“What do you need?” he asked her quietly.
She waved a hand. “I’m fine, I just need a break.” He strode over to the tree she leaned against. Vines trailed down it, and he checked one of the leaves, then smiled when he saw the droplet of water sitting in the bowl of the leaf.
“Here, open your mouth,” he instructed. She frowned at him as though he was mad, then did as he’d asked. He poured the water into her mouth and she sighed.
“Oh, that’s a great idea.”
They reached for various leaves, drinking from the tiny reservoirs until their thirst was satiated.
“Where did you learn that?” Hope asked, wiping her mouth. His attention was caught momentarily by the sheen of moisture on her lip.
“Probably saw it on some survivalist show,” he said, shutting out the wild fantasies that had sprung to mind. Hope had made it pretty clear she didn’t—couldn’t—see him as anything more than a friend. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to take advantage of her in this situation. “I just wish I could tell what was safe to eat.”
Hope shuddered. “I’m not eating any berries, not after the trip my mother and Thomas took.” She tilted her head and looked up at him, a slight smile tugging at her lips. She looked tired, sore, a mess—and totally adorable.
“So, survivalist shows? You watch survivalist shows?” Her tone was incredulous.
“Amongst other things,” he told her airily, trying to lighten the tension, even if it was tension that only he felt.
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“Oh, just shows,” he answered, shrugging. “Are you okay to move on?”
She nodded and, using the makeshift hiking stick for support, fell into step behind him. “I bet I can guess,” she said to him.
His lips curved. “I bet you can’t.”
“Poker tournaments,” she said.
“Nope.” He shuddered. He wasn’t a gambling man. He and his sister had grown up in a rough neighborhood, and his old man liked to think he could play a mean hand at cards. It took losing everything the family had to convince him that he couldn’t. Oliver’s smile fell. That’s when his sister, Agnes, had tried to pursue a lucrative modeling career. He didn’t like thinking of those times, of his sister’s troubles … her rape. “No, I don’t watch poker tournaments.”
“Nature shows,” she guessed again.
“Nope.”
“Sitcom reruns?”
“Nope.”
“TV evangelists?”
He frowned. “Uh, nope.”
“Cop dramas?”
“Maybe.”
“Ha! Gotcha.”
“Okay, my turn. You like to watch … action adventure.”
She laughed. “You wish.”
“Family drama?”
“I have enough of my own, thanks.”
He barked with laughter. They continued to play the game as they trudged through the rain forest.
The growth was beginning to thin out, and suddenly they emerged onto a beach. Oliver halted. To his left was a rocky platform, to his right was more beach, extending back in the direction they’d come. He walked over to the wet rocks, and peered over them. He recognized the land on the other side.
Damn. It was the rocky ridge from this morning. “I know where we are,” he told Hope, sighing with frustration.
“Where?” she asked as she came up beside him.
“We’re not far from where we washed up. I saw this bit earlier when I was looking for the cave.”
She frowned, and looked around in all directions. “But that means …” her words trailed off, and he nodded.
“Yeah. We’ve come full circle.”
She bit her lip, twisting in one direction, then the other, as though hoping that when she turned back, the terrain would have miraculously changed.
“But—but we didn’t see anyone,” she whispered. He had to lean in close to catch her words before the wind tore them away. “There’s no sign of anyone else here.”
No docks, wharves, jetties, airstrips, no sign of civilization anywhere. No tire tracks or electricity poles, no telephone wires, no smoke from chimneys, no huts, cabins, or shanties.
He nodded, gazing out at the choppy sea. “We’re stranded on a deserted island.”
Then it started to rain.
Chapter Nine
“Come on, hurry,” Oliver urged Hope, and grasped her hand. He started to drag her back into the forest.
“Wait, can’t we climb over the rocks?” she protested, trying to keep up with him. Her side burned with each breath, and her legs were shaky.
“It’s too treacherous. Besides, we should take cover.”
She followed him into the brush, bending to avoid low-hanging branches and wincing each time she did so. She watched where she stepped carefully, conscious of the ground turning to mud underfoot, then frowned. Oliver wore only one shoe.
“What happened to your shoe?”
“I lost it.”
“So you’ve been walking around barefoot?”
Oliver shrugged. “It didn’t seem so bad earlier.”
Hope shook her head. They’d been walking for what felt like hours. His foot must hurt like hell. How had she not noticed? She was so preoccupied with her own state that she hadn’t considered her friend’s welfare. He’d been so solicitous toward her … guilt rose at her self-absorption. “It’s going to take us ages to get back to the cave.” Maybe they could just rest quietly somewhere, give them a chance to recoup.
Oliver pointed to their right. “Not if we go through there.” She glanced in the direction he pointed. Thick forest. She tried to hide her shudder. There would be spiders. Maybe snakes. Bugs, definitely.
“We were skirting around the island. We can save some time if we cut across it. By my reckoning, if we go through this bush, we can come out and cut back on the other side of the cliff.”
“You really think so?” Hope eyed the brush hesitantly. It just looked so … wild.
Oliver shrugged. “Well, I don’t know for sure, but I’ve got a gut feeling.”
“Oh, well, that’s reassuring.”
Oliver grinned. “Quit complaining, let’s go.”
The thicker canopy gave them some protection from the rain, at least. Hope followed, letting Oliver go ahead and beat back the bushes—along with any spiders or other creatures that happened to be lurking. Of course, following Oliver also meant she could look at him without him noticing. His cotton shirt was stained and sodden, clinging to each muscular curve of his back and shoulders.
His arms swung easily with each stride, and he’d occasionally stop to lift a branch out of her way and she would see the bunching of his biceps, the corded muscle revealing his coiled strength.
Oh, and that butt. She sighed. His wet shorts hid absolutely nothing. The fabric clung to his frame like a second skin. That was one thing she’d never denied about Oliver: he was H.O.T. And not just because he was traipsing through a tropical rain forest. She fanned herself. Great. Now she was getting hot, perving on her friend’s very fine form. Heavens, she was beginning to think like her mother.
She stumbled, and Oliver reacted instantly, turning to steady her with strong hands.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.
We’re marooned on a deserted island, and all I can do is drool over your butt. No, I’m not okay.
“Uh, fine. Thanks.” Oh, great. She sounded all breathless and gushy. Again, just like her mom.
They trudged on, Hope pausing every now and then to catch her breath. I really should get more active. She could go for a little while, taking short breaths, but with the exertion she occasionally needed to stop and fill her lungs—and that hurt. She wiped the sweat from her brow. The temperature had dropped dramatically during the storm, but now the humidity was rising again. At least, she hoped it was the humidity. She’d better not be coming down with a cold. Hope shuddered. No, a sore ribcage was about as much as she could handle right now.
Th
ey’d been walking for a while, Oliver holding branches and vines back so that she didn’t have to stoop and dodge, when suddenly he stopped. Hope almost plowed into his back … his broad, muscled back that his shirt clung—wait.
“Why have we stopped?” she whispered into his shoulder blades. What had he seen? A snake? A spider the size of a dinner plate? Hope frowned. She really needed to stop listening to Caroline’s morbid fascination with Australian creatures.
“Can you hear that?” Oliver asked quietly.
She strained to hear, eager to know what had caught Oliver’s attention.
“Um, nope.”
“Sh. Listen. That rushing sound.”
She closed her eyes in an effort to focus on the sounds around her, rather than on his broad back with its tantalizing musculature. She was not her mother, darn it. She took a calming breath, careful not to breathe too deeply.
Oh, now she could hear it. There was a rushing noise. She realized she’d been hearing it for a while now, but had dismissed the sound as nothing. “I thought that was just the wind in the trees,” she said.
Oliver frowned. “I don’t think so.” He scanned the surrounding growth, then pointed. “I think it’s coming from this direction,” he said, and set off.
Hope stood for a moment, frowning. “Do we have to investigate it?”
Oliver cast a quick look over his shoulder, his blue eyes dark in the dappled gloom. “If it’s what I think it is, it will be worth it. Come on.”
She followed reluctantly, wincing when a branch snagged at her hair. She carefully stepped along behind him, the rushing noise getting louder as they went.
One minute they were pushing back vegetation and wrestling with branches, and then suddenly they weren’t.
“Oh, wow,” Oliver whispered, and came to a stop.
Hope tried to peer past him, but the man was too tall, and too broad-shouldered, and she ended up having to step around him.
“Oh, wow,” she echoed. They’d stepped out into a small clearing. A narrow river wound through it, pooling in the middle, then continuing on and disappearing beyond a curve of land and trees. The rain fell harder here, the water tumbling over rocks before eddying into the calmer lagoon.
“Thank God,” Oliver said, and hurried to the edge of the rapidly moving water. He knelt on the muddy bank, cupped his hands and took a sip. He glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “It’s fresh water, Hope. We’ve found fresh water.”
She smiled as she crossed over to him, and used the rudimentary hiking stick for balance as she gingerly knelt beside him. She bent over, wincing at the sharp pain in her side, but that didn’t stop her from reaching out with trembling hands to scoop up some water and drink thirstily.
The water tasted sweet, with a faint metallic aftertaste. It was headier than the most expensive wine Bill Spencer could get his hands on. It was delicious, and Hope drank her fill. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was.
After a few minutes of slurping water—which in any other situation would have her red-faced with mortification—she sat back on her heels and sighed.
Her stomach rumbled and roiled, and she grimaced as she glanced at Oliver. “I didn’t realize how dehydrated I was, but now that I’ve had a drink, I suddenly feel hungry.”
Oliver nodded as he patted his flat stomach, rain plastering his brown hair to his forehead. “Yeah, I know I’m full of water, but my stomach feels empty.” He looked around the clearing. “Some of these trees have berries—I just don’t know whether they’re poisonous or not.”
Hope sighed. “I guess we keep an eye out for something that looks vaguely familiar—and innocuous.”
Oliver got to his feet and crossed to the ring of trees. He picked up a branch that looked like it had snapped off during the storm. One end was ragged and torn, forming a sharp point. “Maybe we could try our hand at fishing,” he suggested, fingering the pointed end.
Hope laughed. “Are you getting your Robinson Crusoe on?”
He chuckled. “Yes, and you can be my Girl Friday.”
His girl. Hope kept the smile on her face as she turned to watch the river swirl past. An emotion rose within her that took her by surprise. The words had a nice ring to them, the possessive title brought a warmth and pleasure that surprised her. She prided herself on being strong, independent—a woman with an identity of her own. Yet Oliver’s careless words exposed a deep, wistful need she hadn’t recognized before, and certainly wasn’t ready to admit to. His girl. What would it be like to be Oliver’s girl once more?
She straightened her shoulders. Girl was the wrong word, though. “Woman,” she said as she stood.
“What?”
“Your Woman Friday.”
Oliver looked at her, and the humorous glint in his gray-blue eyes disappeared as he assessed her momentarily. His eyes soon reflected a darker emotion as he skimmed her body, taking in her tousled hair and wet clothes, which she knew clung to her breasts and hips, then traveling down legs that were suddenly a little unsteady.
“You’re right. You’re not a girl anymore, you’re definitely all woman,” he said in a low voice that washed over her much like the water below, rumbling and pooling in her soft core and heating her from within.
The air seemed to sizzle and crackle with the spark and heat that constantly simmered between them, flaring up at the most unexpected times.
Like now.
Oliver slowly stepped toward her, his gaze so compelling, so hypnotic, she couldn’t look away. Her breasts rose and fell, and she ignored the slight flash of pain down her side—it was nothing compared to the wave of yearning that arose within her. His shoulders moved with an athletic grace that seemed almost predatory, his unbuttoned shirt offering tantalizing glimpses of his bare, muscled chest with each movement.
She swallowed. He was gorgeous. It felt like a moment out of time, as though they’d stepped into a secret place, separate from their ordinary existence, private, intimate, and intoxicating. The lush rain forest, the tinkling of water over rocks—even the birds seemed to hush in anticipation.
Her pulse throbbed with each step he took. Her gaze fused with his as the very air between them became charged with a temptation that took her breath away.
For once, she didn’t want to run. She didn’t want to push him away. Right here, right now, she wanted Oliver, and the hot, sensual look in his eyes, his heavy-lidded gaze and parted lips, suggested that he felt exactly the same way.
She shivered as he halted just a foot away from her. His chest rose and fell with each breath, as though he, too, felt the change in mood, in atmosphere.
“Hope,” he murmured, and raised his hand, reaching out for her.
“Oliv—oh!” Solid ground disappeared from beneath her, and she was falling. She screamed, her eyes wide. Oliver jumped forward and for the briefest moment their fingertips brushed against each other, but then she dropped away. Her surprised yell was cut off as she hit the chilled water, her throat closing over with shock as she caught a glimpse of Oliver’s stunned gaze before the water closed over her head. Her arms flailed and she broke the surface as the river swept her away from the muddy bank that had collapsed beneath her feet.
“Hope!” Oliver ran alongside, trying to keep pace with the rapidly flowing river. “Hang on, Hope!”
She gritted her teeth as she was bumped over rocks, flinging her arms out in an effort to grab something, anything, to stop her descent downstream. “Oliver!” Her voice was pitched high with panic.
She was approaching the bend in the river. A tree hung out across a portion of the water, having come down in the storm. Its scraggly branches looked like torn and twisted fingers, reaching out for help.
Hope angled her body across the swiftly flowing river, battling against the current. The fallen tree reared up rapidly, and she prayed she wouldn’t hit it too hard. She reached out, missed, and reached again with a strength and speed born from sheer panic.
Her hands grasped a tree limb, but her fingers
slipped across the wet bark. She lunged, kicking with a force that lanced her side with an agonizing heat. She grabbed at a small branch and clung to it, her fingers tightening around the slender limb with a grip that made her fingers burn.
“Hope! Hold on!” Oliver skidded to a stop at the base of the uprooted tree, and scrambled over the exposed root system, climbing onto the trunk. The tree shuddered. Hope wasn’t sure if it was because Oliver was moving carefully along it toward her, or if their combined weight provided a strain that it couldn’t hold, but she heard a small creak, followed by a louder crack, and the branch she clung to started to bend.
“Oliver!” she pleaded—although for what, she wasn’t sure.
His face was tight with determination as he lowered himself and edged forward. The tree creaked under his weight, and he paused, then shuffled a little farther. The trunk groaned, and he stopped.
“If I come any closer, it will snap,” he grunted as he extended his arm toward her. “Here, grab my hand.”
She looked at his hand, scratched from their earlier bushwalk, but strong and tanned, reassuring—and frustratingly out of reach.
“I can’t,” she cried, then screamed with shock and fear as the thin branch buckled further under the drag of her body, the water pulling at her with a power that was frightening.
“You need to let go,” Oliver said to her, his voice calm. “Reach for my hand, Hope, quickly—before the branch snaps.”
Tears filled her eyes as she stared at the space between them. It seemed insurmountable, and so dangerous.
“You can do it, Hope,” Oliver pressed, his tone urgent.
She would need to stretch beyond her boundaries of comfort and security to reach him, she realized. She’d have to trust him. Trust him to catch her, to save her—to hold her.
“I can’t!” she cried, her voice laced with fear.
He nodded at her, his expression a mixture of determination and willpower that showed a confidence she was far from feeling herself. “You can, and you will. Reach for me, Hope.”
Stormswept: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 8