by Liz Fielding
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’
Her only thought had been to get ashore. Despite the appearance of total isolation, there had to be someone about who could help them.
‘What?’ she demanded.
He pointed above his head. ‘We can’t leave this out here. When I said paddle, I meant paddle.’ He demonstrated by dipping his hand in the water and using it like an oar to propel the aircraft forward.
‘But...’ He was right, of course. The plane couldn’t be left untethered in the middle of the bay. Even a gentle breeze could blow it out onto the reef, or onto the rocks that tumbled around the little bay, although right at that moment she was in no mood to care.
‘But you’re so strong, Griff,’ she pointed out with just a touch of malice. ‘You don’t need little me to help you.’
His grin was heart-lurchingly unexpected. ‘In this instance, Miss Osborne, strength has nothing to do with it. If I paddle on my own, I’ll just go around in circles.’ He drew a small, insolent circle in the air with his hand. ‘Since Paradise Island is uninhabited for most of the year our best hope of early rescue is if I can get the radio working.’
‘Most of the year? What about now?’ she asked hopefully. She found the thought of leaving him to paddle around in circles a tempting one.
‘You’re out of luck, I’m afraid. The owner doesn’t have too much time for sunbathing.’
‘And you would know that how?’
‘Because I fly him here when he does manage to find a little time in his busy schedule.’
She regarded him through narrowed eyes. He might, of course, be bluffing. She was quite certain that he was capable of bending the truth to his own ends, but what ends? Besides, his warning that they could not look for help from the island only confirmed her own impression from the air.
She hadn’t the slightest wish to be stranded on a desert island with Hugo Griffin any longer than she could help. If that meant helping him paddle his damned plane, then so be it but first she’d try her phone.
She swam back to the plane and hauled herself onto the float where, sea-water streaming from her hair and clothes, she leaned in a grabbed her phone from her bag.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Calling for help? Any idea of the number for air/sea rescue?’
‘You won’t get a signal,’ he warned. He was probably right but it was worth a try and, bringing up her godmother’s number, she hit fast dial. ‘At least wait until you’re—’ the plane lurched as a swell caught it ‘—on dry land,’ he finished as the very latest in smart phone technology flew out of her wet hand and hit the sea.
‘Pity about that,’ Griff said, as she watched it slip through the water for what seemed like minutes before landing on the sandy bottom of the bay.
She didn’t say anything. There was nothing she could say. He was right, she was an idiot.
Painfully aware that her silk camisole was now clinging revealingly to her bare skin, that he could not fail to notice that she was not wearing a bra, that his sympathy was pure mockery and that he was thoroughly enjoying her discomfiture, she snapped, ‘Pass me an oar.’
‘Please.’
She glowered at him but he wasn’t moving. ‘Please,’ she said, through gritted teeth.
Griff obligingly opened the float locker and, producing a couple of oars, tossed one across to her. She caught it, dipped it in the water and began to paddle. The plane was rocking and it took a few minutes to get the hang of it. Even then Maddy had to work twice as hard as he did to keep the plane going in a straight line. By the time they neared the beach the muscles in her arms, her back and legs felt as if they were on fire. As she lay weakly along the float, however, Griff jumped down into waist-deep water.
He clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘Come along, Miss Osborne, there’s no time to relax; we’re not finished yet,’ he said briskly, as out of breath as if he had just been for a gentle stroll along the beach.
Relax? But she didn’t even have the strength to scowl. Instead she slid from the float and, ignoring her screaming muscles as best she could, helped him to ground the plane on the safety of the beach, then she simply fell back against the sand and closed her eyes. The sand was soft and blissfully warm, and she could have lain there for the rest of the afternoon, but Griff had other ideas.
‘No time for sunbathing,’ he advised. ‘You’d better make a start collecting something to make a fire.’
‘You’re joking.’ She didn’t move. ‘It’s got to be eighty degrees.’
‘I wasn’t planning to sit by it and keep warm.’
‘A signal fire?’ Still she hadn’t moved, but she opened her eyes, lifting her hand to shade them from the sun to look at her tormentor. He was standing ankle-deep in sand, muscular arms akimbo, regarding her recumbent body with irritation. Maddy, riled at this, said, ‘How quaint, but I thought the idea was to get the radio working and call for help?’
‘I don’t expect you to understand, Miss Osborne, but the aircraft suffered a complete electrical failure. That’s why we’re in this predicament.’
‘Can’t you fix it?’
‘I will certainly give it a try,’ he conceded, ‘but I’m a pilot, not an electrical engineer.’ He shrugged. ‘Of course, if you feel you are more qualified than me to check it out, I’d be quite happy to trade places.’
‘I once put a plug on a hairdryer,’ she offered, remembering that she was supposed to be a useless brat..
‘Then I’ll leave you to start building a fire.’
Maddy eased herself into a sitting position, stifling a groan as every muscle protested. She had thought she was fit but clearly her daily swim hadn’t prepared her for the kind of punishment her body had just endured. ‘Surely you carry flares?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t it mandatory?’
He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Probably. I’ll organise some next time I’m in dock.’
‘I should have thought Dragonair would have insisted on it.’
‘Dragonair?’ He glanced up at the plane then offered a regretful smile. ‘I’m afraid this old crate doesn’t belong to Dragonair. I bought it from them a couple of months ago.’
‘They didn’t bother to remove their logo? A little careless of them.’
‘An oversight.’
‘So, in the meantime you’re trading on their good name?’ He regarded her with a wry smile, but Maddy wasn’t interested in his shady trading practices. She had thought of something far more disturbing. ‘That means... That means they won’t be looking for you when we’re overdue.’
‘There’s no reason why they should,’ he agreed, apparently without concern. ‘But I’m sure Zoë will raise the alarm, eventually. Meantime—’ He made a gesture towards the tree line.
‘Firewood.’ She glanced around. It was suddenly very important to start a fire. The small beach was thickly rimmed with palm trees that occasionally dropped storm-damaged fronds. It shouldn’t be too much hard work to gather a few. ‘Where do you want it?’
‘Far enough from the plane not to set light to it, wouldn’t you say?’ He grinned. ‘Better keep that as a final resort.’
Maddy hauled herself to her feet and staggered up the soft sand. She had been flying in a pensioned-off crate flown by some ne’er-do-well pilot that her godmother had taken a fancy to. She threw him a sideways glance as he climbed into the cockpit. No. That wasn’t fair. He was a first-class pilot. It was down to him that she was still in one piece.
When she didn’t arrive at the appointed hour Zoë would certainly raise the alarm. In fact, she thought with a sudden brightening of spirits, it was possible that a signal fire might bring help more quickly than Griff’s attempts to repair the radio. This encouraging thought gave her all the incentive she needed and she moved more eagerly to gather palm fronds.
She was standing, hands on hips, admiring her handiwork when Griff joined her.
‘Was that all you could manage?’ He gave the structure a prod with his foot and he
r neat wigwam effect collapsed in an untidy heap. ‘Well, it’s a start, I suppose. You’ll just have to put your back into it tomorrow.’
‘A start?’
But he didn’t give her a chance to tell him just how hard she’d been working. ‘You can leave it for now. No one is going to be looking for us before morning and we’ve more urgent things to consider.’
‘What could possibly be more urgent than a signal fire?’
His green eyes seemed to dance in the light reflected off the sea. ‘Fresh water, food. Then there is the small matter of where we are going to spend the night.’
‘Spend the night?’ she repeated dully. Suddenly the importance of what he’d said about the fire sank in. She would have to put her back into it tomorrow. Tomorrow!
In a sudden panic, she looked around and to her dismay saw from the angle of the sun that it was already well into the afternoon.
Calm. She must keep calm. Easier said than done.
‘Didn’t you manage to fix the electrics?’ she demanded. Then, realising that she sounded just a touch hysterical, a bit too much like the pathetic female she was supposed to be, she said, ‘Perhaps we’d better light the fire now.’
‘That little heap won’t last long enough to attract attention,’ he said dismissively.
‘I’ll fetch more stuff,’ Maddy said, and without waiting for his answer took a step towards the palm trees. He caught her wrist before she took a second, bringing her to an abrupt halt.
She tried to shake him off. This was important.
‘Let me go,’ she demanded. ‘I’ve got to—’
‘Miss Osborne, right now it’s more important that we prepare ourselves for the night.’
‘I disagree.’
‘When I’m forming a committee, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, just do as you’re told.’ She made another attempt to pull free but made no impression on the firm grasp about her wrist. She uttered a furious protest but he wasn’t interested. ‘So, unless you can fish...?’
‘Fish?’
‘The island doesn’t boast a local branch of Fortnum’s so one of us has to provide supper.’ He glanced towards the tangled heap of palm fronds, a wicked glint lighting his eye. ‘You could, of course, try sending a smoke signal...’
‘Very funny.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s important, I find, to keep a sense of humour under even the most difficult circumstances.’
She glowered at him. ‘Ha, ha.’
‘That’s the spirit. Tomorrow I’ll show you how to survive in the wild. If we’re here long enough you might eventually catch something other than a cold—’
‘Long enough!’ she exclaimed.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose it will be more than a day or two, Miss Osborne,’ he said, and his mouth twisted into a dangerous little smile. ‘You’ll almost certainly be home in time to unwrap the gifts heaped beneath your Christmas tree.’
‘All I want for Christmas,” she declared, “is a quiet holiday in the sun.’
‘Maybe.’ He didn’t sound convinced. ‘But we’ll have to pass the time somehow.’
‘In your dreams,’ she snapped. His jaw tightened and this time when she wrenched on her wrist he did not detain her.
‘There’s a pool up there; I suggest you fetch some water.’ Griff pointed to what might have been an overgrown path leading from the beach and held out a bucket that he had brought from the plane. In it were her sandals and a machete. In his other hand, he carried a small fishing spear. ‘A fair division of labour, don’t you think? Traditionally, fetching water is women’s work.’
She ignored the bucket. ‘You Tarzan, me Jane?’
He took her hand and placed the bucket handle in it. ‘In your dreams, sweetheart,’ he murmured, with a grin that infuriated her far more than his words.
‘Nightmare, more like,’ she retaliated.
‘How pleasant that we agree about something, and if you’re back before me, light a fire,’ he said, as he turned away, sure of her obedience.
‘I haven’t got a match,’ she snapped, ‘and, before you dare ask, I was never a boy scout!’
He turned then. His slow, appraising glance began at her feet and rose by way of a pair of long legs dusted with powdered white sand, the crumpled ruin of her shorts and the all too obvious outline of breasts unhampered by a bra under the damply revealing silk of her camisole.
As he finally met her eyes he said, ‘Miss Osborne, I promise you that I would never, in a million years, mistake you for a boy scout.’ He grinned as she gasped at his impudence, but, unabashed, he tossed her a lighter. ‘Don’t lose it,’ he warned, ‘or you’ll be eating raw fish.’
‘You’ve got to catch it first,’ Maddy reminded him, before turning abruptly towards the dense green thicket at the edge of the beach. By the time she had reached it and stopped to put on her shoes, Griff had disappeared. For a crazy moment relief and panic in almost equal measure overwhelmed her, but panic was the marginally stronger feeling and she came close to chasing after him begging him not to leave her alone.
Oh, wouldn’t he like that? she thought, deriding her own weakness.
What ironical little twist of fate had stranded her on an uninhabited island with the most insolent, vexing man she had ever had the misfortune to meet?
A vivid recollection of the way he had picked her up so effortlessly and swung her into the aircraft intruded uncomfortably. Vexing, perhaps, but dangerous too. She hadn’t forgotten the unexpected jolt as his hands had grasped her waist, that long raking look that had burned into her soul.
Maddy felt a sharp stab of guilt.
She had angrily denied his accusation of flirting and yet she had found it hard to keep her eyes off him, and her reaction to his touch had hardly been discouraging.
‘Come on, Maddy. Get a grip. Zoë will be raising the alarm at this very moment.’
With that thought to comfort her, she grasped the machete and with a savage swipe attacked the over-grown path. The eldritch screech of some unseen, unknown creature, caught up and echoed through the forest by a host of unearthly voices, almost undid her.
She stood rooted to the spot, heart pounding, her tongue like a lump of wood in her mouth, incapable of raising a cry for help. Then she saw the innocent agent of her terror flapping noisily high above her in the trees — a bird of some kind, brilliant blue, and then another and another. She began to laugh. Too many shocks for one day, that was all and she sank onto her knees on the sand, laughing, but there were tears rolling down her cheeks.
She knew she was near hysteria and tried to fight it, dragging in air in a desperate fight for breath, but it was running away with her, unstoppable, until, without any warning, she was wrenched to her feet.
‘Stop that!’
She tried to speak, to explain that she was trying to stop, wanted to stop, but she couldn’t. Instead she continued to laugh uncontrollably, her tear-filled eyes rippling over Griff’s angry image until his face swam before her. He shook her but that just seemed to make things worse, then unexpectedly he released her shoulder and slapped her.
Abruptly she stopped, her hand flying to her cheek, her head all too painfully clear in the sudden silence — clear enough to want to strike him back. But as her tawny eyes sparked a storm warning a long, shuddering sob shook her entire body. With an impatient exclamation, Griff caught her in his arms, holding her against that broad chest while she shivered and fought him.
‘Stop!’ he demanded harshly, then, a fraction more gently, ‘Stop it, now.’ Just as quickly as it had seized her, the hysteria left her and she stopped fighting, slumping against him, her cheek pressing against his warm shoulder, her head filled with the slow, comforting thump of his heartbeat. ‘It will be all right,’ he murmured. ‘Trust me.’
Maddy raised long, damp lashes to look up into his face and for just a moment was certain the expression that darkened his eyes was concern. For a lingering moment she clung to that, needing to be held, comforted, then
she gave a little gasp.
‘I wouldn’t trust you half as far as I could throw you,’ she said, pulling abruptly away from the dangerous comfort of his arms, wiping away the shaming tears with the heel of her hand.
‘I’ll put your rudeness down to delayed reaction,’ he said with a clipped, dismissive edge to his voice, and he released his hold on her and stepped back, leaving her swaying slightly on still unsteady legs. ‘Just this once.’
That tone was all Maddy needed to stiffen her backbone, restore her to her senses. ‘Were you waiting for me to thank you for such prompt intervention?’ She raised her fingers tellingly to her cheek, stretching her jaw in a somewhat exaggerated fashion.
‘No. But you have my assurance that you are entirely welcome, Miss Osborne.’ Her tawny gold eyes flashed angrily.’
‘Miss Osborne,’ she mimicked. ‘Such formality seems a little out of place in these surroundings. Particularly since I just gave you the opportunity to do what you’ve clearly been itching to do ever since you set eyes on me.’
She knew even as she said the words that she was being very stupid — stupid in a way that was quite unlike her — but the moment she had set eyes on this man she had recognised some primeval attraction between them. He was regarding her now with a look that made her curl her toes as she fought the desire to lash out.
He reached out and captured a bright, wayward tendril of hair, wrapping it around his fingers and holding it up to the light. ‘Red hair and a temper to match. A dangerous combination, Maddy Rufus,’ he said, with that drawly, teasing voice that got right under her skin.
She flushed furiously, unaccountably angry with Zoë. Had she amused her young lover with the tale of how Maddy, furious at the bestowal of Rufus as a nickname because of her copper-red hair, had defiantly painted every strand of it scarlet? She whipped herself with the thought.
‘I think, after all, that I prefer Miss Osborne,’ she said coldly.
‘You’re quite sure about that?’ He raised darkly defined brows in sardonic mockery.
She swallowed, hard. It was time to take back some measure of control. ‘Quite sure, Mr Griffin.’