Page 56 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Aaaagh!”
“Now, my dear…” I leaned down as far as I possibly could, gazing straight into his eyes. Eyes that were blazing up at me, burning with arctic fire. “Do you submit?”
“N—”
Squeeze.
“—rrgg!”
“What was that, Mr Ambrose, Sir?” For the third time, I swayed my hips. His eyes clamped shut and, below me, I felt him twitch. “I didn’t quite get your answer. Do you mind having a woman…”Squeeze. “…being in charge?”
That night, Mr Rikkard Ambrose professed to be an ardent follower of feminism.
***
I blinked, my sleep disturbed by the distant call of birds. Slowly, I let my gaze drift over the inside of our little hut, flooded by sunlight, and the events of yesterday came rushing back. The storm, the saboteur, being shipwrecked, Mr Ambrose trying to find food and water, Mr Ambrose with a crab clamped to his nose, Mr Ambrose on his back with me on top doing…
Ehem.
Smirking broadly, I let my gaze settle on my dear husband, who was lying only a foot or so away, staring at me with a censorious gaze.
“I have to say,” I told him, “I’m really glad you have suddenly decided to embrace matriarchy. It’s wonderful to know I’ve married a man who is smart enough to agree that women should rule the world.”
“I,” he told me in a tone more icy than anything on a tropical island had any right to be, “most certainly do not.”
“Oh?” I cocked an eyebrow. “So you didn’t mean it when, last night, you screamed for me to just—”
“No comment.”
“And when you begged me to—”
“I saidno comment.”
“You really know how to ruin a lady’s morning, don’t you?”
His eyes flashed and, suddenly, he was right beside me, icy gaze spearing into me. “I also know how tomakea lady’s morning. Or her entire day, for that matter.”
I swallowed and, looking at him, couldn’t help but believe it. I knew I had been on top of this man last night. But, meeting his icy eyes as he stared me down, that was really, really hard to remember or believe.
“Oh? Is that so, Sir?”
“It is indeed.”
I licked my lips. “Then…how are you going to make my day today?”
He cocked his head. “Naturally, there’s only one way.”
“Y-yes?”
“By making breakfast.”
Huh?
Mr Rikkard I-Live-Off-Bread-And-Water Ambrose, cooking breakfast? Why would he—
Just then, my stomach rumbled. It was impressive how, without moving a single facial muscle, Mr Rikkard Ambrose could manage to look so insufferably smug.
“Perhaps…perhaps you might be right.”
