Master of Paradise (41 page)

“What are you thinking?” he asked, pausing as
he noted the dreamy look in her eyes.

“I was thinking of that night you left me to
come here,” she said. “You rowed me that night as well. Do you
remember?”

“I remember well. I knew then what you
didn’t—that it would be our last night together. Perhaps
forever.”

“We’ve had our share of last nights
together,” she pouted.

“That’s over.” He gestured over his shoulder,
toward the waiting island. “At last, we’re coming home.”

“Home,” she repeated, and her lips curved up
to mirror his smile.

He leaned over then, abruptly, so it rocked
the boat, and gave her a withering kiss. She melted against him,
falling slightly forward as he pulled away.

Again remembering that night, she playfully
echoed her words of long ago. “Rodrigo, don’t leave me now.”

Raising a brow, he asked, equally playful,
“Do you want me to take you right here, in this boat?”

She laughed. “No, darling. I can wait to
reach our island of love.”

When they’d finally caught a wave and ridden
it to shore, Rodrigo stepped from the boat and, knee-deep in water,
hoisted her into his arms. She laughed again as he swung her over
the tide and up onto the lustrous white beach. The sand took on the
hues of sunset, streaked with pink and orange and a touch of gold,
shadowed by the swaying palms.

Setting her on her feet, he quickly beached
the boat, then picked her up again and kissed her hard. “Let’s go
to the house,” he said.

He carried her to where the beach met a lawn
of new-mowed grass. And beyond it, framed in a grove of sheltering
trees, was the house of Rodrigo’s youth, a house he hadn’t been in
for over twenty years, except as an intruder, sneaking up the
trellis. Now, together, they could walk in the front door and claim
it as their own.

Recalling the other time she had been here,
Gabrielle suddenly stiffened in hesitation. Feeling it, he asked,
“Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What is it,
carícia
? Do you fear
painful memories?”

The image of Hastings lying in bed with the
slave beneath him lingered in her mind. “Perhaps. There is, after
all, an ugly association with what’s now to be our bedroom.”

He gave her an enigmatic smile. “I believe
I’ve taken care of that.”

“Have you?” She sprang up in his arms.
“How’ve you done it?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see. Do stop
squirming, or I’ll be forced to drop you on the lawn.”

He carried her to the massive banyan tree. Up
close, it was spectacular, with its ancient roots climbing the
trunk, the split in the middle forming a natural pathway to the
house. “That tree has been here for hundreds of years,” he told
her. “My grandfather built the house around it.”

He carried her through. Then up the steps of
the open porch. There, Maya and Kaninu waited with smiles
brightening the ebony of their faces. “Welcome to your new home,
msabu.
” Then to Rodrigo, “Everything is in readiness,
Mkombozi,
just as you requested.”

Rodrigo and Kaninu began to speak Swahili
and, though Gabrielle couldn’t understand what they said, she
gathered that something special had been prepared for her. From
Maya’s giggles, she also gathered that the surprise was somewhat
scandalous.

“What have you done?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

“Then show me now. I can’t wait.”

He carried her over the threshold like any
bride, then up the bamboo stairs. She caught an impression of open
rooms built around the spectacular views. But there would be time
to explore her new home later. For now, all she could think of was
the surprise.

She couldn’t imagine what it might be.

At the door of their bedroom, he paused and
gave her a decidedly wicked grin. Kaninu and Maya had followed them
up the stairs, whispering. He turned then and, in a mockingly
austere voice, ordered them away. They left, but it was clear from
their smiling faces that they weren’t offended. They kept tossing
mischievous glances back her way.

“It isn’t much,” he warned her. “You won’t
find doubloons strewn about your bed, or any such pirate
nonsense.”

She laughed. “I’m the wife of a governor now.
I don’t associate with pirates!”

He joined in her laughter. “Just don’t expect
too much.”

He threw the door open, then shifted her in
his arms and carried her inside.

Even before he set her down, she gasped her
delight. For there, against the back wall, beneath his
grandfather’s pirate swords, was the massive four-poster bed,
blatantly dressed in bright scarlet sheets.

“Rodrigo, you remembered!”

She scrambled from his arms and ran to the
bed, digging her hands into the silk of the sheets as she’d once
buried them in the silken Seychelles sand. “Oh, they’re heavenly. I
can’t wait to—” She looked up to find him smiling his gratification
at her enchantment.

“An unseemly display from the wife of a
governor.”

“You haven’t
begun
to see my unseemly
display. Take your clothes off.”

“Aren’t we impatient?”

“I always wanted to see you naked against
these scarlet sheets.”

He obliged her by undressing, but he was too
slow for her tastes. She went to him and ripped the studs from his
governor’s shirt and yanked the fine broadcloth of his magistrate’s
trousers so they fell in a ball at his feet. Finally he was
unclothed, standing before her in all his hard-coiled glory, all
gilded and godlike, as if his body had been molded from gold for
the express purpose of giving pleasure to her eyes. Looking like
the pirate once again.

He flopped back on the bed. The scarlet silk
threw his body into beautiful relief. “I could just stare at you
all night.”

Outside, the orange glow had receded, and
deep violet had taken its place.

“I didn’t arrange for this so you could look
and not touch,” he scolded gently. Then, opening his powerful arms,
he beckoned her to the bed.

All hesitation vanished, she padded across
the room and took a flying leap, landing on him. His breath left
his body as she pounced, eliciting a gentle roar. Seizing her in
his arms, he rolled her onto her back and pinned her flat. “I
wonder,” he growled, “how you look naked against scarlet
sheets?”

As his hands moved on her clothing, she began
to giggle.

“Cracking good fun, is it?” he teased.

“Oh,
cracking!
” she squealed.

But as his knees nudged aside her thighs, her
laughter died in her throat. She felt her pulse racing beneath the
masterful roving of his hands, the hard insistence of his golden
arousal. Awash with joy, she kissed him fiercely, then whispered in
his ear, “
Now I have my paradise!
”

The End

Katherine O’Neal is the
USA Today
best-selling author of 12 historical romances. She’s the recipient
of
Romantic Times’
award for best Sensual Historical Romance
and the magazine’s Career Achievement Award. She is married to
best-selling author and film critic William Arnold. Together they
travel the world researching their various books. Katherine has
intimately experienced every one of her novels’ settings, so she
might see those exotic worlds through her characters’ eyes.

Visit Katherine:

BLOG: www.katherineoneal.wordpress.com

TWITTER: @Katherine_ONeal

FACEBOOK: KatherineONeal.Books

Cover Design by Branko Arsov

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