“Far enough.”
She nodded and disappeared.
Taking a deep breath, he dipped beneath the waves and kicked for shore. Without his shirt, he glided with ease. The cool water and pressing quiet eased the frantic beat of his heart, tension draining with each powerful sweep of his arms.
Soon enough, his lungs burned. But he forced himself to keep going. One kick. Two. Three... all the way to ten. His breath whooshed out in a cloud of bubbles and he surfaced.
Gasping for air, he turned to wait for Red. She was nowhere to be found. He treaded water, scanning the dark surface of the bay. What if she’d gotten a cramp? Were there sharks in these waters? Surely she hadn’t...
Water splashed.
He turned back toward the island and there she was, several yards past him. She waved and continued toward shore.
Show-off.
Shaking his head, he started after her. His broad strokes helped him catch up and when they reached the beach, they staggered up onto the sand together. While he shook the water from his hair, something hit him in the stomach.
His shirt. Christian wrung it out and pulled it over his head. Red set off down the beach as he jabbed his arms into the sleeves. He jogged after her and grabbed her shoulder. No way he was following her.
Turning, he started toward the brush, ignoring her attempts to resist. He half dragged her into the trees and started up the hillside toward town. When they reached a clearing, she dug her feet in.
“Where are we going?”
He ground to a stop and let out a growl. “I don’t know. The governor. A mayor. Somebody with authority.”
She gave a soft laugh and reached up, brushing a trail of water from her cheek. “This is Tortuga.”
He wanted to shake her. Or worse, kiss her. Instead, he turned away. “We aren’t living in the 1600s. This isn’t a lawless island anymore.”
She tugged her arm free and rubbed where he’d been gripping her. “But there is sympathy for the pirates here. Why do you think Thorne chose this spot?”
“I’ll find someone.”
“Does the United States hold sway with Tortuga?”
“I don’t know. We’ll find out.” He took hold of her arm again. “Let’s go.”
“Wait.” She pulled free again. “I cannot breathe like this.”
Like what? His eyes widened as she lifted her shirt and exposed a long strip of linen tightly wound around her torso. She unwound it and threw it to the ground, taking a deep breath.
“That’s better.”
His throat went dry. Her wet shirt clung to her chest, molding around her breasts. Each nipple pressed against the thin fabric and his gaze traced the contours of her side to the gentle swell of her belly.
When he jerked his eyes up, a flush had crept across her cheeks. But she didn’t shrink away from him.
“You’re a reasonable man. Or so I’d like to think.”
His nose flared. Anytime a woman started a sentence with that statement, beware.
“Let me take you back to Savannah.”
“No.”
“Lieutenant. Hear me out.”
“No. I will not indebt myself to any pirate.”
