"Stay here," he said sharply. "I'll scout around, try to find out where we are." It was all he could do to be civil. He'd risked his life to keep her alive, and all she could think about was Nathan. Damn, how many times would he play the fool? Of course, as captain of the ship and her father's friend he'd had no choice but to see to her safety, he told himself. But every time he looked at her, his temper fired again.

Though he still felt weak, his strength returned a little more with every step he took. He scouted the sandy beach and found the tiny island they'd been washed ashore on was separated from a larger strip of land by a swampy marsh nearly a quarter-mile wide. He sloshed through the marsh, careful to watch for alligators and poisonous snakes, and finally came out on the other side. The terrain on the gradually sloping strand was much more inhabitable than the island.

There were tall pine trees, soft grassy flats, and even a string of rain-filled freshwater pools. Following a game trail inland, Nicholas felt satisfied he could find plenty of game for food. The strand was the perfect place for the two of them to rest and recover, and await a rescue party.

Nicholas knew the searchers would come sooner or later. When the Black Spider didn't make port on time, or certainly within a few days thereafter, a search vessel from his company would be launched. It would be easy to trace the Spider's movements as far as Cape Fear. And the storm off Hatteras would be common knowledge. With the help of a signal fire, someone would find them. Of that Nicholas had no doubt.

In the meantime he had days, maybe even weeks, alone with the lying little vixen he'd rescued. The isolation of the island would provide the perfect opportunity to teach the pampered Miss Summerfield the lesson she'd been needing for so long. Then he'd bed her-one way or another.

Nicholas returned to the beach where Glory lay asleep beneath one of the island's few pine trees. The island was an inhospitable stretch of land made up of sand crabs and prickly marsh grass, with very little shelter from the wind. The only drinking water was a small rainwater pool covered with a silty scum.

Nicholas smiled to himself. He couldn't wait to see how Miss Pampered and Spoiled Summerfield survived the next few days.

Propping himself against a rock a few feet away from where Glory slept, he waited for her to awaken.

When the sun had moved far enough toward the horizon for her shade to be gone, Glory felt the heat and bright light in her eyes and awoke. She didn't move for a moment, searching the cloudless sky visible in patches through the branches overhead; then she looked out at the flat blue-green surface of the sea. She lay still, remembering the shipwreck and her perilous escape from death, when something moved against her arm and something bony touched her leg.

She bolted upright. Dozens of huge crabs, some nearly two feet long and each with a red horseshoe-shaped shell, surrounded her. Stifling a scream, she leaped to her feet and ran, threading her way through the minor invasion till she reached safety some distance away.

Trembling all over, she searched the island for Nicholas, until she heard his low laughter, bitter and amused. "What's the matter? Your little friends bothering you?"

"You . . . bastard!" she stormed. "Why didn't you wake me up? One of those . . . those horrible creatures could have bitten me."

"They won't hurt you," he told her. "They're horseshoe crabs. Harmless. They've come ashore to mate." She shuddered and looked back to where the creatures clustered and crawled. "Harmless or not, I don't like them."

"I'm sure you'll find a lot of things here you don't like." He leaned nonchalantly against the trunk of a pine, shirt-less, one long leg crossed over the other, a smug expression on his face. "You'll just have to adjust."

Glory regarded him closely. His manner seemed almost hostile. "I assure you I'll do my best not to inconvenience you." Another chilling laugh, unlike anything she'd heard from him before. She forced herself to ignore it. "What do you think happened to the others?"

"If they kept their boats afloat, they probably made shore."

"Near here?"

"I doubt it. We were all pretty spread out." His voice sounded brittle, and again Glory wondered at his anger.

As she glanced at her surroundings-the barren shoreline, the lack of shelter, little or no water-realization dawned. Nicholas was shipwrecked on this dismal stretch of land because of her. If he hadn't stayed aboard the Spider to search for her, he could have been on one of the shore boats with his crew. They might have reached a port or city by now. Instead, he was stranded on this lonely, barren chunk of land because once again she had disobeyed his orders. He blamed her for what happened, and now he was angry. Furious, in fact.

Damn him! Damn him to hell, Glory silently raged. It wasn't her fault that crate fell on top of her. She'd been headed back to her cabin, intent on waiting just as he'd said. The nerve of the man! Good Lord, she'd almost drowned out there, and here he was acting the injured party. How she could ever have thought she loved an arrogant ass like Nicholas Blackwell was beyond her.

Glory sought the shade of another pine some distance from the rattling, crawling crabs and settled in. She was thirsty and hungry, and her body ached all over, but she'd be damned if she would say a word to the almighty Captain Blackwell. Instead, she sat down and pulled her legs up beneath her chin. Ignoring her, Nicholas stalked away.

For the first time she noticed the scars on his back, thin, light lines that had faded over the years. She'd seen those same scars too many times not to recognize the marks of the lash. Though she tried to ignore it, she felt a rush of sympathy for Nicholas. Then she thought of the boy he'd had whipped on the deck of the Spider and wondered what crime Nicholas had committed. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

When he returned, he carried an armful of driftwood and with the help of flint and steel made a small fire. The evening air was warm, but the beckoning light of the fire drew her from the lengthening shadows.

"I don't suppose you found any water while you were out there?" she asked peevishly, still angry at his mistreatment of her.

"There's a pocket of rainwater near that far pine tree."

Surely he'd known she was thirsty. Without a thank-you, she padded barefoot across the sand toward the water. It looked brackish and undrinkable, but it was all they had, so she'd have to make do. Holding a floating layer of scum aside, Glory filled her hand and drank until her thirst was slaked. With a sigh of resignation, she returned to the fire.

Nicholas had something roasting over the spit he'd fashioned from fallen branches. "You've found something to eat?" she asked, her mouth beginning to water from the succulent aroma.

"Cottonmouth water moccasin," he replied.

"A snake!" The word came out in a hiss. "I can't eat a snake. Why it's . . . it's barbaric. What about a nice fish or something?"

"Did you catch one?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then I guess it's snake or nothing." He seemed almost pleased.

"Oh, Lord," Glory said, sinking down on the sand beside him.

When the meat was cooked, he thrust the stick toward her until she finally pulled off a tiny, tentative bite. Nicholas cut off a chunk with the big knife he still carried at his waist. He ate with relish, licking his fingers noisily. Glory took a tiny bite that lodged in her throat. The taste was not unpleasant, but thoughts of the slimy creature turned her stomach, and she nearly gagged.

"I think I'll wait until tomorrow, if you don't mind," she said primly. "Maybe one of us can catch a fish."

"Suit yourself" was all he said. He rolled away from the fire, laid an arm across his eyes, and quickly fell asleep.

Hunger gnawing at her stomach, Glory tried futilely to do the same. The stars were bright, and the constant sea breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay, but still she tossed and turned. The ground was hard and uncomfortable, and it seemed she had sand over every part of her body. She thought of Nathan and wondered if he'd made it to shore. If anything had happened to him, she was sure she would have felt it. That was the way with them. They'd always been that close. She turned on her side, ignoring the grit in her teeth, and finally fell asleep.

Nicholas woke early and headed toward the strand. He needed a bath and a shave and a good solid meal beneath his belt. Upon reaching the strand, he noticed an added bonus. During the night, the current had carried some of the remains of the Black Spider to shore. The beach was littered with crates and boxes, lines and spars, trunks and sea chests. He smiled to himself. Once he'd repaid the spoiled little blonde for her treachery, he would build a modest shelter and they'd be able to live a fairly comfortable existence. Until then he would enjoy his revenge, make the girl as miserable as he possibly could.

He thought of the way she'd looked when he left. Petticoat hiked up to her thighs, blond hair tangled about her face. Her smooth skin looked gritty with patches of sand. She was exhausted and hungry, and though she'd tried to stay in the shade as much as possible, her skin had taken on a rosy burnished hue. She looked bedraggled and wilted-and lovely. It was all he could do not to take her right there on the sand.

He stayed on the strand all morning, unbraided some of the line he'd found among the litter on the shore to set rabbit snares, then bathed and shaved with his knife. A fat gray squirrel had the misfortune to cross the path of the first snare he'd set, and Nicholas dispatched it readily. After skinning it, he made a small fire, cooked, and ate it.

On returning to the island, he felt only a twinge of guilt when he saw Glory knee deep in the sea fishing with a strip of lace attached to a hairpin.

"Catch anything?" he asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"Just a sunburn," she told him, and Nicholas almost smiled.

"I brought you a nice sea gull. That should fill you up."

She groaned aloud and tossed her makeshift line back into the sea. She'd pulled the back of her petticoat between her legs and tucked it into the waistband, leaving her calves exposed. Nicholas felt a tightening in his loins. Damn the girl for the vixen she was. He prayed the next few days would soften her up for him. He'd hate to bed her against her will, but looking at her now, he knew he would only wait so long. She deserved whatever she got, and that included a stint on her back, tending his needs.

With an inward smile, Nicholas sauntered to the shore behind her. "You don't have any bait," he said. Pulling off his boots, he sloshed through the low waves till he stood calf deep in the water. While Glory fished, he unsheathed the knife at his waist, dug in the sand till he found several small clams, and pried open their shells. Walking up beside Glory, he lifted her slim hand and dumped the slippery shellfish into her palm.

"Here. These ought to do it."

Glory shrieked at the slimy feel and tossed the clams into the sea. Nicholas howled with laughter.

"Not much of a fisherman, are you?"

"Damn you, Nicholas Blackwell. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were enjoying every moment of this."

"Come on," he said, pulling her toward shore. "I'll fix your supper."

Chapter Eleven.

Nicholas returned to their makeshift campsite, made a fire, and prepared Glory a "tasty" meal of roasted sea gull.

Glory choked and gagged and downed enough of the meat to keep her from starving, while Nicholas pretended to relish the delicious taste of the tough, stringy meat; his earlier meal of succulent squirrel had been enough to keep him till morning.

"I'm going to bathe and wash my hair," Glory announced after supper. "I'll still be salty, but anything's better than all this sand."

"Don't go out past your knees," Nicholas warned. "Tiger sharks prowl the waters this time of year."

"Sharks?"

"Big enough to swallow a man whole. Tigers have been known to weigh eight hundred pounds."

"Oh, Lord, what next?" Dejectedly, Glory sank back down cross-legged on the sand. "I can't wash my hair in water up to my knees. The waves chum up the sand too much. Surely it's safe to go out farther than that."

"I wouldn't if I were you." He lifted one comer of his mouth. "You wouldn't want one of those long, pretty legs of yours to wind up shorter than the other."

"Oooh," Glory growled beneath her breath. "I don't know how much more of this I can stand. When do you think the rescue boats will be looking for us? Shouldn't we make a fire or something?"

"It'll be a week before they've had time to discover we're missing and organize a search, even if one of the shore boats made port. We'll worry about a signal fire before then." Nicholas leaned back against the trunk of a tree, as relaxed as if this whole episode were just the merest of adventures. He had shaved during the day, and his black hair glistened in the firelight.

"How did you do it?" Glory asked.

"Do what?"

"Wash your hair."

"I can swim, remember?"

"But what about the sharks?"

"They prefer pretty young girls."

She could see the arrogant curve of his lip profiled in the firelight. "I know you're trying to make me miserable, Captain Blackwell. And I just want you to know I expected nothing less from a rogue like you." With that she stalked away from the fire and settled at the base of a distant pine tree. The hot sun and lack of food had taken their toll, and she finally fell asleep.

Sometime after midnight, the wind began to howl. The sting of sand against her skin brought Glory fully awake. Scanning the island for Nicholas, she found him resting beneath a tree, his broad shoulders turned against the needlelike blasts. She wanted to go to him, to nestle in the curve of his arm, to feel safe and protected the way she had before. But all that was past. He'd made clear exactly how he felt about her, so instead she curled up against the stinging fury of the wind and tried futilely to go back to sleep. On the morrow, she vowed, she would build some sort of shelter-with or without the captain's help.

The breeze had abated by the time Glory awoke late the following morning. Nicholas had a fire going.

"Hungry?" he asked, again looking refreshed. She wondered how he managed to look so well groomed while she was a pitiful, bedraggled mess. Her lacy petticoat hung in tatters, her chemise was dirty, ripped, and tom, and her hair . . . God in heaven, would her pale hair ever look beautiful again?

"What?" she asked listlessly. The heat, wind, and sand were continuing to take their toll. "Oh, yes, I suppose so."

"I cooked some crab." He broke off a claw and handed it to her. "All you have to do is figure out how to get it out."

Glory felt like crying. The tantalizing crab made her mouth water, but the determined little claw wouldn't part with its bounty. "How did you get it out?" she asked.

"I cracked it with my teeth."

"Your teeth?"

"My teeth."

Why didn't she believe him? Desperate for a bite of the succulent meat, Glory bit down on the stubborn shell. The shell split apart, but so did a tiny chip from her tooth.

Nicholas chuckled softly. Taking his knife to a second claw, he broke it open and handed Glory the snowy white meat. Nothing had ever tasted as good. She ate every bite he gave her, paying no attention to the juices running down her arms. When she was full, she felt better than she had in days.

"God, that was good," she said. As she wiped her mouth with the hem of her petticoat, Nicholas watched her, but he didn't say a word.

"I thought maybe we could build a shelter today," she told him, and waited for his reaction.

"What for?"

"What for! Because that wind last night was miserable and sooner or later it's bound to rain."

Nicholas only shrugged. "Suit yourself, but don't expect any help from me. I like sleeping out in the open."

"Would you at least cut some branches for me? I'll tie them together with strips of lace from my petticoat."

Try as he might, Nicholas couldn't stifle his grin. "Better watch out, Miss Summerfield. You keep using up your skirt and you'll be sleeping out here in the raw."

Furious, Glory kicked her slender foot in the sand, stubbing her toe on a pebble buried beneath. She gritted her teeth against the stab of pain. "You are the most infuriating, most despicable cad I've ever met."

Nicholas raked her with his eyes, his look traveling with deliberate slowness from the top of her tangled locks to the toes of her slender feet. They came to rest on the high curves of her bosom above her lacy chemise.

"And you, Glory, are without a doubt the most delectable morsel on the island. Be careful what you say or it's you I'll be having for supper, instead of another sea gull." Glory blushed crimson. It was the first time he'd paid her the least attention since they'd reached the island and she wasn't sure whether to be insulted or relieved. Without another word she stalked indignantly to the opposite end of the island. She didn't return until he'd accumulated a pile of branches large enough for the task she'd set herself.

"Have at it," Nicholas said dryly. "I think I'll take a swim."

Her eyes went wide. "But what about the sharks? What if something happens to you?"

"I'll do my best not to get eaten." He walked to the shoreline and pulled off his boots; then his long brown fingers worked the buttons of his breeches.

Glory couldn't look away. He slid his breeches off and, naked, walked immodestly toward the water. His long legs, narrow hips, and muscular buttocks held her like a spell. The scars on his back intrigued her, and again she wondered how he got them. Waist deep in the water he turned to face her. Glory quickly averted her eyes, but her rosy blush betrayed her, and Nicholas chuckled mirthlessly at her embarrassment.

"Join me?" he called out. "I promise I'll keep the sharks away."

How she would have loved to. She could have washed her hair and gotten rid of this endless sand. But there was no way in the world Gloria Summerfield was going into the water with a naked man.