by Ginna Gray
Finally she raised her head and looked at him. The expression in her wide blue eyes tore at Rhys's heart.
"They're not coming back, are they?" she said quietly.
Chapter Eight
Regret and something that looked like pity flashed in Rhys's eyes, but his gaze never wavered. "It's beginning to seem that way."
Meghan had known what his answer would be. She had braced for it. But deep down she supposed she had been praying he would disagree, or at least offer some plausible excuse for the delay. With his words her last particle of hope dissolved. She looked down at her hands, trying to quell the terrible quaking inside her.
"Someone might come for us yet, Meghan," he said quietly. "Quincy may have had trouble putting the cash together. They may still be working out the mechanics of the money drop. That bungling threesome may even have gotten lost. Anything is possible. This could be just an unavoidable delay."
Looking up, she met that steady silver gaze. "But you don't believe any of that, do you?"
Rhys wanted to lie. She saw it in his eyes, in the way his mouth tightened. "No. I'm sorry, I don't."
His voice was soft with regret, and somehow his gentleness and concern made Meghan even shakier. She laced her fingers together, to stop their trembling and drew an unsteady breath.
"So...that's that. I guess we're stuck here together. Forever." She shivered at the thought and had to bite her inner lip to keep it from quivering. Oh, Lord, she was going to spend the rest of her life on this little dot of land in the middle of nowhere. With Rhys Morgan.
"I wouldn't go that far. Forever is a long time. I'm sure we'll eventually get off this island. Sooner or later some fisherman or someone out sailing will get curious about it and come ashore to investigate. After all, Virgil and Harley and Scratch found the place."
"Rhys, we've been here a week and haven't seen a single boat pass by."
"That doesn't mean none ever will. This island may be off the regular shipping lanes, but eventually someone will venture this way. I'll tell you what. Fast thing in the morning we'll gather wood for a signal fire on the beach and keep it ready to light in case we spot a ship. How's that?"
She gave a listless shrug. "Okay."
Rhys removed the rabbit from the stick and placed the meat on two palm leaves. He stood and moved around the fire and sat down beside Meghan, handing her one. She took it with a murmured "thank you," but until he urged her to eat she simply stared at the food. Even when she did try it she could only nibble the succulent meat.
"C'mon, Slugger, cheer up. It could be worse. At least we're alive."
She turned her head and looked at him curiously. "How can you take this so calmly? You act almost as though you're enjoying yourself."
Rhys chewed a bite of rabbit, his expression thoughtful. When done, he tossed the bone aside and leaned back on one arm. "I suppose I am, in a way. Oh, mind you, if help came, I'd go back without a second thought. My life is back there. My friends. My family.
"But this..." He waved a hand at the surrounding darkness and the starry sky. "This is not bad. Not bad at all. There are no pressures here, no schedules to keep, no one bugging me about interviews or photo sessions or public appearances. No one pushing me to cut another album or go on another tour or guest star on TV or escort another bimbo to a party or some other 'photo opportunity.' Here, there're no screaming hordes to dodge. No traveling from place to place, always hiding behind dark glasses or holing up in hotel rooms to keep from being mobbed. Here I can just be myself, do what I want, when I want."
He winked at her and ran his hand over his jaw, fingering the beginnings of a beard which had grown over the past week. "I don't even have to shave."
His grin flashed white among the black stubble. He looked like a pirate, rakish and bold... and virile.
His words were a revelation to Meghan. "I hadn't realized you were so unhappy with your life." From the outside, Rhys appeared to have it all: wealth, fame, worldwide recognition as a major talent. It had never occurred to her that his life was anything but perfect.
"Oh, don't get me wrong. I don't hate it—not all of it, anyway. And believe me, I know exactly how lucky I've been. I've had more success, made more money, than most people can even dream of. Hell, more than I ever dreamed of. But the price is high, especially in terms of personal freedom."
"I see. I never thought of it that way. I guess, like most people, I just assumed that performers thrive on the attention and adulation."
"Some do. But, then, I never really set out to be a performer. I was going to build things, remember?" He glanced toward the hut, and his mouth kicked up at one corner. "I suppose that's part of why I'm enjoying this. It's satisfying to build something with your own hands, to know you can survive by your own wits and effort, without any of the trappings of modern civilization."
"Mmm. I suppose. Although, I'd sell my soul for an innerspring mattress and clean sheets with no sand on them.''
Rhys chuckled. "Ah c'mon, Slugger. This place is great. It's got surf and sand and pleasant weather. There's fresh water and plenty to eat. It's paradise. All over the world, people shell out big bucks to stay in a place like this for a couple of weeks a year. We've got it all to ourselves indefinitely. And for free." He nudged her with his elbow. "Admit it. It's not really so bad, now is it?"
Meghan lips wobbled in a wan smite. She knew he was trying to cheer her up. "No, I guess not. It's just that... I keep thinking about my family. They must be going through pure hell wondering if I'm alive, if I'm okay. If they'll ever see me again."
Her voice broke on the last, and Rhys winced. "Aw, sweetheart."
Meghan stiffened and tried to pull away when he put his arm around her, but he tightened his hold and tugged her close. He cupped the back of her head with his other hand and nestled it against his shoulder. Finally, with a sigh, she gave in and relaxed against him.
"I know. I know," he murmured, nuzzling his chin against the top of her head. Her hair caught in his beard stubble, and the silky strands slid back and form against her scalp with each absent caress. "I have the same worry about my grandmother. She's eighty-seven and her heart isn't strong. I'm all the family she has left in the world. I hate to think what this is doing to her."
"Oh, Rhys. I'm so sorry." The words quavered from Meghan's aching throat in a barely audible whisper, rife with pain and empathy. Rubbing her cheek against his bare shoulder, she sniffed and pressed her lips together to keep from crying, but she made no move to leave the comfort of his embrace. He was big and warm and wonderfully real— the only real thing in a world that had turned topsy-turvy. And it felt good to lean on him... for just a little while.
"I know. But the thing is, we can't do anything about what's going on at home. And worrying isn't going to help. If we're going to survive this without going nuts, we need to keep a positive outlook."
"I know. You're right." Meghan sighed and stared at the fire, unconsciously snuggling her head into a more comfortable position on his shoulder. "It's just so hard."
"Mmm," Rhys concurred, slowly rubbing his hand up and down her arm.
Silence stretched out as they gazed at the flames, each lost in his own thoughts. After a while, when Rhys spoke again, the timbre of his voice dropped to a husky pitch that stroked her skin like warm velvet.
"This whole situation is tough to take, and I certainly wouldn't have chosen to live this way. But I'll tell you something, Slugger. If it has to be, there's no other woman in the world I'd rather be marooned with than you."
The seductive murmur sent a wave of pleasure rippling over Meghan. Following quickly on its heels came self-disgust. Then anger.
She pushed out of his embrace. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't say things like that."
Two pulse beats of silence followed, then Rhys's quiet, "Why not?"
"Because I hate being lied to."
"Hey. That wasn't a lie." He reached out to touch her arm, bat she flinched away
. Rhys frowned. "Meghan... sweetheart, I am attracted to you. Very attracted."
She impaled him with an icy stare. "Please, Rhys, I'm not stupid. Nor am I the same gullible kid I was when we first met. I have it on good authority that redheaded tomboys don't appeal to you."
"What?" His frown deepened. "Who gave you that idea?"
"You did."
"Me! When?"
Meghan looked away, her expression closed. "Never mind. I don't want to talk about it." She hadn't meant to say that much, but she was so agitated it had just slipped out.
"Meghan, does this have anything to do with what happened between us eight years ago?"
"I said I don't want to talk about that."
"Maybe not. But since it appears that we're going to be stuck here together—maybe for years—it's important that we get along. That means first we have to clear away any problems from the past. Don't you agree?"
Meghan clenched her jaw. She did not want to discuss their past; she didn't even want to think about it, but she. knew he was right.
"All right. Since you obviously won't rest until you know, I'll tell you."
With bitter self-mockery, she succinctly recounted the events of that long ago morning, taking a perverse pleasure in the look of shock and embarrassment that spread over Rhys's face as it all poured out
"Do you have any idea how I felt?" she demanded when done. "How humiliated I was? To learn—especially that way—that I had made a fool of myself over a man who didn't find me even remotely attractive? And that everyone on campus knew and was laughing at me? I was eighteen and in love for the first time in my life, and in those few minutes my heart and my pride were shattered.''
"Ah, damn." Closing his eyes, Rhys sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "I honestly don't remember that conversation. Or ever making that comment to Gary. But the hell of it is..." He looked at her, his expression pained. "As much as I hate to admit it, at that time in my life I could very well have said something like that."
"At least you're not denying it."
"No. I'm not denying it." She opened her mouth to speak again, but he cut her off with a raised hand. "But... that doesn't mean I feel the same way now. For Pete's sake, that was eight years ago, Meghan. We've both changed since then. I'm older and one hell of a lot wiser. And you're no longer an eighteen-year-old kid. Or a tomboy, for that matter."
His gaze traveled over her and the look in his eyes grew warm. "You're a lovely, sexy woman. I was attracted the minute I saw you that day in Dallas at the television studio. And what's more, I think the feeling is mutual."
The soft words feathered over her skin like a caress. Meghan felt gooseflesh ripple over her arms and back. She wanted to vehemently deny his claim, but to her disgust and horror she realized he was right. She was attracted to him. Extremely attracted. Just looking at him did funny things to her insides, and when he spoke to her in that deep whiskey voice and trained those sexy eyes on her as though he wanted to devour her, she went weak in the knees.
And in the head.
It wasn't fair! She didn't want to feel anything for Rhys Morgan. Nothing at all. Not ever again.
Meghan gritted her teeth. All right. The chemistry that had drawn her to him before was as strong as ever. She could not deny that—at least not to herself. Nor could she change it. But she could darn well fight it.
"Think what you like. I'm still not interested."
He winced at her harsh tone. "Meghan.. .sweetheart, I didn't mean to hurt you. Honestly. I can't tell you how sorry I am for-"
"No. Don't apologize. Rhys, you don't understand. I don't blame you for what happened. And I'm not angry. Well...not about that, anyway. Only about this line you're trying to hand me now.
"I know perfectly well that most of the blame for what happened was mine. I chased you, threw myself at you. I practically seduced you that night." A blush scalded her cheeks and spread over her neck and shoulders, but she had come that far and she was determined to brazen it through. "As your friend Brian so succinctly put it, no one could blame you for taking what was offered. And you had been drinking. Some might even say that I took advantage of you."
"I wasn't drunk, Meghan. I knew what I was doing. That has been the problem for me all these years—I knew, and I couldn't stop myself." His voice dropped to a husky murmur and his look turned infinitely warm, infinitely tender. "And I still remember every sweet moment of what we shared."
The comment incensed Meghan so she was almost incoherent. "Oh, pul-leeze! Do you expect me to believe that, after all this time and all the women who have come and gone in your life, you remember one meaningless sexual encounter with a tomboyish young girl whom you did not even find attractive? And in minute detail? Don't insult my intelligence!"
"It wasn't meaningless. Far from it. And whether you believe me or not, I do remember. I remember very well. How could I not?" He edged closer. Beneath heavy lids, his eyes glittered with sensual heat. "You were so sweet and responsive ... and so innocent.''
Heat surged into Meghan's face again, but she ignored it. "As I recall, you weren't so thrilled about that at the time."
"Only because I wasn't ready for a relationship. I felt guilty and responsible for what happened. I was your first lover, Meghan. That's something no real man takes lightly."
He was not merely her first, he was her only lover, but Meghan knew better than to tell him that. She didn't want him to feel responsible. She had never wanted that. She had wanted him to love her.
"There was no reason for you to feel that way," she said, stiff with affront and hurt. "I knew what I was doing."
"I'm not so sure about that. In any case, I was older. Too old for you at the time. I should never have touched you, and I knew it."
"Could we drop this? It happened, it's over and we've both moved on. It doesn't matter who was to blame. Just like it doesn't matter whether or not I find you attractive. The point is, I'm not interested in having an affair."
She stood and dusted off the seat of her dress and headed for the hut. At the door, she paused to look back at him before ducking inside. "I may have been head over heels in love with you when I was eighteen, but as you pointed out, I've changed. You see, I learn from my mistakes, Rhys. And I never make the same one twice."
After an almost sleepless night, Meghan arose the next morning determined to set a few ground rules.
She emerged from the hut and found Rhys sitting on a log by the fire, braiding vines into a rope. He looked up and grinned. "Morning. Sleep well?"
She shot him a narrow look. His words and tone were innocuous enough, but there was something faintly predatory and possessive in his eyes. Something that sent a little frisson skittering down her spine.
"I slept fine, thank you," she lied, lifting her chin, she sidled around him and headed for the woods.
When she returned a short while later, Rhys was kneeling beside the fire, stirring his improvised coffee with a sliver of bamboo.
He made the brew by first roasting some hideous-looking black root beneath the coals of the fire, then chopping it fine. It wasn't the best coffee in the world, but it was better than nothing.
Their coffeepot, formerly a fat aerosol can of shaving cream which Rhys had decapitated with his knife, was awkward to pour from when hot and held only two cups of liquid, but Meghan Was eternally grateful to Rhys for his ingenuity. If necessary, she could endure a lot of things and do without a lot of things, but a hot cup of coffee first thing in the morning was not one of them. Without it she was a bear.
As Meghan sat down on a log, Rhys picked up the can. Using his folded handkerchief for a hot pad, he poured the steaming liquid into two half coconut shells and handed one to her. Then he deftly sliced open a mango, cut the meat into chunks, and gave her one of the halves, along with a tiny bamboo spear.
Meghan accepted the meal with a stilted "thank you," not meeting Rhys's eyes. She ate a few chunks of mango, but her nerves were so taut her stomach was jumping, and she set
it aside and picked up her coffee. Holding the shell between her cupped palms, she stared at the shiny surface of the liquid.
"Rhys, I think you should... that is... we should build another hut."
The statement met only silence, and she glanced up to find him watching her. The look in his eyes wound her nerves tighter. "For me," she tacked on hopefully. "That way you would have your place and I'd have mine."
"No."
"No?" Meghan blinked. "What do you mean, no?"
"I'm not building separate quarters."
"Fine, then!" she huffed. "If you won't help me, I'll just build a hut by myself." Glaring at him, she gulped a swallow of coffee and scalded her tongue, which infuriated her all the more.