by Amy Andrews
‘Isn’t it noisy?’ Isobella asked.
Mike shook his head. ‘It has a silencer installed. It’d scare the feathers off the birds otherwise. Piccolo’s bird population is protected.’
The tour over, Mike and Alex started talking about funding and Isobella left them to it. She went back to the bunkroom and riffled through her bag for the notebook she’d stashed in it. It proved elusive, so she emptied the contents over the bottom bunk, ignoring the dress she’d resolutely snubbed the last few days. Finally she located the spiral book and grabbed her laptop. If she must be stuck on paradise with the twin distractions of a gorgeous Greek and an adorable toddler—two things she wouldn’t ever have—then she was going to need to completely absorb herself in work.
Alex passed her on her way out. ‘Hey, wait for me. I’ll just be a minute,’ he said.
Alex entered the bunkroom, grabbing his digital underwater camera and a towel. He looked at the mess strewn over the bed beside his bag, surprised that the neat, methodical Isobella had left her belongings in such disarray. She must have been in a hurry.
His gaze fell on a scrap of silk and lace and his hands stilled.
Hello!
He looked a little closer. Several bra and knicker sets were lying on the top of the jumble of clothes. He could see two g-strings—one lacy and red, the other black satin with a leopard print trim and an intriguing bow. There was even a matching satin leopard print bra.
A cream-coloured bra edged with delicate lace and decorated with a small jewelled butterfly nestled in the cleavage was somehow even more inviting than the colourful numbers. It reminded Alex of her, of her personality—understated, quiet, demure—and it took all of his will-power not to touch.
His heart thudded in his chest. Under all those awful high-necked shirts and baggy pants, underneath her white coat, little Miss Don’t-look-at-me had been harbouring scraps of lace and satin. If he’d been placing bets he would have backed sensible white cotton granny undies and functional bras.
He spied a gauzy lilac, completely see-through negligee with three tiny buttons down the bodice—did she sleep in this? He groaned. How was he going to look at her again? Look at her clothes and not wonder what wisps of material were beneath? Ignoring her had been surprisingly difficult anyway, but this? It was as if he knew a secret about her. A delicious, wicked secret.
He took a couple of deep cleansing breaths and left the room. ‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ Alex said when he found her outside staring at the ocean, forcing his voice to be normal, ‘but I’m going in for a swim. Why don’t you come?’
Isobella turned to face him, her eyes widening as she realised he’d taken his shirt off. She swallowed. His chest was magnificent, spattered with dark hair, thicker across his pecs and becoming sparser and narrower as it arrowed down his flat abdomen and disappeared behind his boardies. Dear God—with that voice and those abs she felt as if Lucifer himself was trying to lure her into the water.
The waves lapped the beach in perfect synchronicity with the beat of her heart. It was as if they were saying—We dare you, we dare you, we dare you…
She dragged her gaze away from his chest, ignoring the siren call of the ocean. As inviting as the water looked, and even if she had been able to wade into it without having a panic attack, there was no way she could go in with Alex. Not shirtless. At the moment not even if he’d been dressed in a three-piece suit. Her libido had just roared to life big-time.
‘I…I didn’t bring my togs.’
Alex thought about the black lace and leopard print set back in the room. That would make a great bikini. Why was she hiding her body? The sarong afforded him the fullest view he’d ever had of her legs, and if those calves and ankles were anything to go by then the rest of her legs were spectacular.
‘You come to a gorgeous coral cay in the middle of the Great Barrier Reef and you don’t bring your togs?’
Alex’s muscles rippled as he talked, and the waves kept up their taunting rhythm. Dare you, dare you, dare you. ‘I thought we were here to work,’ she said testily.
He wondered what kind of underwear she had on right now. Lace? Satin? Silk? Red? Pink? Blue? Was she wearing a thong? Oh, God.
‘We’re here to observe. I’m sure no one minds if we take the odd dip to cool off or do a little snorkelling,’ Alex said sardonically.
‘I told you,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m not keen on the ocean. I prefer dry land.’
Which was true. If someone had a gun pointed to her head and told her to get in then she could do it. But while she had a choice she was staying dry.
Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was hot, and the crystal waters beckoned irresistibly. He wanted to wrench the sunglasses off her face so he could see into her eyes. Hell, he wanted to strip her shirt off and see what she was wearing underneath. He placed his hands firmly on his hips lest they be tempted to act on their own volition.
‘So you’re just going to wander around an island paradise dressed from neck to knee for three days, like some nineteenth-century missionary?’ The fact that she was one thing underneath while pretending to be another on the outside was driving him mad. ‘Aren’t you hot in that?’ he asked out of sheer exasperation.
Isobella looked down at her attire. She’d donned the sarong this morning, knotted it high on her waist and teamed it with one of her many high-necked loose-fitting smock-type shirts that brushed her elbows. It was a far cry from her modelling days, but the sarong was cotton and allowed air flow. It was a little shorter than she’d have liked, but unfortunately her height often worked against her.
‘It’s sun smart,’ she said frostily, piqued at his description of her fashion sense.
‘So, let me guess?’ he said scathingly, taking in her notebook and laptop. ‘You’re heading for the lab, right?’
Isobella gritted her teeth. ‘You may look at this as a snorkelling junket, Dr Zaphirides, and that’s fine—you’re the boss. But I’m here to observe and learn and work. Yes, work,’ she continued, as Alex opened his mouth to interject. ‘I miss it. I’m sure there’d be others who would jump at the chance to frolic on a tropical island, but I enjoy my work. And I’m damn good at it. This project is important to me. And, quite frankly, I really resent that you’ve dragged me away from it.’
Alex looked down into the dark tint of her glasses. Did she really have nothing else in her life other than her damn white coat and her microscope? Maybe she hadn’t been joking about the celibacy? So what was with the sexy underwear? That didn’t say celibate lab geek. It said I’m female and I love it.
‘Lady, you need a hobby. All work and no play makes Isobella a dull girl.’ And leopard print did not say dull.
Unfashionable and dull. Great. ‘I don’t exist to be interesting,’ she snapped.
Alex winged an imperious eyebrow. ‘Patently.’
Just as well he couldn’t see the dark look hidden behind her equally dark glasses. Why was he being so bloody-minded about this? And why, why, despite his criticism, did his chest still draw her gaze and the waves still drum their primal rhythm? Dare you, dare you, dare you.
‘Well, seeing as how you employ me, you should be grateful. Do you want an assistant with her head in her wardrobe or one who’s dedicated to the important things?’
Right now he’d settle for the wardrobe. And a private fashion parade.
Grateful? He should be grateful? That she was determined to bury herself away in the name of his research project? How long had she been spinning herself this kind of claptrap? She didn’t truly believe it, did she? Camouflaging her body and clinging to the cloistered world of a sterile lab in the name of science when obviously underneath there was a lot of suppressed sexuality? And if she thought he wouldn’t go there because it was inappropriate, she was wrong.
‘This isn’t about work. This is about hiding. About running away. Now, I don’t know what it is that you’re running from, but don’t pretend this is something that it’s no
t.’
His gravelly words had nailed her motives to the wall, and she resented his searing insight. Her breath stuck in her throat and she forced it in and out, refusing to take his bait. To hell with him. ‘Oh, and you’re so well adjusted, Mr Catch-kiss-and-throw-back?’
Alex sucked in a breath. She had learned too much about him in such a short time, and he was treading dangerous waters. His gaze was drawn to the agitated rhythm of her chest beneath her shapeless blouse. If he didn’t get away from her now he was going to say or do something he’d regret. Or at least something that could have him up in front of a sexual harassment tribunal.
‘That’s Dr Catch-kiss-and-throw-back to you,’ he snapped, and then strode away and didn’t stop until he was totally immersed in the tepid tropical water, wishing the research station was situated on an island off Antarctica instead.
Theresa and Ruth arrived back in the afternoon, and Isobella was excited to see their spoils. Two box jellyfish had been trapped, one fully grown. She suppressed a shudder at the savage beauty of one of the most feared, venomous creatures on the planet.
The marine stinger, almost transparent, floated in a giant container, its tentacles undulating gracefully with the rock of the water like a ballerina perfecting a pirouette. It looked harmless, almost pretty. Hard to believe it could kill in minutes.
She engrossed herself in the lab, helping Theresa and her two students with the preliminary experiments and inputting the data. Anything. Anything to keep her mind off Alex.
‘Would you look at them?’ Theresa laughed at one stage.
Distracted by the tentacular material she was studying under the microscope, Isobella muttered, ‘Hmm?’ as she looked up.
‘Alex playing with Sam.’
Isobella heard a squeal and, despite not wanting it to, her gaze was drawn through the large glass window that afforded the lab area an almost one-eighty-degree view of the beach. Sam was naked in the late-afternoon light, and the sky was a vibrant array of purples and pinks as somewhere to the west of them the sun journeyed to the other side of the horizon. Alex was laughing, still shirtless, as he dug a sandcastle for the toddler.
‘Mmm,’ she said, feigning disinterest and returning her eyes to the microscope.
They dined on fresh snapper for tea, and Isobella was content to let the conversation swirl around her. The global warming research Mike and Theresa were also conducting was fascinating stuff, and Isobella realised she could have listened all night. But the sea air was working its magic, and by eight-thirty she was yawning.
‘Well, that’s me done for,’ she said, standing. ‘Think I’ll hit the sack.’
Everyone protested except the one person she’d been studiously avoiding looking at all evening. But she’d been more than aware of Alex’s intense Aegean gaze.
‘I’ll see you all in the morning.’
Island moonlight filtered through the unadorned window in her room as Isobella stripped down to her lacy turquoise bra and knickers. Given that there was no electricity in the living quarters it was just as well. She pulled a V-necked singlet over her head that overlapped the band of her undies. She usually slept in the lilac negligee. That had been all right for Cairns, in her own suite, but here, with Alex so close by, she wanted to be more covered. She couldn’t bear to wear one of her high-necked shirts all night, though, so the singlet was a good compromise.
She’d made her bed earlier, and crawled into it now, bone-weary in a way she hadn’t been for a long time. Sleep was often elusive for her, and she usually read journal articles and research papers she’d brought home late into the night. But not even her earlier confrontation with Alex was enough to stop her eyes from drooping. It must be the salt air and the rhythmic lullaby of the waves, or the soft kiss of moonbeams on her face, but as soon as her head hit the pillow she slept.
Alex tiptoed into the room an hour later to retrieve his swag, moonlight guiding the way. He’d told himself he wouldn’t look at her, but as he turned from the shelving, swag in hand, his gaze fell on her sleeping face. She’d removed her glasses and, shadowed as it was, her features relaxed instead of alert and tense, she looked impossibly young.
He found his thoughts wandering to what lay beneath the sheet she’d pulled up to her chin. There was no way he could tell. But that didn’t stop him thinking about which item out of her bag of goodies she was sleeping in tonight. He felt his groin tighten and sighed, flicking off the torch as he left the room. No way was he going to sleep tonight. In fact he might never sleep again, thinking of Isobella in that lilac negligee.
The next day dawned bright and clear again, and Isobella and Alex eagerly threw themselves into the routine of Piccolo. They were polite but cool to each other—professional. Rigidly adhering to their boss/subordinate roles. If the crew of Piccolo noticed, they didn’t say anything, but Isobella swore she saw a raised eyebrow or two pass between Mike and Theresa.
Alex tried to talk her into going out on the boat with him and Mike, so she could witness the different stages of each experiment first hand, but she adamantly refused and he didn’t push it. She was wrapped in another tent-like contraption today, but he swore it was more distracting than had she been walking around naked. The last thing he needed to be thinking about on the boat was the colour of her underwear.
So Isobella stayed with Theresa, Ruth and Kate, and had a thoroughly interesting day in the lab. She hadn’t been lying to Alex—she did miss her job—so it was great to be back in a familiar environment, despite the dramatic difference in setting. She even took some time out and built a sandcastle with Sam.
The day flew by until the men came back, and then there was more lab work, and it was evening before she knew it. Once again it got to eight-thirty and the lure of bed beckoned. The fact that she’d barely seen or spoken to Alex all day made it all the more likely she’d sleep soundly.
Alex awoke on the beach the next morning to a very menacing-looking sky. Dark clouds had erased the sunshine, casting a grey shadow across suddenly choppy waters. It was windy, and he rose and went straight into the lab. Mike was sitting at the weather station.
‘Mary?’ Alex queried.
Mike nodded. ‘She turned late last night. They’ve classed her as a category four at the moment. It’s not going to hit us directly, but skirt around us. The beaurea have confirmed it should pass by about midnight tonight, on its way to hit an isolated spot on the far North Queensland coast. It’s going to be a rough night, though.’ He turned to Alex. ‘Bloody women, huh?’
Alex grinned. ‘I suppose it’s too late to evacuate to Temora?’
Mike nodded ruefully. ‘Bad swells. Strong wind warning for coastal shipping. Not recommended. We’re going to have to wait it out here.’
Alex rubbed at his morning stubble. ‘Batten down the hatches?’
‘You got it.’
And that was what they did. All day. Everyone pitched in. Everything was secured. The very last thing they needed was flying debris smashing into the precious and very expensive solar panels. Glass was reinforced with tape. Some of the taller trees were trimmed. The satellite dish was lashed to the roof to reinforce it.
First aid equipment and other supplies like batteries, food, torches and water were hoarded in the living quarters. An old CB radio Piccolo had used before the more sophisticated communications centre had been installed in the lab was set up in Mike and Theresa’s room so they could get updates on the cyclones progress and have it handy in case of an emergency.
The boat, already tossing in the turbulent sea, was secured against the sturdy girders of the wooden jetty, while everything that could become a projectile was removed from it.
The security of the lab was paramount to them all, and they worked to make sure that everything was locked down inside and that once the cyclone had blown over the lab would be fully intact.
And all the while the wind picked up and the sea grew greyer, its angry surf pounding against Piccolo’s shoreline. Thunder roared around them
and lightning forked across the sky. The air was heavy with humidity and crackling with a menacing electrical tension that was as awesome as it was terrifying. Mary was promising to put on quite a show.
The clouds developed an ominous green tinge before darkening further into night. Streaks of lightning lit up the heavens while they ate their evening meal of sandwiches and tinned fruit together.
A chill ran through Isobella as the wind buffeted her body. She wished she could put it down to the barely leashed fury of Mary. But mostly it was the thought that tonight Alex Zaphirides’ sleeping place on the beach was not an option.
Tonight he would be in her room. Tonight he would be on top.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NO SOONER had they finished eating their meals than the heavens finally opened, unleashing an assault of stinging torrential rain. They couldn’t have stayed out much longer anyway—the wind really was becoming too strong for human habitation. Isobella could feel the unbridled strength of it, its angry fingers pushing against her body as they raced to get inside. It was hard to imagine that the worst of it was to come.
It was only eight o’clock, and a long, fraught night stretched before them.
‘Looks like it’s early to bed for all of us,’ Theresa said as they reached the anteroom. She shook the water droplets out of her hair. Sam’s sleeping form was completely unfazed by the fury of mother nature railing around them, his head lolling with the movements.
‘Where’s Mike?’ Alex asked.
‘He’s doing a last-minute check of the lab,’ Theresa replied.
Everyone trooped to their rooms, carrying kerosene lanterns. They each had a supply of kerosene and matches in their bunkrooms.
‘Do you want the shower first?’ Alex asked.