‘Go to bed,’ he repeated. ‘But don’t you want to –
He whirled around. ‘Damn you, Jules, get into the house! I am your husband, and you’ll obey me. Now!’
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11
Jules woke up abruptly, disoriented for several moments. She stared about the small bedroom and for a brief instant thought that Wilkes was here, and she was again his prisoner.
When she read Michael’s brief note, propped up on the kitchen table, telling her he had gone into Lahaina to fetch some food, she felt at first profound relief, than a spurt of anger.
Why hadn’t he awakened her? She felt as if she were in some kind of quarantine. Was he afraid that she would be stoned for a harlot if she were to show her face again?
She stripped off her modest cotton nightgown, wrapped her swimming sarong around her, and left the house.
‘Jules! I’m back!’
There was no answer. Saint saw her rumpled nightgown on the floor and shook his head. He knew where she was. He closed his eyes a moment. Please, he prayed, she
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wouldn’t, couldn’t, swim nude as he had done that night.
He strolled onto the beach, shaded his eyes against the bright morning sun, and searched for her bright head. He felt his heart pound uncomfortably for a moment when he finally spotted her. Dear heavens, she was out so far! Did she want to kill herself? He turned cold at the thought.
He was standing on the beach when Jules, having caught a big wave, was carried nearly to his feet on her stomach. She was laughing. He watched her stand and wring out her hair. The sarong molded her young body, leaving very little to the imagination – at least to his imagination.
‘You swam out a good mile,’ he said, his voice rough, hands on hips.
Jules smiled at him. ‘Good morning. Yes, I did. I had to, you know. The reef sharks like the deeper water on the far side of that coral reef.’
He followed her pointing finger.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘Come along, I’ve got our breakfast. Can you cook, Jules?’
‘I can try,’ she said, giving him a sunny, guileless smile. She’d determined a good hour ago that she wouldn’t make him feel guilty for leaving her alone. She wouldn’t nag him or make him sorry he’d married her. She wouldn’t say a word about spending the night
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by herself. She would be the perfect wife. ‘That sounds ominous. Perhaps together
we can keep ourselves from starvation.’
She wanted to tell him how very handsome he was in his loose white shirt and black trousers. But he looked preoccupied, so she merely nodded and trotted after him into the small house.
He said, not looking at her, ‘Why don’t you change first?’
‘Actually, I’d like to get the salt water off me. There’s a fresh
spring just a few hundred yards away.’
‘Go ahead, then. I’ll see what I can do about feeding us.’
When Jules returned some thirty minutes later, Saint realized that he had grown concerned not ten minutes after she’d left. ‘Next time,’ he said curtly, ‘I’ll go with you.’
‘All right,’ she said agreeably. ‘This looks delicious!’
They feasted on eggs, fresh papaya, and bread. ‘You, Michael,’ Jules said, sitting back in her chair and patting her stomach, ‘are an incredible man. You can do everything.’
‘Your hair is dry,’ he said, disregarding her praise as he eyed the riotous curls.
She touched her fingers to her hair and sighed. ‘I’ll have to tie the mess down with a ribbon.’
‘No, leave it the way it is. I like it.’
She looked so pleased with the meager compliment that Saint flinched.
He added, ‘Your hair is beautiful. I’ve always thought so.’
She actually flushed with pleasure, and he rose abruptly from the table, turning away. He closed his eyes. Lord, he didn’t want the responsibility for this fairy creature. She could be too easily hurt.
‘What would you like to do today?’ he asked. Three days and two more nights, he thought blankly. He’d slept outdoors the previous night.
Thank heaven they weren’t in Massachusetts, in the winter.