her hand in and jerked back. “It’s hot.”
“Aye. Hot springs, from the volcanoes.”
“Around here?” She looked, half-expecting to see lava flowing through the greenery.
“Oh, aye. The Caribbean is full of them; most every one of these islands is some kind of a volcano, either now or before. These springs abound. I thought you might appreciate the chance at a hot bath.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“I’d love it.”
“Have a care. Go in here and you’ll be boiled to the bone.” He put out a warning arm, as if she was going to jump in that very moment. He pointed to a waterfall at one end. Barely waist high, it gurgled over a multi-tiered tumble of the rocks. “Go in over there. The falls cool it a bit; you’ll be able to linger.”
“Oh, Nathan!” Cate threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, she stepped away. “Thank you,” she said considerably subdued.
“No worries,” he mumbled, waving a dismissive hand. “God knows why anyone would want a hot bath in this foundering heat, but…”
Nathan shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. “There’s a fair stand of fern over there, if you’d wish a bit o’ privacy. I’ll be…I’ll just be over there.”
Nathan moved to a respectable distance. Turning his back, he folded his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, while whistling a nondescript tune. She undressed behind the indicated ferns and slipped into the water.
The water at the hotter end had been clear, but the water tumbling over the falls was tinged brownish-green, making the depth of the ledges deceptive. She crept in, lurching in unexpected shallows and stumbling in surprising depths, until her toes sunk into the sandy bottom. A champagne-like effervescence of tiny bubbles boiled up, giving off minute bursts of sulfur as they broke the surface.
She dived to the bottom and hung like a trout on a hot summer’s day, and then pushed up, surfacing with an explosion of air.
“Oh, Nathan, this is heavenly.”
“I imagined you’d fancy it,” he called from amid the greenery.
“Why don’t you come in?”
He chuckled. “Can’t pass up the prospect of cleaning the whole world, can you?”
“One must have their dreams,” Cate mused. Leaning her head back, she swished her hair from side to side, the heat brushing her temples. “C’mon. It's wonderful.”
“No…I think not.”
“C’mon,” she urged, treading water. “I’ll stay here, and you can come in over there. It’s plenty deep; no one will see anything.”
“You’ll look.” Now he was being coquettish.
“I had five brothers and was married; I've seen everything and far too many times over.”
“I’m shy.” Nathan’s path could be tracked by glimpses of his headscarf through the leaves as he made his way around to the far side.
“Oh, come now. Modesty from a pirate? How many women have you undressed in front of, Captain? What’s one more?”
His mutterings and flashes of movement revealed he was shedding his clothes. “Turn ’round.”
“Oh, very well.” She sighed and did so, closing her eyes for good measure. “I had no idea you were such a prude.”
A splash marked his entry into the pool, a sputter when he broke the surface. Not wishing to injure his pride, she kept her eyes closed while she blissfully floated, shivering with delight as the heat swirled through her joints. Over the years—and yes, it had been years—of dreaming of a hot bath, it had involved visions of endless luxuriant soaking.
Tired but unwilling to leave, Cate found a place where she could sit on the rocks and still be immersed to her neck. Modesty was never her burden, but feeling her breasts bob, she was relieved to see her hair fanned out enough to cover her. In the discolored water, the rest of her body was but an amorphous blur.
A surge of water against her calves was a precursor of Nathan’s arrival. His head broke the surface sleek as a seal at her knee.
“How is it?” He beamed with boyish anxiousness.
“It’s heavenly. The water feels like it’s alive.” The small stirrings of bubbles had felt like tickling little fingers.
“Aye, that would be the spirit of the spring.” He swiped the dripping water from his face. His lean arms braced on the rocky ledge, his braids coiled like water snakes around his shoulders.
“The natives say the bubbles are the breath of the gods of the underworld. Bloody rotten breath, I’d say.” He cast a disdainful glare toward the sulfur-laden corner. “Anyway, they believe it’s the breath