Paradise Island by Charmaine Ross Page B
Authors: Charmaine Ross
Tags: Romance, Paranormal
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for her bad choices.
Chapter Five
Her clothes were stitched on with the chilled fingers of the sea breeze. This was an arctic night. And she had no idea in the world where they might be. There was definitely no sign of the
Wanderlust
.
She had been sailing towards the warm winds that would push them to Paradise. Her home. Her haven. It was as much to the hundreds of women that lived there and worked its lands. Women from all walks of life resided there, personally invited by Estelle, Claire, or Dalia, and Estelle had finally felt the full benefits of what a community should be.
Women there did the things the rest of the female population of the world only dreamt they could do. There was profitable trade, schools for the children and education for the women who had never had the chance to learn to read and write, a fair governing system, food and water. Women there lived without the threat of a manâs world where they could own no property, have no education to better themselves, where they could not provide for themselves, where they and their children lived at the whim of men.
On Paradise there were no bad husbands, no slack relatives, no governing rules made by men for the sole betterment of men, and where women were considered no more than pieces of furniture. It was a sanctuary, a shelter away from the rest of the world. It had taken years to build and it needed to stay a secret if it was to remain so.
Estelle stole a look at Gregory who stalked beside her, dark and brooding. He hadnât spoken a word since sheâd left him to follow her in the surf. The wind picked at his open shirt and flicked a strand of raven hair across his forehead. She glanced at his chest, bare to the open wind. The hard muscles beneath the skin undulated with each step he took. She read the power in those sinewy muscles, honed by years of warship activity. Coupled with his height, his lean, long legs, his determination, his intelligence and obvious anger at being held a captive, would make him a formidable force.
She needed to keep him manacled. There was a sense of security knowing the panther within him was caged, and she didnât have the benefit of her crew surrounding her. Keeping him bound was akin to securing a wolf to a tree with a short lead. It would keep the wolf at bay for a time, but when it tired of being locked down, its anger and fury would reach no ends until it was freed.
He resembled a wolf, with his raven hair, tossed by the wind and sea in bedraggled strands. The night created deep shadows where hair met skin, made the planes of his cheeks more hollow and rigid, his dark eyes more onyx-solid and his sleek brows tilt downward with a watchful vengeance. She knew he was quietly biding his time. Like the wolf, he would have endless patience. She would need to keep her wits about her.
As she neared the wall of the cliff, she made out an irregular, darker shadow at the base and made towards it, hoping that it would be some sort of shelter where they could see out the rest of this miserable night. The thin, translucent moonlight picked up an outcrop of jagged rock. There was a stone or two sunk into the sand, leading to a towering stack of boulders. Tucked in the middle was a black opening just large enough for a man to slip through.
âWe need to see inside, to check that it isnât wet, or inhabited by something a little more hostile than water,â Gregory announced.
âIndeed.â She lifted a sleek eyebrow.
Estelle gathered some seaweed and searched between the rocks for pieces of driftwood. She found some sticks that were dry. She bound the seaweed and smaller shards of driftwood to the end of a longer stick and reached for her tinder box that was in her hip satchel. Thank goodness she wore it as a matter of habit, securing it about her waist wherever she was going, no matter if she needed any item from it or not. Having lived by her wits for so many years, she took nothing for granted.
It
Chapter Five
Her clothes were stitched on with the chilled fingers of the sea breeze. This was an arctic night. And she had no idea in the world where they might be. There was definitely no sign of the
Wanderlust
.
She had been sailing towards the warm winds that would push them to Paradise. Her home. Her haven. It was as much to the hundreds of women that lived there and worked its lands. Women from all walks of life resided there, personally invited by Estelle, Claire, or Dalia, and Estelle had finally felt the full benefits of what a community should be.
Women there did the things the rest of the female population of the world only dreamt they could do. There was profitable trade, schools for the children and education for the women who had never had the chance to learn to read and write, a fair governing system, food and water. Women there lived without the threat of a manâs world where they could own no property, have no education to better themselves, where they could not provide for themselves, where they and their children lived at the whim of men.
On Paradise there were no bad husbands, no slack relatives, no governing rules made by men for the sole betterment of men, and where women were considered no more than pieces of furniture. It was a sanctuary, a shelter away from the rest of the world. It had taken years to build and it needed to stay a secret if it was to remain so.
Estelle stole a look at Gregory who stalked beside her, dark and brooding. He hadnât spoken a word since sheâd left him to follow her in the surf. The wind picked at his open shirt and flicked a strand of raven hair across his forehead. She glanced at his chest, bare to the open wind. The hard muscles beneath the skin undulated with each step he took. She read the power in those sinewy muscles, honed by years of warship activity. Coupled with his height, his lean, long legs, his determination, his intelligence and obvious anger at being held a captive, would make him a formidable force.
She needed to keep him manacled. There was a sense of security knowing the panther within him was caged, and she didnât have the benefit of her crew surrounding her. Keeping him bound was akin to securing a wolf to a tree with a short lead. It would keep the wolf at bay for a time, but when it tired of being locked down, its anger and fury would reach no ends until it was freed.
He resembled a wolf, with his raven hair, tossed by the wind and sea in bedraggled strands. The night created deep shadows where hair met skin, made the planes of his cheeks more hollow and rigid, his dark eyes more onyx-solid and his sleek brows tilt downward with a watchful vengeance. She knew he was quietly biding his time. Like the wolf, he would have endless patience. She would need to keep her wits about her.
As she neared the wall of the cliff, she made out an irregular, darker shadow at the base and made towards it, hoping that it would be some sort of shelter where they could see out the rest of this miserable night. The thin, translucent moonlight picked up an outcrop of jagged rock. There was a stone or two sunk into the sand, leading to a towering stack of boulders. Tucked in the middle was a black opening just large enough for a man to slip through.
âWe need to see inside, to check that it isnât wet, or inhabited by something a little more hostile than water,â Gregory announced.
âIndeed.â She lifted a sleek eyebrow.
Estelle gathered some seaweed and searched between the rocks for pieces of driftwood. She found some sticks that were dry. She bound the seaweed and smaller shards of driftwood to the end of a longer stick and reached for her tinder box that was in her hip satchel. Thank goodness she wore it as a matter of habit, securing it about her waist wherever she was going, no matter if she needed any item from it or not. Having lived by her wits for so many years, she took nothing for granted.
It
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