Page 16 of Storm over the Caribbean (Storm and Silence Saga #8)

That brought a tremulous smile to my lips. “I see. Well, far be it from me to doubt that the world has to obey the command of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.”

“Indeed.”

“So…what next?”

A moment later, the rumbling of my stomach answered that question for me. Cocking his head, my dear husband sent me a look.

“I think I might have an idea, Mrs Ambrose.”

I glanced around, once more surveying the surroundings. But this time, I was looking at everything with different eyes. The eyes of a hungry pregnant woman.

Hmm…I wonder, is sand edible?

Shaking myself, I pushed down my urges. I hadn’t yet forgotten how it had felt to wake up with the taste of pine tar in my mouth. Pregnancy cravings were an invention of the devil!

Once again, I let my eyes sweep over the beach and sea, this time with marginally more sanity and selectiveness.

“Is…is there stuff in the coconuts we could eat, maybe?” I finally suggested, hesitantly.

He nodded. “Coconut meat. But getting at it will be rather difficult. Getting off the husk of a coconut is one thing, as is punching through the eyes to get at the milk, but cracking open the hard shell beneath the husk?” 7 He shook his head.

“We’d be burning more calories trying to open one coconut than we’d get by eating five.

No. We have to think of something else.”

His cool gaze swept over the sand.

“Hm…”

I perked up. For anybody else, that single syllable might not have meant much. But for Mr Rikkard Ambrose, one hum was equivalent to an elaborate speech. He never spoke unless there was something to say.

“What is it?” I demanded.

“Be silent, Mrs Ambrose. I am trying to think.” Eyes narrowed infinitesimally, he began to pace up and down on the beach, somehow managing to prevent a single grain of the same sand that had managed to find its way all the way into my underwear from sticking to his shoes.

“Hm…if I remember correctly…yes!” Stopping abruptly, he snapped his fingers.

“Yes what?” I enquired when he didn’t seem to plan on elaborating.

“I own several restaurants on nearby islands. I remember them serving some local seafood, including one particular variety of crab. A variety of crab that, if I remember correctly, is caught somewhere around here. If I could only remember exactly…”

He trailed off, his eyes flicking from right to left, as if searching for something.

“Um, Mr Ambrose?” Reaching out, I tugged on his sleeve.

“Not now!”

“Mr Ambrose, Sir?” I repeated sweetly. “Dicky Darling?” Maybe that would get his attention. I tugged again.

“I said not now! I’m trying to think! I’m trying to remember where—”

It was only then that he seemed to notice my free hand, pointing downwards. Down towards where a curious crab was sticking its head out of a hole in the sand.

For an instant, Mr Ambrose stood frozen, staring at the crab.

The crab stared back, until…

He pounced!

With astounding alacrity, the little crab scuttled out of the way.

Waving its pincers, it started dashing off towards the ocean.

Without a second’s hesitation, Mr Rikkard Ambrose rushed after it, his long legs eating up the ground at a prodigious pace.

Which made it all the more impressive that the little crab seemed to have no difficulty keeping its lead, all the while waving its pincers as if to say “Bye-bye, suckers! See you later!”

With a growl, Mr Rikkard Ambrose sped up, his legs pumping like pistons. I, meanwhile, settled down on the warm sand and reached for a nearby coconut. Now, if I only had a straw and some snacks.

Down at the shore, Mr Ambrose leapt forward, heading straight towards his prey—and, with a splash, landed face-first in the surf.

The little crab waved goodbye one last time, then dashed into the sea to join the mermaid kingdom.

I didn’t snicker. I swear, I didn’t. It was the coconut.

Raising his dripping face out of the water, Mr Rikkard Ambrose sent me a glacial look. I was rather surprised the whole island didn’t freeze over.

“Did you wish to make a comment, Mrs Ambrose?”

“Oh, no, no. Do carry on.”

Mr Ambrose’s little finger twitched. “There are plenty more crabs around for you to try your luck with if you wish to try, yourself, Mrs Ambrose.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t.” Grabbing a nearby fallen palm leaf, I started to fan myself. “Pregnant women need their rest, you know.”

“I see. Well, then I hope you’ll rest in peace , Mrs Ambrose.”

The way he said those three words didn’t exactly conjure up images of comfy beds and cushions. Rather, headstones came to mind.

“Oh, I will,” I assured him, waving my palm leaf. “You wouldn’t perchance like to fan me for a few minutes, would you?”

The look I received said more than a thousand words. None of them were very polite ones. Then, climbing out of the water, he strode back onto the beach and started digging for crabs.

Up until recently, if you’d asked me what the funniest sight in the world was, I’d probably have said my aunt’s face on my wedding day, or maybe Karim in a pink tutu.

That was, however, before I got the distinct privilege of watching Mr Rikkard Ambrose go crab-hunting.

The sight of the most powerful business mogul of the British Empire chasing after little critters that, in spite of only having three-inch-long legs, somehow managed to easily outrun him, was a true wonder to behold.

Nothing could ever compare. Though the sight of Mr Rikkard Ambrose dancing around trying to detach a crab from his nose was a close second.

“Nnng! Agh! Lllt ggo!”

“Pardon, Dicky Darling? Did you say something?”

“Nofing,” came the cool, though rather difficult-to-understand, answer. “Nofing at all.”

“Oh, I see.” I glanced over at where he was still trying to pull the little critter off his nose. “So you won’t need any help then. That’s good.”

“Ng! Gg! Gtt off, you…!”

Thud!

The crab hit a palm, leapt down to the ground and instantly scuttled off towards the ocean. Mr Ambrose chased after it, a rock raised in one hand and a murderous gleam in his eyes. The critter made clicking noises and sped up.

Honestly, it was so cute I almost felt sorry for planning to eat those little fellows. Though, when Mr Rikkard Ambrose strode back towards me, his trousers wet from the ocean and the tip of his nose slightly reddened, I decided not to mention that little fact out loud.

“You go gather some firewood, Mrs Ambrose. Meanwhile…” Eyes glittering with desire for vengeance, he bent over one of the crabs he had gathered in a pit he had dug. “I shall get cracking .”

“Um…” I raised a hand. “I don’t know much about sea food, but aren’t crab shells usually cracked after cooking?”

The icy look he sent me in response, as well as his still reddened nose, was answer enough.

All right. Vengeance important. Cooking recipes not so much. Got it.

Quickly, I pushed myself to my feet and hurried off into the palm forest, doing my very best to ignore the crunching sounds from behind me.

Get cracking indeed.

Half an hour later, in the warm light of the sinking sun, we sat around a campfire on the beach, each holding skewers of meat over the crackling flames.

Above us, the shelter Mr Ambrose had built out of sticks and palm leaves sheltered us from the sea breeze.

I smiled, and snuggled into him. Over the years in Mr Ambrose’s employ, I had stayed in dozens of luxury hotels and famous inns.

But somehow, not a single one felt as homely as this tiny little hut.

Relishing his warmth, I pressed myself more firmly into his side.

“You know…this is kind of nice. We should do this more often.”

“Indeed.”

“Except the getting shipwrecked and slaughtering innocent animals and stuff.”

“Indeed.”

“And getting bitten in the nose.”

“ Indeed .”

It was amazing how many different meanings a single word could convey. Stretching, I yawned and put my head on his lap. Considering who it belonged to, it was amazingly comfy. Plus, it provided me with a spiffing view of his chiselled jaw and sublime visage.

“So…” I mumbled. “What now?”

“Now?” One of his hands reached out, gently stroking my hair. I wondered whether I should point out that he was wasting valuable time and calories performing a superfluous action. On the whole, I decided not to. “Now we hunker down for the night. We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose we will.”

Through the small opening left in one side of the impromptu shelter, I could see the sun gradually making its way to the horizon, its light slowly dimming. The warmth of the campfire was similarly fading. Only a last few tenacious flames were still flickering, and soon those, too, were gone.

I shivered, snuggling closer against my husband.

“Bloody hell! I thought this was supposed to be a tropical island. Why is it getting so cold all of a sudden?” 8

“Come here.”

I felt him shifting. Moments later, he slipped out of his tailcoat and put it over the both of us as best he could. Underneath the tailcoat, his arms came around me from behind, holding me close to his warmth.

Very, very close.

I felt heat rush through my body. Slowly but surely, it started gathering in one particular spot. And to judge by the hard thing pressing into my back, it wasn’t only happening to me. Swallowing, I shifted, incredibly aware of Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s rock-hard muscles with every single movement.

“You know…” For some reason, my voice suddenly sounded rather breathy. “On second thought, I don’t think keeping warm is going to be so difficult after all.”

“Indeed?”

Maybe it was just my imagination, but the tone of his voice also seemed to be changing. Becoming darker. More intense.

“Oh yes indeed, Mr Ambrose, Sir.”

Turning around to face him, I slid my hand between the two of us, placing it against his pectorals. “You don’t mind me warming my hands a little, do you?”

“No. It is efficient. Logical.”

“Good to know.”

My fingers curled against his muscled chest, stroking, caressing.

“Mrs Ambrose? What, pray, are you doing?”

“Rubbing my fingers. Friction generates warmth.”

My fingers started sliding down his chest and over his abs.

“And does downward movement also generate warmth?”

“Hm…I don’t really know.” I cocked my head, an innocent smile tugging at my lips as my hand moved down towards his belt. “Shall we try and see?”