyes and round, creased faces. They didn’t look like anybody.

This baby was a dead ringer for Hank.

His heart seemed to squeeze. Someone had to be able to tell him. Someone had to know. He had to know. He itched to hold the baby. He wondered if he would break down if he did. He couldn’t let himself break down. Why ruin a perfectly good image?

So, Sam, what the hell went on? he longed to demand. He wanted to shake the truth out of her. To wake her up and force her to tell him.

He smiled at the thought. If she wasn’t ready to tell him, she wouldn’t tell him.

He moved a hand gently over her bare arm. She didn’t move. She was sleeping so deeply. A slight tremor shot through the length of his frame. Damn, it had been good. She reeked of sensuality. He would never forget the first time he’d seen her. He’d arrived on the island in much the same fashion as he had this time, completely undercover. She’d been in a yellow bathing suit that day, and she’d climbed atop the mainmast of a friend’s sailboat. A barefoot, hoydenish daredevil, diving into the depths below from the mast. She’d been a picture of grace and beauty, so natural, so fluid. Diving into the water, rising from it. Seeing him. Flirting. She’d been an outrageous flirt. And he’d been good, so damned good at first. He’d tried to explain things to her. But it hadn’t mattered.

He’d tried to keep his distance from her, but the attempt had been no good at all. He’d fallen in love. Any emotion he’d felt for another woman paled at what she awoke within him. Still, he’d meant to do everything the right way. Once he’d been in love, he’d planned on telling Becky the truth. But then Becky had shown up on the island, and Sam had thrown him out before he’d had a chance to explain anything to anyone.

He wasn’t in the clear. Older and wiser now, he knew he’d handled things wrong, no matter what his intentions had been.

Oh, well. At least he and Becky had made a clean break. He’d thrown himself into work. Becky had married a banker, and now she lived in Palm Beach and had two cute kids. The right life for Becky.

He shook his head, smiling, remembering the past. I’m sort of involved, he’d tried to tell her. There had been horror on her face. Oh, my God, you’re married? That had been easy to deal with. His answer had been, No, but…

Somehow, he hadn’t gotten to the “but” part of it. He had wound up naked with her on the sand, feeling the sun striking them both, warming them against the coolness of the water sweeping over their limbs.

It had been easy to forget what he should have been saying.