Devil and the Deep Sea (2 page)

determination of that chin, and the firm, uncompromising lines of

his mouth. There was a distinct glitter, too, in those midnight-dark

eyes which Samma found distinctly unnerving.

It annoyed her, too, that he was standing over her like this, putting

her at a disadvantage. He was the kind of man she'd have preferred

to face on equal terms—although to do so she'd probably have to

stand on her crate, she thought, her mouth quirking involuntarily.

But there was no answering softness in the face of the man

towering over her. He was looking past her at the display board,

where the pirate drawing fluttered in the breeze.

He said, 'I have come to share the joke.' His voice was low and

resonant, with the faintest trace of an accent.

'Is there one?' Samma, aware that her fingers were trembling,

concentrated hard on the elaborate combination of her initials which

she used as a signature, before passing over the new sketch.

'It seems so.' His voice cut coldly across the excited thanks of the

young couple, as they paid and departed. 'They say it is always

instructive to see oneself through the eyes of another. I am not sure

I agree.'

The pirate sketch was outrageous, over the top, totally out of order,

and Samma knew that now, but she wasn't going to apologise. He'd

damned well asked for it, staring at her like that. Mentally

undressing her, she added for good measure.

She smiled lightly, and got to her feet, hoping he'd step back and

give her room, but he didn't.

'An interesting philosophical point,' she said. 'Forgive me if I don't

hang around to debate it with you. It's time I took a break.'

'Ideal.' The brief smile which touched his lips didn't reach his eyes.

'I was about to offer you lunch,
mademoiselle.'

So, he was French. Samma could see Mindy listening avidly. She

said, 'Thank you, but I'm not hungry.'

She used the tone of cool, bored finality which worked so well with

the would-be Romeos at the hotel, but its only effect on this

aggravating man was to widen his smile.

'A drink, then?'

'Thanks, but no thanks.' Samma was angrily aware she was being

baited.

'Then a tour of
Allegra.
You seemed very interested in her earlier.'

'Then my interest has waned—sharply,' Samma snapped. 'And

maybe you should learn to take "no" for an answer.'

He shrugged. His skin was like teak, she noticed irrelevantly,

darkened even further by the shadowing of hair on the muscular

chest, forearms, and long, sinewy legs.

'Is that what a pirate would do? I think not.'

Before she could guess his intention, or make any more to thwart

him, he reached for her, his hands clamping on her waist, hoisting

her into the air, and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. For a

moment she was stunned, dangling there, staring down at the dusty

stones of the quay; then, as he began to move, she came to furious

life, struggling, kicking, pummelling the strong, smooth back with

her fists.

But it was like punching reinforced concrete, and he didn't even

flinch. To make matters worse, she could hear laughter and even a

smattering of applause from the watchers on the quay as he walked

off with her.

Mindy was her friend, but he wasn't lifting a finger to help her, and

if he imagined for one moment she relished this kind of treatment

then she would be happy to disillusion him, she thought, almost

incandescent with rage and humiliation.

She saw the slats of the gangplank beneath her. She expected that

he would put her down when they reached the deck, but she was

wrong. With alarming effortlessness, he negotiated a

companionway, and entered a big, sunny saloon. Then, at last, he

lowered her to her feet.

Breathless and giddy, she confronted him. 'You bastard!' Her voice

shook. 'How dare you treat me like that?'

He shrugged again. He wasn't smiling any more. 'You chose to hold

me up to ridicule. You can hardly complain if I make you look a

little foolish also.'

'Well, you've achieved your objective,' Samma said grimly. 'And

now I'm leaving.'

'But I prefer that you stay.' His voice was soft, but it held a note

which told her that he meant it. That, if she tried to leave, she

would be prevented.

'I don't know what you hope to gain by this behaviour.' With an

effort, she kept her voice steady.

'Nothing too devastating,
cherie,'
he drawled.

'Merely a companion to share some food and wine with me in the

middle of the day.'

Samma lifted her brows. 'Do you always have to resort to

strong-arm tactics when you need company? You must be

desperate.'

He laughed, showing very white teeth. 'You think so?'

No, not for a moment she didn't. This man would only have to click

his fingers and women would come running, but she was on the

ropes in this bout, and she would say or do anything to escape.

The saloon was enormous, and luxuriously furnished, but somehow

he made it seem cramped.

He was too tall, too dominating, the kind of man she would go out

of her way to avoid, and she'd been mad to provoke him with the

pirate sketch.

But there wasn't anything too major to worry about, she tried to

assure herself. After all, his employer could return at any time, or so

she supposed. And, if the going really got tough, she could always

scream for Mindy.

She gave him a straight look. 'Fine—you've had your joke. Now, I'd

like to get on with my life—quietly, and without hassle.'

'Later,' he said. 'Nothing happens on these islands around noon, or

hadn't you noticed?'

'I should do,' Samma said tartly. 'I've lived here for long enough.'

'You are a permanent resident?' His tone held a trace of surprise.

'But you certainly weren't born here. I thought you were one of the

new generation of island-hoppers, drifting from one location to the

next like a butterfly—using your—talent—to buy your living.'

There was something in his voice which told Samma he wasn't

referring to her artistic gifts, such as they were, and in spite of

herself she felt a hot blush burn her face.

'Well, you thought wrong,' she said grittily. 'And now we've cleared

up that little misunderstanding, perhaps you'll let me go. My friends

will be wondering where I am.'

He laughed out loud at that. 'Oh, I think they know—don't you?'

Samma almost ground her teeth. Why had she got involved in this

kind of verbal sparring? she asked herself despairingly. Why hadn't

she adopted her usual ploy of blank eyes and assumed deafness?

Why had she let him get to her like this?

She said quietly, 'Look, you've made your point. Is there any need

to go on—punishing me like this?'

'Punishment?' His mouth curled, drawing her unwilling attention to

the sensual line of his lower lip. 'Is that how you regard the offer of

a meal. The food on
Allegra
isn't that bad.'

'You know what I mean.' Her eyes met his directly.

'Yes, I know,' he acknowledged sardonically, 'So—what do you

suppose you deserve for your impudence in drawing me as you

did?'

'I draw what I see,' Samma flashed. 'And everything that you've said

or done since has only convinced me how right I was.'

'Is that a fact?' His voice slowed to a drawl. 'So, you really think I'm

a pirate.' He shrugged. 'Then it seems I need have no compunction.'

He moved towards her, purposefully, but without haste and Samma

backed away, until the pressure of the long, cushioned seat which

ran the length of the saloon prevented any further retreat.

'Keep away from me.' To her fury, she sounded breathless and very

young, her words more an appeal than a command.

'Make me,' he invited silkily. There was a disturbing glint in the

dark eyes as he moved closer. With one hand, he pushed her gently

down on the cushion, then sat beside her.

Samma's mouth was suddenly dry. For the first time she had to

question her actual physical ability to scream if the situation

demanded it. She wanted to look away from him, but she couldn't.

It was as if she was mesmerised—like a rabbit with a snake, she

thought hysterically. She tried to steady her breathing, to mentally

reject the effect his proximity was having on her. She could feel

prickles of sweat breaking out all over her body, allied to a strange

trembling in her lower limbs, and she tensed, bewildered by the

unfamiliarity of her own reactions.

His gaze travelled slowly and relentlessly down her body, and she

shivered as if it was his hands which were touching her. Since her

return to Cristoforo, she'd never worn a bra, considering her firm

young breasts made such a restriction unnecessary. Now, as they

seemed to swell and grow heavy against the thin fabric of her top,

she began to wish she was encased in whalebone from head to

foot—armour-plated, even.

She saw him smile, as if he'd guessed exactly what she was

thinking. His eyes continued their downward journey, resting

appraisingly on the curve of her hips, and the slender length of her

thighs, revealed by her brief white shorts.

She had never, she thought dazedly, been made so thoroughly

aware that she was female.

He said softly, 'There are many ways of taming a woman—and I am

tempted. But for an impertinent child—this is altogether more

appropriate.'

Before she knew what was happening, Samma found herself face

downwards over his knee, suffering the unbearable indignity of half

a dozen hard and practised slaps on her rear. The first was enough

to drag a startled gasp from her, and she sank her teeth into her

lower lip, pride forbidding her to make another sound.

Then, with appalling briskness, he set her upright again, his amused

glance taking in her flushed face and watery eyes.

When she could speak, she said chokingly, 'You swine—you

bloody sadist . . . '

He tutted reprovingly. 'Your language,
mademoiselle,
is as

ill-advised as your sense of humour. I have taught you one lesson,'

he added coldly. 'Please do not make it necessary for me to

administer another.'

'I'll find out who owns this boat,' she promised huskily. 'And when I

do—I'll have you fired. I'm sure your boss would be delighted to

know you take advantage of his absence by—by abusing girls in his

saloon.'

He stared at her for a moment, then began to laugh. 'Considering

the provocation, I think he would say you had got off lightly.' He

paused. 'Had you been adult, then retribution might have taken a

very different form. Perhaps you should think yourself fortunate.'

He gave her a swiftly measuring look. 'And perhaps, too, you

should leave—before I change my mind.'

'Don't worry,' Samma said thickly. 'I'm going.'

Uncaring of the few remaining rags of dignity left to her, she half

ran, half stumbled to the door, only to hear as she scrambled up the

companionway to freedom, fighting angry tears, his laughter

following her.

IF SAMMA thought her day could not possibly get any worse, she

was wrong.

She'd grabbed her drawing materials and fled back to the hotel,

evading the good-humouredly ribald teasing from Mindy and the

others. And she was halfway home when she realised she'd still left

that damned drawing pinned to the board. But wild horses wouldn't

have dragged her back there to retrieve it. Mindy would throw it

away with the rest of her unsold sketches at the end of the day.

And she would have to keep away from the waterfront until she

could be sure that
Allegra
had sailed, even though it would mean a

reduction in her small income.

Clyde was waiting for her. 'So there you are,' he said in the

grumbling tone which had become the norm in the past year. 'That

blasted Nina won't be in tonight, so you'll have to take her place.'

Samma was still quivering with reaction. Flatly, she said, 'No.'

His sunburned face went a deeper shade of brick-red. 'What do you

mean—no?'

'Exactly what I say.' She glared back at him. 'I hate being in the

club, and I won't sit with the customers and encourage them to buy

expensive drinks they can't afford. It's degrading.'

'When I want your moral judgements, I'll ask for them,' Clyde

snapped. 'You don't pick and choose what you do round here, and