South Seas Seduction Read online

  A woman, a fortyish, bleached-out blonde, held a gun to a second woman’s temple. “Sebastian,” she yelled, “He’s followed your orders, now get your ass back here.”

  At a nudge from the gun-wielding man at his side, Jack went back to the controls, but when he heard the younger woman whimper, he turned around again. One of the male hijackers switched places with the female. The woman ran her pistol up and down Steve’s inside leg as he jerked and struggled against his bindings. His glasses fell to the floor.

  The young woman tugged against the ropes her captor used to tie her hands behind the seat. Strands of her long, reddish hair clung to the tears running down her face. He took his time wrapping the length of rope under her breasts, her unbuttoned blouse gave him access as he copped a feel along the way. The man unbuckled her, hiked up her skirt and took the excess rope, running it up under her seat between her legs. The rope cut into her pussy, her red pubic hair sticking out on either side of her underwear. He tied off the remaining rope behind her back, leaving her legs spread. Her bra was raised, exposing her breasts.

  Adrenaline rushed through Jack’s veins. He grabbed for his seatbelt, but his guard jammed the gun against his head hard enough to make him see stars. He shook off the pain. The young woman let out a scream, and Jack turned again and clenched his teeth.

  The woman’s captor ran a gun along the insides of her legs toward her pussy. The older woman unzipped Steve’s pants. What the hell? Was this some kind of kinky sex hijacking?

  “Enough,” Jack’s hijacker yelled, cutting off their laughter. “There’ll be time for that later. Right now we have work to do.” He tapped his gun on the back of Jack’s head. “Fly, asshole.”

  Jack concentrated on the plane while listening to one of the scumbags murmur, “Hear that, bitch? We get to play with you later. Keep thinking of our hot cocks, shoved up your sweet pussy.” The guy made slurping sounds. “See this big ol’ cock? It’s all for you. Oh, yeah, baby, we’re gonna have us a real good time.”

  The plane wrenched upward, yanking the yoke from Jack’s hands. Gauges spun around like a child’s toy top. Heavy, black clouds loomed before them. Orange and pink lightning bolts jigged-jagged across the sky. Fuck. The storm was getting worse. Obviously no one had bothered to check weather patterns during the planning of their hijacking.

  Unable to change the coordinates to avoid the wind and lightning, Jack could only watch the mass of dark, evil-looking clouds loom closer. He grabbed the yoke and held on as the plane bounced and tossed like a prized toy for Godzilla. The hijackers, no longer in the safety of their seats, were thrown against each other as if they were in a pinball machine, with thunder and lightning providing sound effects.

  A gust of wind dropped the plane, and Jack’s white-knuckle grip slipped from the controls. By the time they realized they were going down, it was too late for the hijackers to reach their seats. Passengers screamed. Engines whined. Water slammed into the windshield as the plane hit the ocean. Everything went black.

  ****

  Bit-by-bit, Jack moved his right arm. The pounding in his head reminded him of a truck changing gears. He opened first one eye, then the other, and groaned not so much from pain but from the sight of his plane.

  Blood splattered across the shattered windshield as if a paint brush had flicked its bristles. One of the hijackers hung through the broken right windshield, his head stuck through the glass, his body lying on the dashboard. Branches and leaves shimmered in the sunlight, swaying the man’s head up and down like a fishing bobber. Another hijacker’s body lay crumpled in the co-pilot’s seat, his legs and head bent in directions not designed by God. These two wouldn’t be wielding guns anymore. No sound came from the cabin.

  Jack unbuckled his lap belt, hoping the click of its release didn’t wake the remaining hijackers. His chest hurt like hell from the impact against the restraint. He rested between movements, taking in painful breaths of air. Having had his share of broken ribs from numerous bar fights, he thought nothing was broken, only bruised.

  He turned around and swore both from pain and the sight before him. The two restrained men were still in their seats, unconscious. The older woman lay grotesquely at Steve’s feet, her head turned sideways, her blonde hair turning red from blood flowing from her ears and mouth. Nothing could be done for the bitch, but he had to check on the others.

  As he eased himself between the two cockpit seats, his foot hit one of the pistols the highjackers dropped, sending it across the floor. Another lay at Steve’s feet. A check on the neck of one of the restrained men—Toby, if he remembered correctly—showed a steady pulse drumming against his fingers. Jack held his breath and then let it out when Toby’s chest rose and fell rhythmically.

  The other tied-up man, Steve, moaned.

  Jack cut both men’s restraints with his jackknife.

  “Sonofabitch,” Jack murmured as he went to the young woman’s seat. Her torturer’s body lay twisted, khaki shorts and dingy underwear down around his ankles. His penis, once probably the only source of the man’s brain power, now lay against the floor of the plane, as shriveled and silent as its owner.

  The young woman’s blouse was torn down the front, and her bra shoved over the top of her breasts, revealing their rosy tips. Finger-sized bruises rose against her pale skin. One of the ropes between her legs was cut, her underpants pulled aside. Blood oozed around the remaining rope on her other leg. What had kept her safely in place during the crash gouged deeply into her skin, leaving her pussy red and swollen.

  What the hell was her name, anyway? Something to do with a famous book character. It finally came to him. “Emma!” he shouted.

  The woman flinched and opened her eyes.

  Jack squatted down next to her seat and pulled her blouse together. She cried out, her eyes frantic with fear as she tried to pull away from him.

  “Shh, sweetheart,” he said, keeping his voice low and calm. “I won’t hurt you. I’m going to untie the rope. Close your eyes, honey, and I’ll have you out of here in a jiff.” He crawled behind her, released the knot, and carefully slipped the uncut piece from between her legs. He untied the knots that bound her wrists and let the remaining rope drop from beneath her breasts. She would be sporting some ugly bruises in those sensitive spots.

  She jumped up, wincing in pain. Stepping back, she held out her hands to ward him off. Before he even blinked, she grabbed a gun lying on the floor. “Y-y-y-you stay away from me, you pervert, or I’ll shoot.”

  Jack didn’t move. If it had been pointed earlier at one of the hijackers, he would have admired her spunk and bravery. But now he had to calm her before she did something stupid, like shoot him.

  “Easy there, Emma.”

  “How do you know my name?” she shrieked.

  Jack held out his empty hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m Jack Delaney, pilot and owner of this plane. Don’t you remember me from the airport in Australia?” He started to run a hand through his hair, but stopped when Emma shook the gun at him.

  “Don’t you move, you scalawag, you.”

  Laughing wouldn’t have been a good idea at the time, but being called a scalawag almost set him off. Not the wisest thought under the circumstances. He took a deep breath to ward off the impending bile rising from his stomach. “Now, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t you call me that!”

  “Fine. Emma. Look around and you’ll see that the bad guys are dead, the other two men—who were also tied up—are passed out, the plane is definitely grounded for now, and both of us have some injuries that need to be tended to. I’ll sit here and give you a chance to get your bearings. I’ll keep my hands on my knees. Okay?”

  Emma looked around then pointed the gun to the floor. Jack eased himself down, sat cross-legged, and did as he promised. Pain shot through his ribs.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, a frown of concern marring her light eyebrows.

  “Hell, no. I may have broken a few ribs. I’ve a lump the
size of the moon on my forehead and probably have a concussion. I think I broke my nose and my legs hurt from shaking so hard.”

  Emma licked her lips. “Why are you shaking?”

  “Fear, my dear woman. Fear, pure and simple.”

  “Why should you be afraid?” she asked, skepticism ringing in her voice.

  Jack shook his head and almost ran his hand through his hair again, but stopped when she leveled the gun at him. “Lady, I don’t get hijacked at gunpoint every day, fly into a storm, and crash. I don’t know where we are, what those people wanted, or the condition of the plane. I’ve a half-crazed woman pointing a gun at me, two passengers passed out, four dead, and in this heat, probably ripening as we speak. Other than that, I’m perfectly all right.” Sweat ran down his temples, the sides of his face, and into his eyes, but he wasn’t about to move his hands to wipe at the stinging moisture.

  “I’m not a crazed woman.” Emma raised her chin a notch. “I’m just as scared as you are.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes. I’m traveling with strangers, was pawed over by these goons—which you may be part of—I’ve a bunch of rope burns, I’m holding a gun on a man who could easily take my life, and to top it off, I have to…” She halted her tirade.

  “Have to what?” Jack asked.

  Emma’s face turned a proper shade of pink as she waved the gun at Jack. “Have to…you know…”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Oh, turkey. This is so embarrassing.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I have to relieve myself.”

  Jack snorted, holding back a laugh. She had to go to the bathroom? He’d bet his bottom dollar everyone else just went ahead and peed in their pants when the storm hit. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I’m the pilot and won’t hurt you.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, took a deep breath and cautiously reached out a hand. “Please, put down the gun, and we’ll get you out of the plane to find a place to relieve yourself.”

  He held his breath.

  Emma’s faced paled a little more each time her gaze came across another body. She glanced at his seat and at Toby and Steve.

  “Please?” he asked again, hoping she would give in soon, because truth be told, he, too, had a powerful urge to take a leak.

  “I guess you’re not lying. I do remember those hoodlums tying us up and…” She put the pistol down and nudged it over to him.

  “Why give it to me?”

  “Well, you said you didn’t know where we are and I certainly don’t, so we may need it for protection when we get off the plane, which better be quick, or I’m going to mess your lovely aircraft.”

  Where the hell did this woman come from? No one called his plane lovely. And hoodlums? First scalawags, then goons, and now hoodlums? Not one swear word except for turkey, which in his book didn’t even come close to cussing. If he were in her shoes, he’d be screaming his head off and using every obscene word known to man and some he would probably make up. Hell, he still might do that, especially if his Norseman turned out to be badly damaged.

  “Okay, Emma. Let’s wake these guys first.”

  “I can’t wait. I have to go now!”

  This time Jack didn’t bother to hide his grin as she hopped up and down like a three-year-old.

  “All right, all right, hold your horses,” he mumbled, going to the exit door. He lifted the lever to release the lock and pushed. It didn’t budge. He slammed his shoulder against it.

  “Sonofabitch!” he yelled, wrapping his arms around his ribs. “Damn, fuckin’ door.”

  “You shouldn’t swear like that,” Emma said.

  “Why the hell not?” His voice rose another decibel. “Don’t you ever swear when you’re hurt?”

  Emma pushed him aside and wiggled the handle up and down. “No. It doesn’t make things better, and only shows a person’s inability to use their brain instead of their potty mouth.”

  “Potty mouth?” Jack brushed her aside and yanked up the handle. The door gave. “Who the hell taught you to talk?” He reached to let down the steps.

  Nose stuck primly in the air, she stepped past Jack. “Obviously someone with a better education than you.”

  “Wait! I don’t know how far—” He didn’t have time to finish his warning when Emma stepped out of the plane. Her scream set him in motion. Giving up on the stairs, he jumped, ready to fight off dragons, natives, or man-eating ants. What he ended up battling was a tangle of arms and legs. He dropped several feet, and the impact of landing half on her and half on the ground sent shock waves through his body. He wrapped his arms around his ribs and groaned, trying to move from Emma’s flaying limbs.

  “Get off me, you goon,” she screamed, swatting at him.

  Jack grabbed at her hands, but between her fury and his pain, his attempts were ineffectual. A click stopped them both.

  “Move off her, you fuckin’ pervert,” a voice called from the plane.

  Jack peered around Emma’s head at Toby standing in the doorway. His tall frame nearly filled the exit. Once again he was facing the bad end of a gun.

  “Get off the woman, or I’ll shoot.”

  Untangling her arms and legs from his own, Jack pushed Emma away, lay back on the ground, and threw an arm over his eyes. “Oh, hell. You might as well shoot me. Everyone else wants to today.”

  “No, wait!” Emma yelled. “Don’t shoot. He was just trying to help. We both fell out of the plane. And. Oh, goodness. I. Have. To. Go.”

  Jack lifted his arm and watched her race behind a rock. “Better take that gun and protect her from something other than me.”

  Toby relaxed, lowered the gun, and prepared to jump.

  “Pull the stairs down. It’s a longer trip down than it seems.”

  While Toby got the steps into place and climbed down, Jack rolled to his side and carefully pushed himself to a sitting position. He pulled up his shirt. A line of bruises marked where his seatbelt had kept him from flying through the windshield. He touched his throbbing nose, and his finger came back tinged with blood. He wasn’t sure, but he thought maybe he’d cracked a rib when he hit the ground. He took a deep breath. Nope, not broken, but painful just the same.

  He peeked under his arm. Emma knelt by his side in the sand.

  “Oh my, you’re hurt.” She pressed cool fingers to his forehead.

  Jack flinched. Even with all the pain, her touch sent shivers down his spine and into his groin. You’re one pathetic man, Delaney. One touch from a woman and your cock jumps up like fireworks from a rocket, pain-racked body and all.

  Toby stood, hands on his hips, surveying the damage. “Shit, man. That’s bad.”

  Emma pointed to the bruise on his upper chest. “Are they broken?” she whispered. “I can bind them for you.”

  Jack rolled away from her and stood. “I’ve had broken ribs before. They’re just bruised. I’ll live.”

  “Actually I was talking about your plane,” Toby said, pointing the gun toward Jack’s single-engine plane.

  Taking his mind from his aching body, Jack finally looked at his precious Norseman. He closed his eyes, hoping it was a mirage, a figment of his imagination, a bad dream caused by the blow to his head. He reopened one eye, then the other. “Oh hell.” Tears welled. “Sonofabitch.” He dropped to the sand, rested his hands on his knees and pressed his chin to his chest. “Ah, hell!”

  “Swearing will not help, Mr. Delaney.” Emma said. “And besides, it could be worse.”

  Jack gave her a dirty look. “Worse? How the hell could this be worse? Just look.” He pointed to the remains of his vintage plane resting between two massive boulders, the nose smashed into a grove of palm trees. “There’s no wings. Where the hell are the fuckin’ wings? Where’s the damn propeller and…and…” He turned on Emma. “How the hell can things be worse?”

  “We all could be dead, like those marauders inside,” she answered, pointing a finger at the plane. “And please don’t swear.”

  “Do
n’t swear? Don’t swear?” Jack’s voice cracked and rose with each sentence until it resembled a teenager in the throes of vocal cord change. “Did you hear that, Toby? My plane, my only means of livelihood and probably our only way of getting off wherever the hell we are is destroyed, and she’s worried about my fuckin’ language.”

  “What’s going on out here?” Steve said, poking his head from the plane, his face pale as he put one foot on the top step. “Is everyone all right?”

  Jack stepped toward his plane, his eyes roving over it, before he looked at the other man. “What, no gun waving in my face?”

  Steve frowned and took in the jungle surrounding them. “Do we need one? Are we in danger?” he asked, ducking back into the plane.

  “Hell, no, we don’t need a gun. It’s just that everyone else seems to want to point one at me, why not you?”

  Steve stuck his head out again. “Uh, I don’t know. Why not?”

  Jack stood and shook his head. What and who did he get stuck with? Had he loaded a bunch of lunatics onto his plane? Heaven help them if they were stranded on a deserted island.

  Emma frowned at Steve.

  A bit of a smile played across Toby’s face.

  Steve stepped onto the sand, slapped a hand over his mouth and pronounced each word carefully. “Oh. My. Your. Plane.”

  Jack leaned where a wing had once been. “Yeah, my plane,” he whispered with a hitch in his voice. In his book, men weren’t meant to cry, but this was an exception. He ran a hand over the plane’s side toward the tail. He’d worked damned hard, not only finding one of the few remaining Norsemen planes, but restoring it. For six years he’d traveled from island to island in the Pacific, hauling cargo to islands where ships couldn’t dock, where scientists did research, missionaries saved what they thought were lost souls, or taking a few passengers to places larger commercial aircraft couldn’t land.

  He walked around the tail to the other side and leaned against it. He closed his eyes. This had to be a nightmare. One wing lay in the sand at the edge of the water, the other nowhere in sight. The nose was slammed against several palm trees, the propeller bent at a ninety degree angle.