Free Volcano by Patricia Rice

any.” He wandered along the back of the house looking for a way in.
    â€œCould your friend have left because he’s expecting trouble?”
    He hadn’t realized she’d followed him. Damn, but the blow must have scrambled his brains more than he’d realized. She was right, of course. Jacques would have assumed Charlie would get the message when he came back and found the place empty.
    Word must still travel like lightning through the village. Someone must have recognized him.
    Grimacing, Charlie considered his alternatives. To find Raul, he needed to head into the interior, but that required transportation. If he produced his license and credit card, whoever sought him would know just what to look for and where.
    Would they know about Penelope yet?
    Damn, but she wasn’t going to like what he was thinking one bit. Maybe he could soften her up a little, turn on the old Southern charm. Glancing down at the top of that lovely head of black hair, Charlie recognized the problem with that. He didn’t want to just charm her. He wanted to tumble her into bed and not get up for a week.
    Well, hell, he’d do that later. Right now, they had to get back to the resort and safety.
    â€œCome on. I can still hot-wire a boat. With luck, I’ll remember which one belongs to Jacques.”
    Noting the lights on in the corner grocery and deciding a six-pack of beer would make a better sedative than aspirin, Charlie dragged his lagging companion after him. He could almost hear her haughty condemnation as he lifted the beer and strode out. He really didn’t need the scold bubbling on her lips. With luck, he could outdistance it.
    Luck had deserted him, pitched him off the boat, and left him to drown. Penelope’s long-legged stride brought her right up beside him, and to Charlie’s amazement, she grabbed his unoccupied hand. He almost shook her off before he reconsidered. He wasn’t the type to go around holding women’s hands. He didn’t possess an ounce of sentimentality. But her hand was slender and somehow erotic wrapped in his big fist. He kept it there.
    â€œYou’re not really going to hot-wire a boat?” she asked anxiously, tripping along beside him in the darkness of the alley.
    â€œGot any better suggestions?”
    Since she remained silent, he assumed she didn’t.
    He left her standing lookout on the dock while he scoured the beach for a familiar fishing boat. No fancy rigs here, just skiffs with motors. He could steal any one of them without much trouble. He just knew he could pay Jacques back for any lost wages once he got out of here.
    He settled for one that looked familiar, threw in the beer, pulled out the wires, got the motor running, and signaled for his lookout. She was already running down the sand toward him. Silhouetted in the moonlight, her figure was all long arms and legs. Good thing for him he was a breast man.
    Unfortunately, his John Henry didn’t recognize that fact. He ached in several places now, and picturing that bed waiting for them at the cottage intensified the one below his belt. He’d have to sleep on the porch with the mosquitoes to keep from having at her. The warmth of her trusting hand still burned against his palm. If she was as smart as he thought she was, she’d push him overboard halfway there. Men like him had no place anywhere near her.
    â€œYou know, you’re the first man I’ve ever met who knows how to handle a situation without being told,” she said thoughtfully as they roared around the curve of the shore.
    After that praise, Charlie figured he’d better swim home.

SIX
    Penelope remained silent as they chugged the boat to shore at the resort, climbed out, and hauled it far enough up the beach to stop the tide from taking it. She was exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. She wanted to curl up somewhere and sleep for a week. Preferably not with Macho Charlie. But that