“It’s fine.” She wrestled her ankle from his strong grip.
“Goddamn it, it’s not fine. It’s infected.” He raked a hand through his damp hair. She caught the brief scent of sweat and powerful man. “You need a doctor.”
Lord help her, but she couldn’t withstand the light of concern in his eyes. It made her ache with soppy sentiment. She longed to fly into his arms, to let him coddle and soothe the pain that snaked up her leg right into her heart.
“I said I’m fine.” She slapped his hand away. “Now please go find some water.”
He pressed a hand to her forehead. His eyes lit with a compassion she almost believed. “Jane, you’re on fire. You need a cool bath, some medicines…or something.”
He doesn’t really care, Jewel. Remember that. He just loathes the idea of being left all alone on a deserted island.
She tried to prevent her nostrils from flaring, tried to suppress the sudden sarcastic dart of her eyes. “Ah, well, hold on one moment. I’ll just go grab some penicillin from the medicine cabinet and—”
“Stop it.” He was already opening the windows to let in the breeze, and unfastening one of the hammocks from the poles. He took it, folding it this way and that, and laid it upon the floor like a mattress.
“Take off the blanket and lay down.”
She groaned. “Oh, we’re back to you bullying me, are we?”
He pressed his lips together, setting his hands carefully upon his hips. With his legs spread apart, and the backdrop of the jungle behind him through the open window, she imagined a lion standing beside him with ferocious devotion. The cleft in his square jaw only added to the aura, and she imagined kissing the dip, or feeling the rough stubble there drag across her inner thighs. She sighed inwardly as a warm, gooey flood of excitement settled between her legs. Yes, he certainly exuded the image of the mighty king of the jungle, potent, supreme…sexy.
“You have a fever. If you keep that thick blanket around you, I’ll be burying you in the sand. Now. I said. Take. That. Damn. Thing. Off!”
A thrill raced through her blood and did a flip-flop deep inside her belly. His eyes gleamed murderously. Every muscle in his body flexed with tension and near rage as he braced himself for her defiance.
But she didn’t feel like fighting him. Come to think of it, she mused, pressing a hand to her forehead, she was feeling lousy. She wouldn’t mind lying down for a bit. Her head pounded, her body seemed to roast within the blanket’s confines and that vague nausea plagued her. If only she could have some water, just a smidgen.
Obediently, she crossed to the makeshift bed, unfastened the quilt and let it fall to the floor. Vince’s swift intake of breath filled her ears with joy. But she made no indication. Kneeling, she collapsed onto the bed and sighed. Within seconds, her eyelids fluttered shut and she welcomed the cool realm of blessed darkness.
* * * * *
He shook her gently. “Jane.”
Her eyes fluttered open. Fatigued, bloodshot pools of emerald stared back at him. “What?” she rasped.
“I’m going to go hunt up some food and water. Okay?”
She nodded, rolling onto her side. He swept her curvy, naked body with an appreciative look. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back soon.” Surprisingly, she obeyed, giving into the exhaustion once again.
Confident she wasn’t in a coma, Vince blew out a breath of sheer relief. The long hours of fighting their way through the thick foliage had obviously taken its toll on her. Coupled with the infection in the wound, the sweltering, long journey they’d taken had been just enough to weaken her into submission. And given the circumstances, he’d much rather see her fighting back than giving up.
He climbed down the ladder and scanned the perimeter. First to procure water. Though Jewel had no clue about his past experience, and would like to think otherwise, Vince was no idiot when it came to survival techniques. He shook his head as he trekked through a dense thicket. No, it hadn’t always been champagne, caviar and pâté for him. Long before meeting her, he’d served a four-year tour in the military. Special Operations forces were expected and trained to endure the harshest of climates. Sure, those leisurely years since his honorable discharge had made him a bit rusty, but no properly trained man forgot the basics of those survival tools that were ingrained into him without mercy.
“Bingo.” He spotted the cluster of green bamboo plants. But first, he needed a cutting tool of some sort. Searching through a barren area of rock and sand, he spotted a shiny protrusion. He knelt and dug around it, careful to avoid its sharp edges.
The sand piled around him, Vince sat back on his haunches and gaped at the object. “Two pieces of iron? Buried in the sand on a deserted island?” He raised his gaze to the darkening sky. “Jennie, if this is your doing, why not just poof and give me a saw and a nice big machete?”
A breeze blew in, partially drying the glaze of sweat covering his body. With it came her scent, soft and seductive. He heard a distant tinkling sound, but Jennie refused to materialize.
“Ah, so you’re trying to teach me a lesson? See how good I am at caring for her on my own? Or are you just being stubborn and delighting in our desperate situation?”
An angry rumble roared in the distance. It wasn’t thunder, but the wrath of a touchy genie.
He pulled the long metal pieces from the grave and held them up for inspection. Glints of sunlight reflected from their surface. Just perfect, he thought, to shape a saw and a long hunting knife. Locating a large flat boulder as a metalworking station, he then searched for rock that could be used as a hammer.
It took him the good part of an hour to shape the tools into useful, jagged cutting edges. The ping and grind of rock against metal satisfied and worked out much of his tension.
And he worked with her in mind, her safety, her health, her comfort and happiness.
As he tied off the ends, fashioning handles with hardwood wrapped snug by the shaggy material found at the base of sugar palm leaves, he realized it had always been so. Jewel had walked out on him, but he’d never stopped hoping for her happiness. He’d never quite rid himself of the hope that someday he’d see her again. Someday he’d be able to make her happy once again.
He held up the knife and studied its sharp edge. Running his finger along the blade, he drew a line of blood. “Perfect.”
Vince made his way back to the thicket of green bamboo. Lopping off the tops of several shoots, he bent them over, securing the ends with palm fronds so that water began to drip from the raw top opening. Ripping off several cocoyam leaves from a cluster nearby, he shaped them into bowls and placed them below the droplets.
Wiping his perspiring brow with the back of his wrist, he mumbled, “From these, we’ll have water by tomorrow.”
Quickly now, he gathered several green coconuts that had rolled from the base of a nearby towering palm. They would provide just enough liquid to get them through the night. The bamboo source would give them enough for cooking by tomorrow. Later, he’d have to locate a banana or plantain tree for an instant and abundant source of water. The saw he’d made would come in handy for cutting down these valuable trees. Once cut, it would only be a matter of scooping out the center of the stump and allowing the bowl-shaped hollow to fill with water from the roots. Each tree could theoretically provide them with up to four days of a good water source. But finding the tree could prove difficult, since so far, he hadn’t seen one single banana tree.
Holding the coconuts in the crook of one arm, he whacked at the heavy growth of vegetation, making an open path back toward the tree house. Insects buzzed incessantly around his head and wildlife scurried as he disrupted their habitats. He heard the nearby rush of the surf, the pleasant song of the cockatoos fluttering about in the tree branches and peaceful, primitive silence.
Vince came to the sudden conclusion that this nightmare he’d been placed in wasn’t quite so bad. Because of it, she was finally back in his life.
The thought overjoyed him and
got him thinking in a surprising direction. He determined that he was perfectly capable of providing for them. But the thought of it had him chuckling. She would certainly love that, he mused sarcastically, skirting around a poisonous rosary pea vine. What would life be like with her for the rest of their lives, forced to endure one another on this island? Would she always be difficult to live with, toxic like the red and black potent seeds of that rosary pea weed? The thought of being sentenced to her company for life, just as the old crones were with one another, intrigued him, and a pleasant swirl of contentment spun in his gut. A vision of her soft curves and snapping green eyes came to mind. Yes, he could certainly find contentment here with her, but there would never be a dull moment.
The tree house came into view, looming heavy yet partially camouflaged by the thick branches of the towering fig tree it perched in. It was then that he caught sight of the flowering fedegoso tree just behind their shelter. His heart stopped; his pulse burst in his throat on a sigh. The leaves of this medicinal tree were just what he’d been on the lookout for, just what he needed to concoct a brewed substance that could be applied to Jewel’s wound to fight infection and ease pain. Relief flooded his system. He hadn’t wanted to think what could have occurred if the infection had spread into her bloodstream.
“Thank you, Luke and Jennie,” he breathed, closing his eyes.
The wind rustled gently, and with it a temporary burst of cold air and the sharp scent of the fedegoso’s blooms.
You’re very welcome.
* * * * *
She awoke to a delicious aroma…was that roast pork she smelled? Her stomach growled in answer and she stretched, prepared to go investigate. Wincing as her aching muscles protested, she opened her eyes and glanced around.
No, she wasn’t waking up from the nightmare. She still lived it. And she remained in the tree house—still lying on that folded-up hammock on the hard, uneven slat of boards.
She combed a hand through her hair, fluttered it down over her cheek and neck. Perspiration no longer drenched her flesh. She felt cool to the touch, the fever gone. And she was famished!
Pressing a palm to her bare belly, she gasped when awareness flooded her senses. Jewel raised her head and studied her body, now adorned in a two-piece garment. Her breasts were cupped and tied by a torn piece of cloth from the quilt. It spread up and over each swell and fastened behind her neck in halter-top fashion. A short little swatch of the same fabric covered her hips, and the skirt resembled the loincloth Vince had worn. Understanding slammed into her with a pleasant mix of shock and excitement. How she’d gotten dressed this way could only be due to one thing, one person. Him. A sudden torrent of heat spread through her veins, settling between her legs. He’d touched her in her sleep. He’d studied and dressed her naked body during her exhausted nap.
And he’d… She moved her gaze down her exposed legs, lifting one to study her ankle. He’d doctored her infected wound. Drawing up her knee, she cautiously touched the dressing made from scraps of the blanket. A cream of some sort soaked through the strip. She smelled her fingertip and inhaled the fragrant yet medicinal aroma of the clear substance. Whatever it was, whatever he’d done to her, had made her feel better, revived and alive. The thought of his gentle hands on her as she slept, his caring ministrations, brought a swift surge of need to her that could only be quenched by one thing, one person.
Vince Santiago.
Sitting up, she crawled over to the corner set with the open hatch in the floor. Black stars filled her head as she up-righted herself to stand on the ladder. She took deep breaths and waited for the dizziness to pass. Once she had her bearings, she climbed down into an area that had been expertly readied into a habitable camp. With pleasant surprise, she noted he’d tidied the immediate campground area by clearing brush to make room for an outdoor area to dine and take leisure.
A wild boar roasted over a fire, speared in the kabob method and strung across the licking flames. Nearby, she saw her broken lenses and wondered if they’d come into play, allowing the fire to be sparked by the sun’s magnification through their thickness. Jewel ran a hand across her brow. She hadn’t worn the glasses since they’d broken, and still, he hadn’t recognized her. As long as she continued to hold that anonymity trump card, he could toss them in the sea for all she cared.
Inhaling, she closed her eyes and drank in the delicious aroma. The scent of ham filled her nostrils almost intense enough to feed her by smell alone. She opened her lids and squinted, bringing the distant objects into focus. Across the site, a flat boulder had apparently become a countertop of sorts. Spread with an abundance of bananas, figs, oranges and various green food plants, it made her mouth water. Her gaze moved to a spot where the hot Florida sun bathed split coconuts set out to render coconut oil for cooking, and to help devise torches. Beyond that, a banana tree laid on its side, having been sawed down, its stump holding a basin of clear water from the roots. She marveled at the fact that she’d just discussed with her students, these very survival methods and foodstuff in the wild. It was as if a tiny little fairy—Luke or Jennie, perhaps?—had whispered in her ear, prompting her for her own future use to form a lesson plan about the tropics and enduring its harsh conditions.
How long had she slept, for God’s sake? He’d transformed a jungle into a welcoming cozy home for them. Fuzzy, warm sentiment that had no right being there, oozed into her pounding heart. Hungrily, her eyes searched for him.
And her heart stopped beating, suspended in her chest along with the sharp intake of breath. She didn’t need her glasses to sense the detailed glory of him.
He stood beneath a rose apple tree, a wild native of the jungle. In his hand, he held a long twine of braided palm husks, which split into three ropelike lengths. Upon each end, stones had been tied. Vince swung the bola above him, his muscles flexing as the cords whistled around his head. Snapping it with expert precision, he hit his target, tumbling dozens of pale red apples at his feet.
She watched as he bent and gathered them in his arms, tossing the rotten ones into the thick forest. His body glistened with the sweat of a hard day’s work. Jewel longed to skim her hands over the expanse of chest, down along the length of his back, down to cup the firm rear hidden beneath the loincloth. He turned then, and she got a potent view of the bulge beneath the garment. A powerful yearning slammed into her with a vengeance. Her clit throbbed, pumping her womb full of intense need. Wet spurts of her own juice soaked her pussy lips, readying them for what she suddenly knew would happen.
And it would happen now.
Jewel, he doesn’t want you for life, you’ve already determined that long ago. But he wants Jane for the here and now. Take it while you can get it. Savor him while you can. Go to him!
She ignored the slight twinge of pain in her ankle as she glided slowly across the clearing. And Jewel disregarded the hunger that plagued her stomach. Instead, she went to slake another, more insistent yearning. Above her, bright cockatoos and parakeets sang their high-pitched songs and fluttered from treetop to treetop. But Jewel didn’t notice, didn’t care. Even as the salt-scented sea breeze carried in over the jungle and swirled down around her, she paid no heed to the cooling sensation of it upon her bared limbs. The soles of her feet were pricked by sharp, patchy foliage as she walked, scorched by the hot sand, but the stimulus did not reach her besotted brain. Her vision, even without the aid of her glasses, came into clear focus as she neared. But she didn’t need prescription lenses to tell her what her heart saw without a doubt.
Vince. He was all she could see, hear, smell, taste, feel. At one point in her life, she thought as she walked toward him, he’d been her entire world. She couldn’t have things back the way they’d been, back when she’d thought he loved her—that she accepted. But she could certainly have him now in a different world, while he lasted, while this dream lasted. With each step she took, her eyes bored into him. She summoned him, drew his soul to hers with every ounce of mind power she had. Finally, his
head snapped toward her, the arrows of his gaze piercing their surprising target. Her.
“Jane?” He dropped the apples. They rolled away in a shower of red. “Are you all right?”
“Make love to me,” she breathed. “Now.”
He blinked, cleared his throat. His body stiffened, as if he’d dragged in a breath he’d never be able to release.
When she stopped toe-to-toe before him, the scent of clean sweat and salty flesh filled her lungs. He must have taken a refreshing dip in the ocean, she mused, studying the slicked-back, sleek dark hair. Jewel longed to feel its thickness tangled in her fingers, to guide his head to her breast, down along her abdomen, to her core. The mental image of it sent a slow, thick curl of lust through her veins. She looked up into eyes as wide and dark as sin. The shock there thrilled her even more so than the sight of his gorgeous body. It told her all she needed to know.
He sighed as if an explanation had occurred to him, and pressed a hand to her forehead. “You’re still running a fever, aren’t you?”
“I have a fever all right,” she agreed, twining her arms around his neck. “But it’s between my legs.”
He alternated pressing both hands front and back to her forehead, her neck, her cheeks. His face went pale. “You’re cool. You’re…you’re not running a fever anymore.”
Unable to wait for his disbelief to pass, she reached up, gripped one of his hands and slid it slowly down her chest, down along her torso, straight to the damp spot between her legs. The heat of his fingers against her bare, wet sex made her gasp before she replied on a pant, “I told you…” She kissed the cleft in his chin, swirled her tongue around in its depth, just as she’d longed to do when she’d first seen him again on the beach. “The fever’s between my legs.”
Me Tarzan, You Jewel Page 11