Free Eden's Spell by Heather Graham

threatened. He had protected him, risking his own life to do so.
    â€œCaptain Taylor!” she snapped out, and he turned.
    â€œWhat”—she paused, absurdly having to moisten her lips to finish—“what about you? Are you all right? All the coconuts …?
    Mike chuckled lightly, and then he was afraid that the sound would catch in his throat, as his breath suddenly seemed to be doing. She was a mess—soaked and dirty, with all her glorious hair in wild wet strands—but she was a beautiful mess. No makeup, nothing; just the purity of her delicate structure. And he knew things, things she couldn’t know … hadn’t even guessed yet. And it made him feel as if he had known her all his life. Her temper, her pride … her sensuality. Even her desires, and her sorrows, the depth of her vulnerability, so hidden by determination.
    She’s just waiting for a chance to sue you and hang you, sailor! He mocked himself. But it didn’t matter; not then. Her eyes were luminous and aqua as they rested on him with concern.
    â€œI’m okay.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t go out again. We might not need the shutters.”
    â€œI think we’re going to—it’s a damned good thing you have them. And good ones. It won’t take me a minute.”
    â€œBut your head—your shoulders—”
    â€œHey, I’m all right. And I’m the physician, remember?”
    He turned quickly to leave then, groaning inwardly, a little desperately. He clenched his jaw together, wishing once again with a great fervor that he could throttle whoever the hell it was who had messed up this project so damned badly.
    Mike gave himself a shake and started for the door, listening to the wind. It should cleanse him; it should give him strength.
    It didn’t. As he moved around the house, bracing himself, bringing down the storm shutters, he felt torn and buffeted, in a far more vicious way than the elements could ever have done.
    He enjoyed people; he liked women. He’d had lots of affairs over the years. But he’d never wanted to—to be touched again. Touched inside, at the soul, at the heart.
    Somehow she—the woman who wanted to sue him and hang him—was reaching him. With more than her fingers. With more than the wild and passionate caress of which she had no memory….
    He paused, in his work, staring at the rain. “Physician!” he muttered savagely, “heal thyself!”

CHAPTER FOUR
    M IKE CAME BACK INTO the house; for a moment he stood dripping in the doorway, trying to catch his breath. Then he gave himself a shake. He needed a radio, or something.
    â€œWant to take a shower?”
    He blinked the water from his eyes and smiled at the boy who had come to stand curiously before him, dry and comfortable in a T-shirt and jeans. He was a nice kid, Mike decided. Bright and eager, friendly and easygoing. He was tall, very tall, considering his mother’s size. His father must have been a tall man, Mike concluded, and then he was surprised that the thought gave him a little pang of something like envy.
    â€œWe’ve still got hot water,” Jason offered.
    Mike looked down at his sodden clothes. “Yeah, I suppose that I should. But first—have you got a radio?”
    â€œSure.”
    Jason led Mike through to the kitchen, a large room with an island range in the middle, and four wicker stools arranged about the extending counter that gave way into a family room.
    Jason handed Mike a small transistor radio from the end of the counter. Mike began to fiddle with the switch, trying to home in on weather information.
    â€œIt is a hurricane,” Jason said happily.
    â€œOh, yeah?” So far, all that Mike had found was a rock station, a gospel sermon, and a Spanish opera.
    â€œYep. Her name is Kathleen.”
    Mike frowned, staring up at Jason. “Kathleen?”
    â€œSure. She formed right over Cuba, whipped up in a