Heather Graham Read Free Page B

high, but a sheen of moisture dazzled her eyes to an emerald brilliance. “I was in a ten-foot craft, a little catamaran rented from my hotel, La Casa Verde. I … I never saw the sloop come about—it rammed me. Then there were suddenly all these … men in the cabin, and I heard a man speak—”
    “In English?”
    “Ah, yes. With a Spanish accent.”
    “And then?” Flynn prompted quietly.
    She lowered her head. “He had already taken my bag … and he demanded to know if I had anything else. I … said … obviously not. He terrified me. I was afraid of being murdered or … murdered. He came toward me—”
    “You saw him in the dark?”
    “No, I heard him. And when he was near I … I kicked out as wildly as I could. I hit him—I heard him grunt with the pain. But I didn’t wait. I tore out of the cabin and back to the deck. And then I dove over the side and—well, that’s the last I remember until I opened my eyes and saw you!”
    Juan began to make disgusted, tcking noises—he cursed softly in Spanish against the men who could do such a thing to such a lovely and vulnerable woman.
    Flynn walked back to her and placed a hand upon her shoulder. It appeared very large and rough against the satin texture of her skin. His knuckles grazed lightly, reassuringly, over her cheek.
    “You must have been very brave,” he said softly. “So small a woman, tackling a man reputed to be so fierce.”
    She wasn’t looking at him; her lashes were lowered again. His hand remained near her cheek. He felt her shiver—or was it a shudder?
    “I—I wasn’t particularly brave,” she murmured. “Just … ah, desperate.”
    “I see.”
    “You are very lucky, Señorita,” Juan said solemnly.
    “Yes, lucky,” she murmured.
    Flynn smiled, lifting her chin with his forefinger. “And I still insist—courageous and resourceful.”
    “No …”
    Those damn lashes! They shielded her eyes at will.
    “You have nothing to worry about now,” he told her softly. “You’re quite safe on board the Bella Christa . We’ll head back in, and take you to the authorities.” Flynn saw Donald waiting with a soft terry robe. He raised his hand slightly and Donald stepped forward. Flynn took the robe and placed it gently around her shoulders. She gave him a smile of gratitude that was so warm and beautiful, it would have surely melted ice.
    Yes, ice. And though he felt a bit like ice at that moment, he couldn’t resist the silken web of fascination that she spun with each word and movement.
    “Donald will escort you to a cabin—” He paused, glancing at her left hand quickly, “—Miss Martin. I’m sure you’ll wish to rest after such an ordeal.”
    “Thank you, so very much, Mr.—”
    “Colby. Flynn Colby.”
    She laughed suddenly, delightedly. “ The Flynn Colby?” She seemed truly startled—very surprised. Pleasantly, curiously so. Her inquiring smile was like warm honey.
    He raised a brow, and she fanned those lashes over her cheeks once again, a slight blush staining her cheeks. “I’m sorry, but you’ve quite a reputation.”
    “Have I? For what?”
    “Oh … for being an intriguing Englishman, of course!” She bit her lip, then shrugged as if admitting her knowledge about him to be pure gossip. “A fabulously wealthy and reckless playboy—so they say.”
    “I’m Scottish,” he told her, but he allowed a slight grin to play about his lips; he neither denied her words, nor encouraged them, but turned to his darkly handsome friend. “Ms. Martin, allow me to introduce Señor Juan Lopez, a native of our fair Costa del Sol, and an outstanding pillar of the community. He owns most of the resorts, and is sometimes a liaison with British diplomatic officials.” Juan somehow clipped his bare feet together and very formally bowed low over her hand. “I am charmed, Señorita!”
    “Oh, no, Señor. The pleasure is mine,” she responded sweetly.
    What a face! Flynn thought. An angel in heaven should have such a