If it wasn’t for his usefulness in controlling the brother, he’d toss the bastard over right now.

“We’ll be docked by three,” Jazz said, folding his little phone and putting it in his pocket. “I’ve lined up a shopper to put together the stuff for the woman. Pauly’s got the food being delivered at five. We’ll be ready to take off by ten o’clock, latest.”

“Good job. Did you tell Pauly I wanted those limes?”

“Absolutely, boss. He knows how much you like that key lime pie.”

“Good. That’s the pleasure of traveling without a woman-nobody to nag me about my damn cholesterol. She don’t know what my cholesterol is. She just wants to control me, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I don’t hook up for longer than a weekend. So is this Cayman Islands like Aruba?”

“I was only there once. But, yeah, it’s like Aruba. Only with more banks. And more businesses. Lot of businesses.”

Jazz raised his eyebrows. “They do off-track?”

“I don’t know, Jazz. It’s something to look into once we get the dough.”

Jazz, always on his feet, so much energy, so much going on in that bizzaro brain. The opposite of Charlie, who couldn’t string two sentences together, who thought of nothing but himself, nothing but what he wanted that second. Like a five-year-old, that one. It made Ed wonder which of the brothers was adopted. Had to be one of them.

“Charlie,” Jazz said, poking the listing slob on his shoulder. “Go to the cabin, would ya? You’re making me lose my appetite.”

“Fuck you, Jazz.”

Jazz had his weapon out in two seconds. “What’s that?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He lurched toward the edge of the banquette and stumbled to his feet. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Well, get the hell out of here before I throw you overboard.”

Ed watched Charlie until he was out of the saloon.

“We have to keep him, boss?” Jazz asked. “I can make the brother behave. I can make the bitch behave. Trust me.”

Ed shook his head. “No, I don’t think you can. Those two, they’ve got some strength, okay? We need Charlie. Just until I’m off the boat with the woman. You can stay behind and watch the brothers kill each other.”

“That,” Jazz said, smiling, “I’d pay a nickel for.”

HOW LONG HAD THE dark scared her? It felt as if it had been her whole life. The dark held secrets and bad things, terror and helplessness. Only, she didn’t feel scared. Well, not that kind of scared. She was with Michael and they were going to make love. Finally, at the edge of her life when she wasn’t sure about the next sunrise or the next five minutes, she was sure about him.

Her hands found the bottom of her shirt and she pulled it over her head.

The room wasn’t pitch-black. In fact, she could see him standing at the foot of the bed. Not his expression, not the small details, but enough. So she was pretty sure he could see her, too. He knew she was undressing and why.

As she moved to undo the clasp of her bra, Michael seemed to snap out of whatever had held him so still, directly into fourth gear. Before she’d gotten the bra off, he was down to his shorts. She couldn’t make out the pattern in the dark, which was a blessing.

She tossed her bra to the floor, her blush coming back in spades. But this was her brave life, and she wasn’t going to let her shyness stop her. In fact…

She climbed off the bed to stand in front of Michael. It was tempting to tell him to turn on the light-but, no, she wasn’t that brave. Not yet. But she did continue to take off her clothes. Every last stitch.

And there they were.

He had the physique of a Greek athlete, which wasn’t a shock, considering how serious he was about his workouts. She felt very soft and flabby in comparison. She should have worked harder at her Pilates, that’s what.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Me?”

He laughed softly as he stepped closer. “Yes, you. You’re incredibly beautiful. I like seeing you with your guard down. Without those suits you like so much.”

“I like them because they blend in. They make me disappear.”

“I know.” He stepped closer, so close she could feel his body heat. “I like you like this. Naked. Vulnerable.”

She did feel vulnerable. Too much so. She started to cover her breasts, but then he touched her. One hand on her waist, cool, broad, and the side of his other hand lifting her chin.

“And so very brave,” he said.

She looked into his eyes, cursing the dark now. “I’m working on it.”

“You’re doing great,” he said. Just before he kissed her.

She melted against him. His lips, his tongue, the pressure of his hand on the back of her head…it was all perfect. He made her wet and eager and braver still.

She put her hand on his stomach then, kissed him back as she went lower and lower until she felt the small patch of hair down there. A second later he bumped her wrist. She smiled around his tongue as it happened again. Someone wanted attention. Badly.

He moaned, and that’s all the push she needed. She touched his cock. Warm, hard, thick and so very, very anxious. He pulsed in her hand. Strained as she stroked him.

He threw his head back for a second with a long groan, then pulled her to the bed. Before she knew what had happened, she was lying down, her head on the pillow, with Michael at her side, pulling her into his arms, into his kiss.

His leg went between hers, his thigh up to the junction, where he pressed against her. She had no choice but to move, to ride him as he touched her breast, sucked her tongue. They went on like that for long, languorous moments. A gasp or a moan the only break in the accompaniment of their breathing. It was heaven, but it was also not quite enough.

She squeezed his cock, then let go, afraid she’d gone too far.

Michael sat up so quickly she gasped, and he gripped her shoulders tightly. When his mouth was a scant inch from her own, he said, “I can’t stand it. I’m just not that strong.”

His kiss was searing, melting her brain and stealing her breath. His body felt hard and hot.

Another man touching her with his fierceness would have made her cry out, struggle to break free, but she wanted Michael’s possessiveness. A part of her wanted to see bruises, proof, in whatever tomorrow she was granted.

He moaned and she could taste his desire painted on her tongue. The sound of his rough breathing, all through his flaring nostrils, was like sex itself. Even the pulse of his chest against hers made her think of nothing so sweet as making love but of something far more primal. That’s what she wanted from him.

William Baxter’s troubled daughter. The one who was always pale and frail and didn’t know what to do with her hands.

She knew now.

Trembling, still matching him breath for breath, she touched his skin, rubbed him, kneaded his flesh. There was so little give it disappointed her for a moment, but then she remembered it was Michael, not some soft man. He had muscles, big ones-not that you could see from across the room, but when you got close, when he moved-

He pushed her down to the bed, to the blue-and-white checked bedspread. His knee went between hers once more, but this time it was completely different. This time he didn’t ask, he took.

Before her cry had subsided, he pulled her hands up above her head. With his broad left hand he captured both her wrists.

She stared at him as he loomed over her, a willing captive. “What are you doing to me?”

“I don’t want you to forget this. If we die tomorrow, you’ll remember this in your next life. In all your lifetimes.”

He held her gaze as his mouth opened into a silent roar and he plunged inside her.

He filled her completely, but that wasn’t why she wept. The tears were from somewhere very deep, something always longed for, and finally, finally…

He kissed her again, and it was brutal until it wasn’t. Until he caressed her lips with his own, until there was no space between his breath and hers.