The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 metres 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. ‘Are 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. ‘If 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.
‘I will look after you,’ he said slowly. ‘I 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. ‘I 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 up 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.
She shut her eyes to block out the image of his dark head bent low over her, the light gilding the aristocratic ridge of his cheekbone and glinting on the barbaric-looking ring at his ear.
The gale roared around their refuge and the air swirled, heavy with grit, presaging the devastation fast approaching. Yet tucked in this corner, her world limited to the scope of a torch beam, she felt cocooned in a fragile, dream-like world. Protected by this remarkable man.
Remarkable? She didn’t know anything about him except for his extraordinary good looks. And his palpable aura of authority. The sense that he would cope: not just survive, but triumph, no matter what the odds.
A jarring movement broke her reverie and she opened her eyes. He’d attempted to pick the lock. Blood covered his wrist from a long gash—his hold must have slipped.
‘Are you all right?’
He raised his head and she could have sworn she saw a flash of humour lurking in his eyes. But he didn’t laugh at the absurdity of her, trussed before him like a sacrificial victim, worrying about his injury. ‘I’ll live.’
The chain at her feet jolted, then blessedly gave way. Relief washed through her. Without the shackles wearing her down she had a slim chance of staying afloat.
Now he did smile. A dazzling grin that lit the uncompromising angles of his face into a less austere, but still riveting male beauty. Dazed, Belle’s eyes widened. She’d thought him sexy before. Now he was simply stunning.
No real-life pirate had ever looked that good!
‘Your patience has been rewarded,’ he said, dropping the metal to the floor. ‘And just in time.’ The rain had arrived, a thunderous downpour that swept in through the door and gushed through the holes in the roof. Belle shivered as her covering grew wet. The wind was notching up too. Soon they wouldn’t be able to hear each other.
‘My hands…’ He shook his head and held up the discarded lock. The tool he’d used had broken, jammed in the rusty metal.
Hope died in her breast, flattened by the solid weight of despair. Would she ever escape this nightmare? It grew worse and worse by the hour.
‘No time,’ he said as he hefted the torch, directing its beam upwards. It played over the roof that heaved like a living thing. And then the bulging walls.
She heard a whisper of a curse from the man before her. Then he was on his feet, shouldering his backpack.
He loomed before her, big and solid. She caught a glimpse of his determined face before he bent and the light went out. Then his hands were on her, pulling her up. ‘Lift your arms,’ he said in her ear.
She felt the brush of his hair against her arms. He pulled her wrists so that she strained up against him, her arms encircling his head. Then he lifted her in a single easy movement, tucking her close. A wall of solid muscle supported her, warmed her. Strong arms bound her and she sank gratefully into him, finding comfort in his strength and the steady, calming rhythm of his heart.
Despite the roar of the storm, the living pulse of the waves smashing on the shore, she could almost believe nothing bad would happen while she was with him.
‘It’s not safe here,’ he shouted over the screeching wind. ‘Hold on tight.’ He turned and strode out through the door.
And then the storm swallowed them.
CHAPTER TWO
THE maelstrom buffeted them, almost knocking him to the ground. How he managed to steer a course for whatever shelter he’d found, she couldn’t imagine. But his arms held her in a grip of steel as if he’d never let her go.
She buried her head into the base of his neck, shielding herself from the stinging sand. His skin was wet, slick, and scented with something she suspected was unique to him. The heavy thump of his heart, regular and strong, tempered the fear that crowded in on her.
He lowered her on her back into what felt like a hollow in the sand. As she settled in the dip he lay down above her. He was taller, broader, more solid than she. He covered her completely, a barrier against the terrifying wind that roared through the night. It was difficult to draw breath with him pressing down on her. Sand clogged her nostrils and her breathing came in rapid pants. She had to calm herself, slow her breathing.
She had to get free. She moved to slide her hands over his head. Immediately one large hand clamped hers.
‘Leave them.’ His lips brushed her ear. ‘Less likely to be separated.’
The wind escalated to a scream, and through the din she thought she heard another sound, a heavy thud beside them.
The man above her flinched and sagged onto her, heavier than before. For a moment he was limp, squashing her down into the sand. Then he gathered himself and lifted his torso just enough so she could breathe again.
‘Are you all right?’ she yelled in his ear.
‘Just hold on tight, Ms Winters.’
The formality was absurd in the circumstances. He was all that stood between her and possible death. This stranger who’d appeared when she was at her weakest: injured, desperate and almost despairing. He’d shared his strength, giving her hope when she most needed it.
And now, wearing nothing but a swimsuit and a pair of manacles, she lay as close to him as any lover. His bulk pressed down on her—a shield against the storm’s savage fury. In the process she was discovering the unique imprint of his body, learning the impressively hard planes and lean muscles of this superbly built stranger.
And she didn’t even know who he was.
She opened her mouth to ask his name, then shut it.