Hours to Cherish (21 page)

Cat let her eyes open wide as she feigned a look of total disorientation and panic. As if in alarm, she reached out a hand and mumbled a very pathetic, very feminine “Pleeease …”

As she had hoped, the man before her, the evil laugher, reached out his own hand to take hers; the look in his eyes showed him rather pleased with her apparent submission.

His macho arrogance was about to do him in, Cat thought with a grim smile.

“Watch her, Al!” someone shouted.

But it was too late for Al. Cat shifted, springing from the salon couch just as Al’s own weight brought him down upon it with a heavy thud. Cat didn’t wait to appreciate his stunned expression. She was headed out the door.

She had just made the deck when she felt herself wrenched back cruelly by the hair. Shifting low, pivoting from her “center” as she had been taught, Cat wedged a foot behind that of her attacker, and leaned forward. Once again it was the man’s own weight that brought him sprawling to the deck.

But there were three of them. Dismay began to chill through Cat. How long could she keep this up? They were falling. They were cursing. She was doing a fair amount of damage. They kept coming back up. Her strength was failing her, her breath was coming in terrible short gasps.

She got a good look at Al’s livid face as he came for her a third time. He was the angriest of the men—the first to be tricked. Uneven and yellowed teeth were bared in the frame of lips drawn into a snarl.

“Oh, honey,” he hissed, “you just wait till I do get my hands on you. You’re gonna pay. …” His tone became a slimy and threatening caress. “I’m gonna make sure you ain’t no ice queen when DeVante gets ahold of you.”

“Hey, Al,” one of the other men warned uneasily, taking up a position so that the three of them surrounded her in a narrowing circle. “Don’t get any ideas about touching her. I ain’t in this for kidnapping or rape. And DeVante will have your hide.”

Al took a lunge toward Cat that she managed to sidestep, apparently infuriating him further while she still fought wave after wave of debilitating panic. She had held them off so far, but her resources were fraying. If two of them got hold of her at the same time … And the world kept dimming on her. If she didn’t keep blinking, she saw black. She was nauseated, terrified that at any minute she would pass out cold.

“DeVante didn’t tell me we were going to tangle with a wildcat,” he hissed in reply to his cohort. “This bitch has clawed me good. DeVante won’t mind me having a turn after all this tigress has lashed out to me.”

“DeVante might not mind,” a voice with the ice-edge of a steel sword suddenly drawled out in sliced anger all the more deadly because it sounded so terribly controlled.

Cat spun around, sure that she would faint now with relief. Clay was coming over the aft edge of the boat with Sam in tow behind him. “Cat,” he hissed, his eyes not on her but on Al, “I can see you’re doing rather well with those little dance steps of yours, but do you think we could stop messing around now? Get in the dinghy.”

Cat moved instantly to obey him, with Al growling behind her. She could barely breathe as she imagined him reaching for her again.

“You’re crazy, Miller, if you think I’m letting her walk right off this boat—”

“Don’t touch her!” Clay lashed out instantly, and Cat realized he held a small pistol. “I brought this just to make sure we could make a quick retreat. I’d like to stay and fight this out—you’re a bit bigger than my wife and I’d like to see how you’d fare against a man your own size—but I’m really afraid I’d be sorely tempted to kill you. In fact, you stretch one of those grimy fingers toward her again, and I’ll be real, real tempted to shoot it right off. Sam—” Clay still kept his eyes upon the three men of the
Chrissy
. “Get Cat into the dinghy now!”

Cat started to move, but not quickly enough. She was stunned with the relief of Clay’s appearance, and totally off guard when Al’s fingers closed over her shoulders. A small gasp escaped her; she attempted to struggle, but she was worn and weak, unable to break the grip around her throat.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Miller,” Al challenged thickly.

Cat was dazed but still vaguely aware that Clay’s apparent control was very deceiving. She knew his temper, that his rage was murderous despite the calm drawl of his voice. “You’re right,” he said softly, too softly. “I’m not going to shoot you.” The small pistol was tossed almost negligently overboard to the dinghy. Clay turned to Sam, lifting a brow. “Care to join me on deck, Sam?”

“A pleasure,” Sam agreed.

“There’s three of us!” Al snarled.

“You are at a disadvantage,” Clay said coolly. And then he was approaching Al, his footsteps the calm, assured ones of a great cat stalking prey. For just a split second his eyes touched upon Cat, then narrowed. Cat felt a searing on her forehead where his vision had brushed it. She became aware of a sticky sensation and that Clay had seen the trickle of blood against the bruise at her temple—a result of her collision with the planking in her first escape attempt. Until now, she hadn’t had the time to realize she was hurt.

Cat gasped and a cry escaped her as the hold on her throat tightened momentarily. But then she was instantly released. Clay’s hand had come upon the arm of her attacker.

“Get in the damned dinghy, Cat!” Clay roared.

Cat found the energy to run. She saw Sam fell one of the other men with a single well-aimed blow delivered by his giant hand. She heard a thud behind her that made her pause. The cocky Al was also down; Clay had brought a bloodied knuckle to his mouth, then he shook his hand, looking down at the man who lay in a heap at his feet, as if he wished to do him further injury. Dear God, Cat thought swiftly, Clay looked as if he were still ready to kill … “Clay!” she cried out.

“Sam—get her into the dinghy!”

Cat was only able to see that the third man of the
Chrissy
was moving backward. “I didn’t want any part of this,” he was pleading. “I was the one telling Al to leave her alone. …”

Cat was grateful to hear the sound of Clay’s voice rather than the repercussion of action as Sam grabbed her arm to follow her husband’s directive. “You just get this garbage back to DeVante,” Clay hissed. “And don’t ever let me see your face again unless you want it rearranged.”

Thank God that Sam was there to help her, Cat thought, because she was shaking so badly she barely made the step over the side of the boat. She heard Clay continue to talk as she took up a shivering position in the dinghy. “You make damned sure to tell DeVante it’s all over. The water patrol will be around soon and they’ll be staying here until the salvage operation is complete. You’re getting off easy. Any more trouble and you’ll be paying with lots and lots of years out of your worthless life.” Clay hesitated a moment, his voice lowering. “And if my wife is touched again, you’ll be paying with your worthless life itself. Do we have an understanding?”

Cat couldn’t see the one man of the
Chrissy
still standing, but he must have been convincingly and eagerly agreeable. Clay was in the dinghy only a second later, picking up the oars.

“Clay—” Cat began miserably.

He spun on her with such fury that she was stunned into silence. “You little idiot!” he shouted. “All of this over your damned Frenchman! Because you just can’t bear to listen! Let me warn you, Mrs. Miller, another stunt like this one and you’ll find yourself chained in a cabin!”

Cat opened her mouth to protest, but no words would come. She sat in shivering misery, aware that Sam’s eyes condemned her silently just as Clay’s words had. She had been an idiot … so trusting … so stupidly sure of herself.

The oars suddenly ceased movement in the water. Clay reached out across the feet of the dinghy, gripping her chin as he examined her temple. There was no tenderness to the touch of his fingers; he was swearing soundly.

His eyes continued to flame as he abruptly released her. “You’ll heal,” he said curtly.

Cat grit her teeth to fight back tears. She knew the wound was superficial; she could barely feel it. And she knew she had been wrong, her determined persistence had put her into an extremely perilous position. But she hadn’t expected to be the recipient of Clay’s raw anger. She was sore and tired, stunned and shell-shocked, bewildered, confused—and scared silly, and she needed his comfort.

The taut, grim mask of his face assured her that he offered none.

Their return to the
Sea Witch II
was a tense and silent affair, with Cat struggling with an inward battle as strenuous as that which had just drained her physically. She fought to retain her dignity against a man treating her like an errant child. But her dignity broke as she tried to crawl aboard the
Sea Witch II
. She was too tired … she was shivering uncontrollably. Her steps faltered and she almost tripped.

Clay’s arms came around her and she was lifted into his iron hold. But there was no tenderness to his touch. He stormed through the main salon to his cabin and tossed her unceremoniously upon the bed. He bent to touch the bruise on her temple, his touch gentle despite his ill temper. A muffled curse escaped him, then he was striding out of the room. Cat struggled to sit, but before she could fully rise, he was back, an ice pack in one hand, pills and a water glass in the other. He handed her the glass and the pills, stared at her until she had swallowed them, then pressed her back against the pillow. “Aspirin,” he informed her abruptly. “The cut isn’t a half inch, and the bruise should be gone tomorrow.” His control suddenly exploded. “Damnation! Do you know how lucky you are? Do you have any idea of what could have happened?” His query ended in a sharp tone and he spun away from her, twisting back to issue one more impatiently snapped decree. “Don’t move!” he warned her curtly. “Not a damn muscle! We’ll discuss this as soon as I think I can do so with half a pretense at sanity!”

The tears Cat had been fighting for what seemed like an eternity cascaded from her eyes as he left the cabin, the door slamming behind him with a furious, thundering thud.

C
AT REMAINED UPON THE
large bed of the master cabin for a long time, not so much because she had been commanded to do so, but because she really couldn’t rouse herself to do otherwise. She had never felt so physically exhausted and bone-sore, nor had she ever succumbed before to such overwhelming confusion and self-pity.

After all she had been through, how could Clay be so cold? So lividly angry that he couldn’t even bring himself to speak to her?

Trying to gather her shattered spirit together, Cat gave vent to a long list of hissed names that—in its entirety—did not adequately describe what she was feeling for her husband. But at least the effort did help ease her battered soul.

He had come just in the nick of time to save her, the perfect hero, but there the line had been drawn. Heroes were not supposed to raise hell with those they rescued, nor abusively toss them upon beds with orders that they not move a muscle.

But it wasn’t only her husband’s erratic fury that had left her feeling so shattered; it was the terrible knowledge that he had been right. Jules had been more than willing to use her. He had ordered men to follow her and Clay, to destroy their efforts, and apparently they had been given free rein to deal with her in the event of trouble.

But how had Clay known what Jules had planned?

Cat started shivering again. She set aside the ice pack and winced as her fingers brushed her temple. She finally managed to raise herself from the bed then, feeling absolutely filthy and as if she could never wash clean. But surely a shower would help. It might partially eradicate the memory of being touched by the scavengers aboard the
Chrissy
. It could help clear her mind of the catastrophe that might have occurred had Clay not made his timely appearance.

There was a private bath in Clay’s quarters; she had learned that just last night when the world had looked so miraculously beautiful and bright. Things had certainly changed.

Cat began to wish she had listened to Clay and moved her things into his cabin. It was inevitable that she would eventually follow his decree, and if she had simply become resigned to his ways earlier, she would have her own clothing to change into now. But she hadn’t moved her things into the cabin, and in her present state she wasn’t up to another battle with Clay—which would surely ensue if she did attempt to leave his cabin at the moment, even if it were only to procure some of her own clothing. It was all she could do to drag herself around to find an oversize navy velvet robe.

Cat slipped into the tiny head adjoining the cabin and clenched her teeth against the spurt of water from the shower stall, which simply refused to become warm. Still, the cold was invigorating. It washed away the salt that had dried on her skin. The movement was also good; if she had stayed stationary any longer, she might have been really sore in the morning.

Cat blanched and swayed slightly as she forced herself to face what had almost happened. She clutched the tile wall, teeth chattering. She had always believed herself so capable, but then she had walked around with her head in the clouds. She was the mistress of Tiger Cay, respected among the islanders, protected by Sam. Never in her wildest dreams had she feared a possible assault, the horror of rape.

Cat turned off the water and shakily attempted to wring out her hair, doing a very bad job of it as she gingerly tried to avoid touching the sore spot created by the bruise. Her head wasn’t pounding, as she had expected it might; it merely plagued her with a slow throb, and even that was dimming thanks to the aspirin and ice.

She stepped from the shower and grabbed one of Clay’s massive chocolate towels, wrapping it securely around herself and just standing there as she once again fought a spasm of shakes.

No wonder he’s so furious, she told herself. I wouldn’t listen, I just had to take matters into my own hands. But I’m not a fool, I’ve handled my own life very well for the past several years. We all make mistakes. But the mistake she had made today had been a very serious one.