Into the Flames (Perilous Connections: Book Two) (9 page)

I tear my eyes away from Nate’s. Elaine has never even mentioned these people before and now she expects me to greet them wi
th open arms. “I don’t think so.
” I take off and reclaim my seat, leaving her sta
nding with Aubrey. I avoid looking at her. I cannot deal with Elaine’s
wounded feelings. I am being consumed by the thought that I have to find
a way to get Nate
Blac
kthorne
out of my life, no matter what I feel for him.

Nate

People jostle
for position all around
me to get a glimpse of Montserrat
which is slowly being turned into a desert
b
y growing veins of lava which
steadily
pulses
beneath its
core
. This has driven
more and mor
e people to the safe zone that has been established on the opposite side of the island
.

Aime
e
,
the girl I’d been talking to
before Daphne fled to the b
athroom
,
saunters towards me. “Breathtaking sight isn’t it?” She smiles prettily, her head tilted in the direction of the island, but her eyes
are
fixed on me and they shine with purpose.

I no longer have the stomach to pretend any interest in h
er but I chastise myself
. S
he is exactly the type of woman that would’ve captured my attention
two days ago. “It’s got a
certain novel charm to it.
”

She chuckles as if I’ve said something
sexually suggestive
and I force myself not to move away from her and
the
reignited i
nterest in her eyes.

“
You got that right.
Mom and D
ad have been dying to visit since we landed,” she breathes
excitedly,
“
we want a sample of the volcanic ash and if possible,” she
pauses
the
excitement
bui
lding in her face, “we were thinking of getting past
those dumb checkpoints
and getting
some pictures of th
e lava,
”
she finishes on a gasp of pleasure.

I stiffen at this totally foolish, not to mention dangerous intention.

Tourists.
It’s no wonder the islanders disliked them so much.

She i
s waiting for my response and the
dis
gust I feel must show in my eyes
because some of the enthusiasm drai
ns away from her flushed cheeks.
“
I mean, we’re not exactly going to try and go closer than they recommend but we may get lucky,” she finishes lamely.

A pretty little liar.

Daphne
isn’t
a liar. That is one thing I’m
certain of and she would never put herself or her family in harm’s way. I had done that.
Deliberately.

Aimee looks up at me hopefully, bats her suspiciously ebony black eyelashes, totally at o
dds with her
blond
coloring.
“I would love
company
besides my parents,” she pouts
.

It’s become even more of an effort to look through her while pretending to see her but
it
s
got to
stop now. I shake my head sadly.
“I’m afraid not. There are some plants I
need to collect for my work
.”

Her eyes become beacons at this little bit of fabr
ication.
“
Y
ou’re a geologist?” she gushes. S
he’s up on her toes
now
, her body straining towards me, her breast
s
too visible beneath the white tank top are clearly outlined against the
stretchy
cotton.
They’re not bad. H
er mouth
open
s
in a breathless little
o
of anticipation as if she expects it to be filled at any moment.

There is zero interest from
my body
which
is completely deadene
d to her
well practiced and no doubt thoroughly sampled wares.
Daphne had taken all my
interest
.

Nonetheless
I smile as if she’d just made an adorable mistake, “botanist,”
I clarify humbly.

She fairly simpers in excitement, flicking a moistened tongue over her parted lips, there’s nothing
quite
like bringing home a man with an important sounding job title
.
I repress a sigh of irritation.

But
then again I experience
an unusual speck of empathy for her and I try to let her down softly. “Perhaps we’ll
meet up somewhere on Montserrat
. It’
s only thirty square miles.
”
Not many places to hide
unfortunately
.

Her face caves in wi
th disappointment. “I guess …” S
he g
ives me another longing glance. “W
ell
,
I’ll be seeing you around.” She moves away with barely concealed reluctance.

Relieved
I
face the sea again. Its damp air hits my face,
tunnels into my nostrils.
We are pulling into the dock and there is a stream of people waiting to board
to go back to Antigua. The blue gre
y waves lap at the wooden feet of t
he pier
.

I look around for Daphne, Elaine and Aubrey. They are at the back of the crowd. I let the tide of people carr
y me along toward the exit and o
nto the pier. We are bustl
ed through with barely a glance from the two immigration officials waiting, they are too busy l
aughing and gossiping with each
other.

I wait for Daphne in the small, strategically placed eating area
several feet away. T
here is a restaurant right behind
me,
it
s
counter
is
decorated
with sm
all jars of ketchup and mustard. T
he smell of bacon and scram
bled eggs hangs heavy in the air
,
keep
ing the scent of the sea at bay. M
y stomach grumbles
as I watch amusedly while
several tourist rush past me to be the first ones
in line
to order a meal.

I
claim a table,
and then find
ing
Elaine and Aubrey
in the crowd beckon them over.
I feel guilty at the look of worry that has become plastered on Elaine’s face. But
Aubrey
is perky and happy, thanks no doubt to the
chocolate
he’d consumed and the boat ride.

I’d forgotten that most children loved adventures, especially unexpected ones. Still Elaine doesn’t
appear as such a shrew
now, and instead of greed or hostility c
onfusion dominates her face.

I can’t blame her
. They take a seat.
I bend over to her.
“Order something to eat. T
hen we’
ll find out if those relatives of yours can point us in the right direction to rent a house for a few days."

A
well trained
waitress immediately bustles ove
r
to our table. I excuse myself
and
make my way to Daphne who is standing by the rope
which separates the se
a from the pier. She is
watching the ferry
reload with its new passengers.

I don’t have t
o be psychic to know what she’s
thinking.
That she should be on it.

The roar of the ferry engine is beginning
to split
the air and
it
churns
the water, sending up white islands in the waves. It is going within minutes, parting the sea like a lumbering dame determined to find its port.

But the ferry d
oes not long claim my attention. A
t my approach
Daphne’s shoulders tense
, and
I see the stiffness overcome
her entire body, particularly
her
hands
which clench
on the rope. She
keeps her head straight, refusing
to make eye contact with me.

I want her to turn around and look at me. She is already in my blood, after just two days and two soul shattering experiences in her arms.
That more than anything had been
the reason for my harshness in the
bathroom. I can
not allow myself to
fall i
n love with her because I don’
t inten
d to see her again after I leave. A
nd that would be in a few days.
First I
have to make sure that she’s okay before
I close
that door.

I want to touc
h her now and I reach out for her slender
fingers
bunched around the rope
,
but
she hurriedly slides them away.
My mouth thins.
I
expected
this
but it
still rubs me raw.

“I’m not the devil you know.”
I force
a crooked smile.

She
huffs, shoots me a golden
gla
nce,
then
her lashes sweep down immediately
, and I miss whatever emotions
she is trying to hide
from me
.
“So you say.”

I
manage to
laug
h at that. I like her sharp
wit, love it actually. It was one of the first things I saw in her face, keen intelligence and humor.

I join he
r in
contemplating the water
. “Do you like the sea?”

She draws in a little breath, and it sounds … sad. “My dad did.”

“Really. Why?” Immediately I know it’s a stupid ques
tion. All Caribbean folks seem
to feel something toward the sea, whether for its beauty or its
healthful benefits
. It was
to them
another extension of the land, a usually
calm, liquid half that provided
their weekly swim.

She turns then and my
heart softens
as I take in her reddened eyes,
and the
trembling chin
that she is fighting to control. T
he urge to reach out nearly overpowers me and I have to clench my ha
nd until I can feel each of the bones in
them.

“My dad was a part-
time
fis
herman.” Her voice breaks and with it my
control snaps and I snatch her h
and before she can pull it away. H
er eyes search mine and I hold her look, cra
dling her hand securely in mine.

The
skin of her palms is
roughened
from maid work, but that doesn’t detract from the elegant
lines of the
bones in her fingers.
I caress them and
she stiffens beneath my touch bu
t amazingly does not pull away.

From earlier conversations I can sense how painful it is for
her to talk about her father. T
hough I wa
nt to pursue it because it means that she would be
reminiscing instead of savaging me with her to
ngue, I exert some decency and
leave her to grieve for the loss of her father
.

“Can you swim?” I ask, hoping to dispel some of the gloom from her face.

Her bottom lips quivers and for a moment I think she’s
ab
out to cry but instead an
embarr
assed
laugh escapes her. “A little,
though I tend to sink.”