“It’s a dangerous island. He’s right to worry about you.”
She snorted. “You forget I grew up here. The pirates stay in town or on their ships and the locals all know each other. It’s not as bad as you think.”
Visions of his last visit flickered through his mind, sending a shudder down his spine. He should hand her the basket and turn away. He wasn’t her keeper, nor her protector. Yet his fingers closed tighter around the basket’s handle. If what she said about the mill was right,he had ample time. Knowing that, it wouldn’t be right to leave her.
When she reached for the basket, he waved her forward. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m coming with.”
Her eyes gleamed bronze in the sun. “You won’t regret it.”’
They climbed the rocks, Isaac trying to keep his gaze low to avoid staring at her bare feet and the slender line of her ankles. The stone was warm beneath his boots, slick in places with moss, and the sun filtered through the canopy above in shifting, golden shards.
At the top, the trail leveled out again, winding through dense trees. Vines dangled from branches like lazy serpents, and thick ferns brushed against their legs as they passed. He carried the basket while she pointed out plants and called their names—many he’d never heard before.
A flicker of orange darted past them, and Miss Montclair gave a sudden laugh and leapt forward, cupping her hands around the air. When she turned back, she held her closed palms toward him.
“Look,” she stepped closer and angled her hands toward a shaft of sunlight until the bright wings shimmered like bits of fire between her fingers.
“Isn’t she beautiful? AnAgraulis vanillae.” She slowly opened her hands, and the butterfly lingered for the span of a breath before fluttering free. Long lashes swept up as she met his gaze, eyes shining. “They also call it the passion butterfly.”
Passion. The moniker landed in his chest like a spark on dry tinder. He cleared his throat, eyes shifting to the trees beyond her. Here, in the muted light of the jungle, with her so close he could feel her warmth, the word hung between them like a promise.
Or a warning.
Somewhere ahead, the rush of water rose above the hum of insects and the rustle of leaves. She smiled and turned, skirt swaying as she took off down the trail. “Almost there.” She quickened her pace.
Isaac lingered a moment before following, drawn by the quiet pullof something he didn’t dare name. The forest opened into a clearing after a bend, and he drew in a sharp breath. Before them, a wide waterfall cascaded over a cliff, plunging into a crystalline pool below. The water gleamed azure and sunlit, white torrents pouring like a silken veil over black stone. Mist drifted through the air, catching light in drifting halos while kissing his skin with cool relief. Trailing vines bloomed in wild profusion along the rock face—bursts of pink and white flowers that clung like garlands to the cliffside, softening its edges with color. The canopy above parted just enough for sunlight to pour through, casting the clearing in a golden, dreamlike glow.
He’d never seen anything like it.
“What do you think?”
He stood next to her, taking it in. “It’s incredible.”
She shot him a smug look and took the basket from him. “Told you.” Taking the blanket out, she laid it out on a flat rock overhanging the pool.
“The water comes straight from a spring,” she said over her shoulder, already stepping toward the edge of the pool. “It’s quite refreshing.”
She untied her apron and let it fall onto the blanket beside the basket, then reached behind her back. Her fingers moved with practiced ease. It took him a moment to realize she was unlacing her dress.
His breath hitched. Surely, she wasn’t—
She was.
Her hands gathered the folds of her skirts, scrunching the fabric as she lifted them, revealing the pale linen of her chemise. He twisted away so fast he nearly slipped on the mossy rock. “Miss Montclair, this is highly improper!”
“Lieutenant,” she called, voice thick with a teasing island lilt, “you’re not in America anymore. This is Tortuga. Relax a little.”
A beat passed as he struggled to keep his focus on the forest, thenher voice came again, softer. “Be grateful. Usually, I don’t wear anything at all.”
The words struck like a hot brand, searing straight through his composure. A jolt of heat shot down his spine as his mind—traitorous and eager—offered a vivid image of her standing bare and unashamed beneath the sun.
He swallowed hard, throat dry as sand. Eyes still fixed firmly on the treetops, he clenched his jaw and willed the image away.
She chuckled, the sound deep and throaty. “Suit yourself.” A moment later, a heavy splash echoed through the clearing.
He clenched his teeth as more splashing came from the pool.
“The water is wonderful today.”
