Excerpt of His Wicked Kiss by Gaelen Foley

Eden made a note on where she had found the orchids, doing her best to shield her paper from the rain. The little capuchin monkey observing her from a nearby crook of the great tree swiveled his head and went motionless, peering upriver for a second.

Suddenly, the capuchin let out a warning screech and fled up into his leafy towers. Eden froze, scanning the branches around her and praying she did not see an early- waking jaguar.

Her heart pounding, she listened in fright for any sound above the soft, steady patter of the rain on the leaves and searched the surrounding canopy, knowing full well the animal’s spotted coat made it almost impossible to see until it was too late. She was trying to decide if it was better to be eaten there on the branch or to tumble into the river below, when suddenly, she heard voices.

Male voices, many in number.

And they were speaking English!

Turning to stare in the direction the capuchin had first looked, she now beheld a most astonishing sight.

People!

A squat, tubby river boat pulling a barge piled with timber was emerging slowly from around the river bend.

Whatever are they doing here? she wondered as she stared with excitement bubbling up in her veins. Never mind that! This could be the opportunity she had been praying for. As the boat drifted closer, she studied the rough-looking men at the rails and lounging under the canvas shade on deck. Admittedly, they did not look like a promising lot, resembling so many pirates.

Many were shirtless in the heat, their swarthy hides tattooed and sinewy. Hope rose, however, when she noticed a young blond man striding toward the prow.

Unlike the others, he was quite fully dressed, though perhaps slightly wilted in the damp jungle heat. He seemed unwilling to be daunted by it. With his gentlemanly cravat in good order, cuffed white shirt sleeves neatly fashioned in self-conscious propriety, and ebony knee-boots, he looked like a proud and very correct young officer.

Her heart fluttered. Gracious, he was the handsomest creature she had seen in ages . . . until, following his progress, her gaze came to rest on the magnificent man that the younger fellow now joined at the rails.

An indescribable awe--or fascination--came over her as she stared at their kingly leader. She had studied animals long enough to be able to pick out in an instant which was the dominant male, and there was no question whatsoever that he was it.

He appeared in his late thirties, and good Lord, he was big. He even had an inch or two on Connor, she reckoned, with several stone in pure muscle over Papa. The imposing stranger looked surprisingly at home in the jungle setting. A knotted red bandana hung around his neck in the Spanish style; he wore a loose white shirt, having apparently discarded coat and waistcoat in the heat. His shirt fell open in a V down to his breastbone, baring his glistening, muscular chest.

The fine white linen had turned translucent in the rain and clung to his massive shoulders.

Below, he wore dun-colored breeches that disappeared into shiny black boots.

Eden realized something all of a sudden.

I know who this man is.

Lord Jack Knight, the mysterious merchant-adventurer who had turned himself into a shipping magnate worth millions-- one of the most powerful men in the West Indies. Kingston society had swarmed with stories about the enigmatic man. Black-Jack Knight, some called him. It was said he owned large portions of Jamaica, and had a fleet of eighty ships, with warehouses on every continent. His company was based in Port Royal, but she heard he lived outside the town in an elegant, white-stuccoed villa that sat on a cliff overlooking the sea.

Some people claimed he had ill dealings with the smugglers who plagued Buenos Aires. Others whispered he had actually helped the Americans during the War of 1812, and since he was British-born himself, that would have made him all but a traitor if it was true.

There were darker rumors still, tales involving acts of piracy in his shadowed past, but as far as Eden knew, no one had ever dared confront him in order to find out.

Well, blazes, Eden thought, her stare intensifying, I don’t care if he’s Blackbeard himself if he can get me out of here.

Seeing the way he carried himself, it was easy to believe that such a man could wrest his fortune from the untamed sea. Power, boldness, and vitality emanated from every line of his towering physique; he held his head high with an air of intelligent command. His square face was framed by dark sideburns, his tousled hair the same dark, warm brown as the toppled mahoganies his boat was pulling.

“Look!” the blond young officer suddenly cried. “There’s-- “ He squinted in disbelief.

“There’s a lady in that tree!”

The crew let out with marveling oaths and exclamations, following the direction of his pointing finger.

The sight of her there, sitting on the branch that overarched the river, must have been so unlikely that most of them seemed to find it quite hilarious.

She clenched her jaw and colored a bit, but refused to be nonplused. She rested one hand behind her on the bough and leaned back idly, trying to look nonchalant.

One sailor slapped his thigh as he guffawed. “If them grow on trees in these parts, Cap, you can drop me off ’ere!”

She forced a longsuffering smile as a few of them bellowed with laughter, but Lord Jack, with a mystified look, walked toward the bow as the boat drifted closer, coming within a few feet of Eden’s perch.

The light rain trickled down the adventurer’s broad forehead to his thick, dark eyebrows.

He had deep-set, hooded eyes and a large but aquiline nose. A day’s beard shadowed his rugged jaw, adding to his dangerous aura. His lips, she thought, looked a little chapped.

And altogether kissable. The unbidden thought quite startled her.

“What species of bird is that, do ye reckon?” one of his men persisted, rousing more laughter from his mates.

Turning redder by the second, she frowned, thinking their master just a little wanting in manners for not silencing their sport. Indeed, she was beginning to feel more than a tad foolish, herself, knowing full well that tree-climbing was hardly included in how La Belle Assemblee advised young ladies to behave.

Alas, here she was being stared at by a magnetic, thoroughly compelling man whose fleet of ships might just be her only ticket out of here--a man whose direct and confident gaze made her heart beat faster.

As she held his stare, too fascinated to look away, she marveled at what pretty eyes he had. In contrast to his sun-bronzed complexion, his piercing eyes were the turquoise blue of Caribbean waters. She detected a sparkle of amusement in their depths as he perused her, not quite successful in masking his roguish astonishment.

“You do see her, my lord?” the young officer asked. “Please tell me I have not gone mad in the heat.”

“Trahern,” he ordered in a calm, authoritative tone, not taking his eyes off her.

“Stop the boat.”

#

No, indeed, the tropical sun had not addled his assistant’s wits unless it had cooked Jack’s, also, for he, too, saw the lovely young redhead in the tree. Straddling the thick bough, she swung her feet a bit self- consciously right above the spot where the pilot now managed to bring the boat to a halt.

Finding any sort of female on a branch above the Orinoco a hundred miles from any human settlement might have been rather a shock, let alone a stunning beauty with big emerald eyes and, from his quick assessment, perfect proportions.

Her long chestnut mane hung unbound. Wet with rain, she slicked it back from her face as he watched her, his stare following the auburn tendrils that twined over her delicate shoulders. She wore a light green walking dress with frilly pantalets peeking out from underneath before they disappeared into thick brown boots.

Jack was entranced and could not help staring. Her face, a softly rounded oval with a light speckling of freckles, glowed with rain; she had high cheekbones with a peachy complexion and a straight, perfect nose that bespoke excellent breeding.

Though not normally given to damsel rescues and other good deeds, he was more than happy to make an exception and play the hero in this case.

“Good day, Miss,” he greeted her, prepared to offer his assistance. “I see you’ve gotten yourself into a spot of trouble up there.”

“I have?” She tilted her head with a frown. “How’s that?”

Jack furrowed his brow. Her self-possessed response startled him; he had expected more of a cry for help. He glanced discreetly at his men; they shrugged, as perplexed as he.

He turned to the girl once more as she drew off her leather work gloves and then picked a leaf out of her hair with a small scowl. “Is everything, er, quite all right?”

“I think so,” she said warily, eyeing him as though he were the oddball. “Is everything all right with you?”

“Of course.” Jack was nonplused and beginning to wonder if they were speaking the same language. “That doesn’t look very safe,” he pointed out. “Do you need help getting down?”

“Oh!” she answered with a startled laugh. “No, I don’t need any help getting down. But I’m sure you’re very kind,” she added indulgently.

Jack stared at her in perplexity. “What the blazes are you doing in that tree?”

“Studying epiphytes, of course.”

“Epi-whats?” Higgins muttered.

“Orchids,” she clarified. “In fact, I have just made a most astonishing discovery!”

“Have you?” Jack echoed, certain that her discovery could not be any more astonishing than his present one--namely, her.

She nodded emphatically. “It appears the symbiosis between the epiphytes and these canopy giants goes even deeper than we ever previously suspected!” she blurted out, speaking out of plain nervousness, he guessed.

“You don’t say,” he replied rather cautiously.

“Shall I explain?” she offered, lighting up.

“I don’t think she gets out much,” Trahern murmured under his breath.

“Please do,” Jack invited her, as he folded his arms across his chest and masked his amusement. He silenced his chuckling men with a curt order.

Visibly pleased by his interest, the little oddball warmed to her topic. “Oh, it’s very exciting! These orchids have flourished on this tree branch for many generations. They have lived and died and then decayed right here on this thick bough, until eventually, over a number of years, they’ve created their own little bed of soil and mulch, right here on the branch. They don’t need any soil to grow in, of course--they’re air feeders with special roots that allow them to suck the water right out of the air, you see, like this rain.” She held out her cupped hand to catch a few raindrops as she looked up into the drizzling canopy.

When she tilted her head back, his stare homed in on the damp white fichu tucked into the neckline of her gown, a gauzy covering that clung to her demure cleavage.

“Is that . . . right?” he murmured faintly, struck by a jolt of wild lust. It took him completely off guard.

“Quite. Here!” She tossed a purple flower down to him with a dazzling white smile. “It’s an advantage for them, really. Anyway--” She leaned toward Jack with a confidential air, nearly giving him a fit of apoplexy in his certainty that she was going to fall out of the tree and straight into the mouth of a crocodile. “Today I discovered that these little orchids give back to the tree that shelters them in the most wonderful manner.”

“How?” he asked, drawn in to her little mystery in spite of himself, and utterly enchanted.

“They feed it. Look.” She lifted up a cross-section of what looked to him like grubby turf.

“When I cut into the orchids’ bed of soil here for closer study, I discovered that the tree had actually begun sending out these little root-like structures right from the branch so that it could take in nutrients from the mulch that generations of decaying orchids had created here. Don’t you see what this means?”

Jack attempted to answer but thought better of it. He just shook his head. She laid her hand on the massive branch that she was sitting on and gazed up wistfully into the canopy. “They give to each other, neither harming the other. This great big mahogany gives this tiny, delicate flower shelter and solid support, while the orchid, in turn, creates nourishment to help feed the tree and keep it strong. They live in perfect harmony together and isn’t it just so . . . beautiful?”

Jack stared, mute with a very male sense of admiration. He wasn’t much for botany, and though miraculous, the arrangement between the flower and the tree did not seem half as beautiful to him as this dainty, eccentric little bluestocking.

He knew now who she was.

His acquaintance with Victor Farraday and his younger sister, Cecily, went back to their days in England twenty years ago, though both he and Victor were expatriates now. The last he had heard, the famed naturalist had disappeared into the Orinoco Delta and had not been heard from since.

“You’re Dr. Farraday’s daughter,” he informed her.

She straightened up proudly with a nod. “And you are Lord Jack Knight--though Jack is really just a nickname for John. So I’m told.”

If he had been astonished before, he was now thrown completely off kilter. “You know me?”

She laughed. “I saw you before. At an assembly ball in Kingston.”

“Really?” he echoed again, even more faintly this time. The world was feeling more than a little topsy-turvy.

“Yes,” she declared with great certainty. “I believe you had on a black coat.”

“You were at a ball I was attending and I did not notice you? Highly unlikely--ah, unless your father made a point of keeping you out of my sight.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted with a roguish little grin. “You know--” She paused and gave him a look that nearly knocked him off his feet. “He isn’t here right now.” Jack swallowed hard and felt his heart beat faster. “Oh, really?” he murmured in a deeper tone.

“Yes, really,” she replied, a devilish twinkle in her emerald eyes. She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back a distinctly naughty smile.

Well, now. If he did not know better, he might actually think the chit was flirting with him--the feared, ferocious, the formidable Jack Knight?

Impossible.

Certainly she was not fleeing him nor showing any sign of fear. He looked away, feeling a bit confounded. Either she had not heard, isolated in this wild place, that he was the Devil incarnate, or was too desperate for human company to care. Whatever the reason for her friendly manner, Jack was both puzzled and pleased.

He scratched his cheek self-consciously and then glanced over his shoulder at his watching men, who quickly busied themselves doing nothing, pretending not to be absorbed in their exchange. He scowled at them, then looked up at Miss Farraday again, wary and unsure what to make of the pert young siren.

She smiled at him again with a warm, engaging enthusiasm that young ladies in civilized places were taught to hide behind downcast eyes, total obedience, and maidenly silence--the same demure creatures who fled from him. This one stared straight at him with curious interest and a definite mind of her own, and Jack hadn’t the foggiest notion what to make of her.

Fancifully, he thought her like a beautiful half-wild princess of this mysterious emerald realm--or a wondrous rare forest animal that had never seen Man before and did not know enough to be afraid.

Total innocence.

But noting the pistol and machete that she wore strapped around her slim waist, he gathered in deepening respect that the lady knew how to fend for herself.