Free Dragon's Eden by Tara Janzen Page A

captivity, and as a rule, the pure and the saintly
didn’t run afoul of people like Fang Baolian.
    Still smiling, she opened her eyes. “These
are really the best he’s ever brought. I’ve got lime trees, but no
oranges.” She tore off a piece of the orange and raised it toward
her mouth, then seemed to notice him again. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would
you like some?” She held the small crescent of fruit out to
him.
    He could have easily refused the orange, but
the woman was irresistible. Without another thought beyond the one
that he wanted to touch her with his mouth, steal a kiss however he
could, he bent his head and took the fruit from her hand, his teeth
grazing the tips of her fingers.
    It could be love, he thought, watching the
myriad emotions crossing her face, the sudden darkening of her
eyes, hearing the small gasp she made when her lips parted in
surprise.
    It could be love, and that could be the
death of him.
Five
    Sugar was frozen in place, hypnotized by the
warmth of his breath and the dampness of his mouth on her fingers.
His caress, for it was nothing less and maybe something more, had
lasted for mere seconds, but she had to hold herself back from
touching him in return, knowing that would be the ultimate
confession.
    He lifted his head, and the fall of his hair
settled back on his chest. A faintly wicked smile curved his mouth
as he chewed.
    “Tastes good,” he said when he was finished.
The lazy drift of his gaze partway down her body made her wonder if
he meant the orange or her.
    When his eyes came back up and locked on
hers, the doubt was removed. He meant her. She’d been mistaken when
she’d thought the drugs had altered his perceptions. He was
stone-cold sober now, and he was looking at her as if she came with
whipped cream.
    “Yes, well, Henry brought plenty, so help
yourself whenever you’d like one.” She took a step backward,
clutching her basket to her breasts. “An orange, I mean. Of
course.”
    “Of course.” His grin broadened.
    She turned around and grabbed a shovel off
her tool rack. “You’ll need this,” she said, thrusting it in his
direction. “And this.” She gave him a hoe.
    “Isn’t there something in the Geneva
Convention about making prisoners do manual labor?”
    “This island doesn’t belong to the Geneva
Convention.” She added a rake to his load. Good Lord, the man had
only kissed her fingertips, and she was trembling inside as if he’d
started making love to her. “You’ll stay in the vegetable garden
today. I’ll do all the pollina—all the work with the exotics.”
    He laughed softly behind her. “What happened
to the bees? Isn’t pollination their job?”
    “I’m a little short on bees right now, and
some of the plants need insects I don’t have. To be on the safe
side, I pollinate everything I can.” She picked up her pruning
shears, putting them in the basket with her gloves, and discreetly
sucked in what she hoped was a calming breath before glancing over
her shoulder at him. “We’ll start in the higher gardens and work
our way down.”
    “What happened to the bees?” he asked,
shortening his stride to match hers as they left the cabana and
headed up the path.
    “A natural disaster.” Out in the open air,
with plenty of room between them, she regained a measure of her
composure. “I went out to the hive one afternoon and found them all
dead, or mostly all of them. I think they got into some bad nectar
from one of the endangered species, something toxic to their
systems.”
    “Toxic nectar? Sounds like a science-fiction
plot,” Jackson said. He watched the sun gild her, from the tangled
mass of blond curls on top of her head to the curve of her hips and
down the length of her legs. With her silvery-gray eyes,
peach-colored skin, and blond hair, she was like a beacon of
shimmering light drawing him forever onward.
    “Oh, it’s science, all right. Chemistry.
You’re looking at chemical warfare on a very grand scale.” She
swept