“You’ve been doing great.”

“For the record, you were right. The fake kidnapping was a lousy idea.”

“Yeah, and this one’s not so hot, either.”

She sighed, her body shuddering with the exhalation. “I’m really worried about my father.”

“He’ll be busy trying to find us. Besides, he’s a tough old man. He’s dealt with dangerous circumstances before.”

“That’s what’s got me so concerned. When my cousin was kidnapped, my uncle Joseph did everything he was supposed to. He didn’t call the cops, he got all the money together and took it where they told him to. He followed their instructions to the letter. Once the kidnappers took the cash, they didn’t give Lisa back. She was found three days later.”

“Shit.”

“She was fifteen. They’d hurt her, raped her. Then they killed her. Strangled her to death. Nothing was ever the same again.”

“I thought you were-”

“I was. I escaped. I have no memory of it. None. I don’t know why I got out and she didn’t.”

Michael didn’t know what to say. No wonder Tate was so phobic about being taken. She had every reason to be terrified. And because of him there was a damn good chance she was going to die, just as her cousin had.

He had to tell her about Charlie. No matter what, he couldn’t let her find out on her own. It wasn’t that he didn’t relish facing her anger and disappointment; he deserved everything she could dish out. The problem was that she was hanging on by a thread here, and the only reason she hadn’t lost it completely was because she trusted him.

Telling her that his own brother had given her over to the ruthless bastards out there was going to be a heavy blow. He had no clue if she’d be able to recover from it.

On the other hand, unless they got off the boat in the next few hours, it would be inevitable that she’d find out. Jazz and Ed-hell, even Charlie-had no reason to keep his secret.

He had no choice. He had to get them off this boat. In order to do that, he needed Tate to sleep. It was already late, and he didn’t want to wait until everyone was fresh in the morning. His window of opportunity was in the next couple of hours.

Unfortunately he had no convenient means of helping Tate get some rest. No pills, no booze. He certainly wasn’t going to knock her out.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked down and met her gaze. “Nothing.”

“I felt your whole body tense. What aren’t you telling me?”

The urge to confess about Charlie hit him hard, but he held back. “You need to get some rest.”

“That’s not news. For that matter, so do you.”

“You’re right. So why don’t we both try to sleep?”

Her quiet little laugh made her lips vibrate against his chest. “I have insomnia on good days. You think I’m going to be able to nod off here?”

He brushed the side of her face with his fingers, then lifted her chin so he could see her once more. “There are other ways to forget about what’s out there.”

She studied him while he took deep breaths. He probably shouldn’t do this. It would add insult to injury when she found out about Charlie. But if he did it right, sex should put her right to sleep.

Not that the job would be difficult. He was already getting hard at the thought of touching her. He wanted to make her come so hard she’d pass out. Well, at least fall asleep. The trick would be not coming himself.

He liked to think he could be ready for anything, anytime, anyplace, but even he had to admit that there were certain circumstances…If she’d been a stranger or one of his friends who didn’t think twice about hooking up for a night, there’d be no problem. But he liked Tate. He also knew that this wasn’t a woman who took making love lightly.

The last thing he wanted to do was mess her up in this area, too. Jesus, he couldn’t believe how screwed up this all was. He’d had an outstanding record his entire time in the service. Commendations, promotions. He’d led men into fights with no chance of success, only to come out the other end bloodied but unbowed.

Now he was on the cushiest job he’d had since college, and it was fucked up beyond all reason. The worst of it was that Tate was the one paying for his mistakes.

“Michael?”

He reached down until he had a grip on her, then drew her up so she shared his pillow. He kissed her, wanting to make this as good as he could. He wanted her to know how he admired her, how beautiful she was and how extraordinary.

He might have had his fair share of terrific women, but Tate…Tate was different. Tate was-

MICHAEL TOOK HER mouth desperately. She came alive inside, kissing him back, clutching at his neck in her need to get closer.

It was like drowning in a riptide, being tugged under by forces so elemental there was simply no fighting back. She didn’t want to fight.

Yes, they were out there, but in here she was being caressed by large, warm hands. He pulled his arm from underneath her neck so he could get at her buttons, and she reached for his. Inelegant-in fact, clumsy-they managed somehow to take off each other’s tops and do some serious French kissing at the same time. It would make an interesting Olympic event, one she’d like to train for.

Her bra was off and she wasn’t sure how. All she knew was that she liked the way her breasts felt as they pressed against his chest. Even better was his hand cupping her, brushing her very sensitive nipples before he squeezed her flesh.

Giddy with sensation, she ran her hand down his chest and stomach, amazed at the hardness of him, then down his pants, where she discovered a whole different kind of hardness. He was impressive. Not so big she’d walk funny but large enough she’d fill her diary with exclamation points. He was straining against his pants, hissing as she rubbed him.

Braver still, she found his zipper and managed somehow not to hurt him as she lowered it. Inside was her surprise. Hard, hot, thick, the moment her hand circled his shaft, his cock jumped as if he couldn’t contain his eagerness.

“God, Tate,” he murmured, his moan as deep as his thrusting tongue.

She loved touching him, but her hold was awkward, so she released him and tackled his belt.

That needed a more deft hand than her own, and being attentive, Michael pitched in. A moment later his pants were halfway off, leaving her feeling quite overdressed.

He caught her in another astonishing kiss, then leaned back. “Get undressed,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

The bed felt instantly cold as he left her there, and once she realized he was going into the bathroom, she hurriedly wiggled out of her pants and panties. The rush was so she could get out of her really ugly socks. They were made to wear with pants, but to the untrained eye they looked like old-lady stockings. She wanted so badly to be appealing to him, to not spoil it by doing one of a hundred things she’d fretted about in the past. And, no, it didn’t matter at all that it was too dark for him to see.

With Graydon, she’d worried about looking fat, about making bodily function sounds even though she knew they were perfectly natural. She’d worried about not being tight enough, about being too tight. She had never quite pleased him, although he wouldn’t tell her what it was that made him want to get up after he’d come to watch TV on the couch. He would always fall asleep in the living room, leaving her to wonder.

At least she’d always come. A lot of times she’d had to take care of that for herself, but for an overall selfish man, Graydon had stepped up to the plate his fair share. It still bothered her that they’d stayed together for so long, for all the wrong reasons. Thank goodness he’d found another heiress, someone who matched his family’s net worth. They had broken up with a handshake and no regrets. Well, he’d had none. She’d felt as if she’d wasted the only good years she ever had. So soon after college she’d turned recluse, and that had been the end of a traditional sex life for her. But she was quite certain that being alone was far better than being with someone like Graydon. Of course, being with Michael was best of all.