“You’re good with your hands,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her nerve endings. Her skin prickled with his nearness. His words hinted of more than just basket weaving.
Her breathing hitched, and she cleared her throat. “I practiced this before I left for the island.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I’d say it takes some natural skill too.”
She couldn’t handle him so close any more than she could deal with the double meaning to his words. “Why don’t you look for some dry kindling? We can’t eat sushi for every meal.”
He seemed reluctant to leave, but after several long seconds, he stood, brushing his hands together. “It’s probably a lost cause, but I’ll do my best.”
She heard the humor in his voice, but she didn’t dare look up. After he left to find the tinder, she quickly finished the last lobster trap then got to work on a couple pairs of sandals. Made from bark and palm leaves, they weren’t fashionable, but they’d protect their feet for the upcoming hike through the interior of the island. The shoes didn’t take as long as the traps, so she was soon left with nothing to do but fidget.
Her island partner returned and settled in to build a fire. Jonathon worked a bow drill, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he tried in vain to get the damp tinder to cooperate. She sipped more water, standing in the shade, trying to decide what to do next. Their shelter needed to be fixed. It leaked like a sieve, and she didn’t want to spend another miserable night should it rain. Phoebe collected new palm fronds and carried them to the hut.
She resisted the urge to micromanage Jonathon’s bow drilling skills, and worked a while on the roof and walls of the shelter. After another twenty minutes, Jonathon gave a disgusted snort which sounded so much like Sarah’s it made Phoebe gape.
“I think I’ll take the lobster traps out.” His ever-present smile had faded to a meek flicker. “Maybe I’ll get that right.”
She almost reached out to give him encouragement and comfort like she would have her daughter. Jonathon had already burned out, she saw it in the dull look in his eyes. If he called it quits, it might make her island days easier. Then again, a second pair of hands had come in handy. Yeah, like they had last night… Phoebe frowned at the intrusive inner voice. She couldn’t change what had happened the night before, but she could make sure it didn’t happen again.
Phoebe stared over his broad shoulders, the play of muscle beneath skin fascinating as he walked away from her. His loose confident stride was brisk as he snagged the traps as he went by. Jonathon waded into the surf then dove beneath the lapping waves, disappearing from view.
She let out a long breath. Her roommate in college had once told her a woman always held a flame for the man who took their virginity. She hadn’t believed it, had spent years denying it, yet Phoebe recognized the truth now.
But why? she questioned. I barely know him. Perhaps it’d been her emotionally vulnerable state which had let him inside to a place she kept closed off to most everyone save Sarah, Cybil, and her friend Barb. The fragile section of her psyche leaving her wary of anyone and everyone who could, might, or maybe hurt her in some way. Jonathon had shown her kindness the night in the fraternity house. His attitude toward dating appeared fickle at best, yet he also seemed capable of opening his heart in a way she couldn’t imagine ever risking.
Her partner’s head bobbed in the stunningly beautiful ocean, and he kicked out toward land. His swim strokes were smooth, powerful, and they sent awareness to those feminine parts he seemed to own at the moment.
Perhaps he would be open to the idea of Sarah. Yet even as the thought formed, the mama bear part of her bared sharp teeth.
Phoebe had flown across the Atlantic to the UK to seek out her own father who’d lived in Brighton. It’d taken a private investigator to find his address, and she’d walked up to his door unannounced, because she’d been terrified to write a letter, email, or call first.
When he’d answered the door, his dark chestnut hair thinning, brown eyes watery, the odor of pot smoke spilling from the aging man’s flat, she’d almost found the courage to flee. And to this day wished she would have, because as soon as she’d introduced herself as his daughter, he’d thrown cruel words at her. Within the span of a minute Phoebe had been crushed to bits and with the slamming of the door in her face she’d scooped up the pieces of herself to return home. She’d stopped by her mother’s place in New York City first. Cybil had tried to soothe the worst of her daughter’s pain, but it’d been too little too late for Phoebe.
Looking back, she watched the chain of ugly events which had eventually led to the creation of her little girl. The moment they’d placed the squalling infant in her arms, the world had made sense in a way it never had before. Even terrible outcomes could have silver linings. Nasty words, impulsive decisions, a broken condom laying on a stranger’s bed, all of it had led to that one spectacular moment when she’d first kissed the crown of her daughter’s head. A perfect creation to come from such imperfect circumstances.
Jonathon rejoined her. He stared into her eyes and his dark shag of eyebrows drew together. His wet hair glistened, and for the first time Phoebe noticed his auburn highlights, the same as Sarah’s.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Phoebe felt the warm wash of tears slip down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them, so she rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. “This is harder than I thought,” passed her lips. A meager excuse to cover the riot of emotions swirling inside her. “Thank you,” she whispered, staring into his eyes. Her daughter’s eyes.
He cocked his head. “For what?”
For giving me the magic that is my child. “For setting the traps,” she said instead.
His curious gaze said he didn’t believe her. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. “My mom has always said a good hug can fix anything,” he murmured against her hair.
When she had herself under control, she stepped back from his brotherly embrace, shooting him a tight grin. They stood together in the shade of the palms while silence stretched between them. He reached out and tipped her chin up. He searched her face—her mouth, her eyes, especially her eyes.
“Phoebe,” he muttered. “Phoebe,” he said again as if tasting her name on his tongue. In the downward turn of his mouth, the concentration in his eyes, she thought she saw it. The flicker of recognition she so desperately wanted to see. “I’m sorry, Phoebe,” he finally said.
Boom, boom, boom went her heart, echoing the rhythmic pounding of the waves.
“S-sorry for what?” she stammered.
He traced her bottom lip with his thumb as his other hand reached up and turned off his camera. He clicked off hers as well. “I’m so sorry for taking advantage of you.”
Boom, boom, boom. She blinked as a response escaped her grasp. He remembers me.
“Last night,” he finished. “I’m an ass who let my dick get the best of me. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Phoebe deflated, and her shoulders slumped. She turned away from him and swallowed. “What’s done is done, Jonathon,” she said. “What’s done is done, and can’t be changed.”
“You deserve more than a fast fuck from a guy like me.”
She looked for something to do. Anything at all that would take her away from him. “We didn’t fuck.” She heard the bitterness in her voice. “Not last night.”
“I don’t know what it is about you, Phoebe.” He paused and blew out a breath. “I don’t know what it is about you, but if I were the kind of guy who could settle down, I’d give you the world, angel.” An undercurrent of sadness drifted with his words. “I’d give you everything you could ever want. My heart, my soul, everything in my power to give.”
And what he didn’t know was he’d given her those very things. It hadn’t been until the birth of her daughter she’d known what having a heart and soul meant. He’d already given her everything.
“What about
kids?” Her husky voice revealed her ache. “How do you feel about kids?”
He didn’t answer for several agonizing moments.
“What about them?” he asked.
“Do you want kids?” Would you want my daughter…our daughter? She squeezed her eyes shut and waited.
“Yes,” he replied then blew out another hard breath. “I mean, sure, in another ten years or so. I don’t even know for certain where I want to settle down. Maybe Dallas, maybe London. I grew fond of London when I lived there.”
Maybe he’d like Brighton better? Then Sarah will be the same age I was when I found my own father, and what are the chances you’ll want her then?
Chapter 7
He’d missed something incredibly important, but Jonathon didn’t know what it was as he watched Phoebe walk away, clicking her camera back on as she left. Deep inside some important knowledge chewed away at him—a secret knowing he couldn’t quite touch on, and he ground his teeth. He rubbed his hands over his wet hair, and his skin felt tight by the salt left behind by the drying ocean water.
“Who are you?” he asked aloud, but Phoebe was too far away to hear. An actress, he reasoned, some woman they’d hired to fuck with his head, and boy was she doing a number on him.
Then again, her face only held honesty. A truthfulness he couldn’t imagine an actress ever mastering so fully. He took off for the waterline, turning his camera on, and paced back and forth. He dug and dug and dug inside his brain. He could almost see Phoebe in some past memory. A brief glimpse of her big brown eyes, her full lips, the sweet curve of her heart-shaped face. Like viewing something from the corner of his eye before it vanished when he looked directly at it.
The day had worn itself thin, and the sun kissed the edge of the world. Jonathon looked out across the Indian Ocean. A cloud bank had created vapory mountains which huddled around the setting sun. Everything had turned orange and red, even the sand. His stomach growled, reminding him of how little he’d eaten in two days. Another night of coconuts loomed, because he’d failed at fishing. He was failing miserably with the whole excursion.
How nice it would be to simply leave. His dad would expect it of him, and he hated doing anything his dad expected. Not to mention the fact his portion of money for taking the island challenge would go to a good cause. Him missing a few meals would give a Texas charity money to feed families, and his appearance on the show would raise awareness for those going hungry in his state.
Phoebe was working again at getting a fire started. Her nimble fingers much more dexterous than his with the bow drill. He kept his distance, watching, until she leaned down and he saw a puff of dark smoke waft up. He grinned as she sat back on her heels and rolled her shoulders. She looked up and their gazes clashed. He clung to her gaze until she looked away. She rose and grabbed a coconut, chopping it in two before she started picking the meat out with her fingers.
Behind her the dark entrance of the hut reminded him in a matter of hours they’d be together inside it. He’d feel her body heat and the slight brush of her silken skin next to him. His blood stirred, heading south, even now his dick wanted to do his thinking. Take her, once you leave the island you’ll never see her again. But Jonathon knew that wasn’t the truth. They had a connection. One he’d felt the first time he’d laid eyes on her and it’d grown stronger. When he left the island, he’d always wonder about Phoebe and the mystery she wouldn’t share.
He walked to a coconut tree, and knocked a couple down. He collected them and carried them to camp where he took a seat across from Phoebe by the fire. She nibbled at her meal, and the quiet strained between them, yet he couldn’t come up with anything useful to say. He’d always hated silence—blame it on growing up in a big household full of life and constant chatter. His partner seemed the opposite, and perfectly content to spend the time not saying a word.
He ate coconut, wishing for pizza, steak, or anything except coconut. After Paradise he never wanted to see another one. The meal did little to temper the hunger pangs in his gut.
“Tell me about her,” he said, wanting a distraction. “Your daughter.”
“She’s…wonderful, beautiful, smart. All the things you want your kid to be,” she answered, staring into the flickering fire.
“She sounds like her mother.” Jonathon wanted to see her eyes, feel their warmth or chill. She didn’t take the bait, keeping her attention on the flames. “Does she look like you?”
“No.” He watched her shoulders rise and fall with her deep breath. “She looks like her father.”
He chewed his top lip for a moment. “How are things between you and her father?” A deeply personal question, but one he wanted to know the answer to.
At first he didn’t think she’d answer him. She traced circles in the sand with a fingertip.
“We’re strangers,” she finally admitted. “What happened between he and I occurred long ago.”
He let things stop at that. The night wore on. He tried to daydream about home and a recent woman he’d dated who hosted a morning show in Dallas. Casual sex, casual conversation, he’d thought they’d had a good thing going, but now the experience felt empty. What about kids? A family of his own? His sisters were doing a good job of providing him nieces and nephews, but maybe it was time to start thinking about his own children.
The notion left him uncomfortable. He brushed sand off his feet, the welts from sand fleas burning as he rubbed his nails over the bites. What would it be like to settle down and look forward to forever with someone? He watched Phoebe as she crawled into the hut. She was a woman who deserved a forever with someone. She had a serious take on life, while he hadn’t taken much seriously his entire life. He’d never had to. Not that he needed to weigh what kind of husband he’d be to her.
The intimacy of their shared shelter tugged Jonathon to his feet and he walked over to its opening. He rubbed his hand over his hair and waited. On what he couldn’t be certain, maybe he wanted to hear Phoebe invite him inside. After another minute, he retrieved his machete, chopped down a bunch of palm fronds, and piled them by the fire. He lay down on them, covering himself with another layer, and waited on sleep. A breeze rattled the leaves, and the night birds chattered and sang while ocean waves played as a meditative backdrop.
He couldn’t get comfortable so he tossed and turned, his empty stomach grumbling and growling. The cloud bank he’d viewed at sunset passed overhead in billowy plumes, blocking out the moon and stars. And they moved on without a drop of rain, leaving the black velvet of the sky above. Jonathon stared at the Milky Way and studied the stars, wishing he knew something of constellations and planets. He’d only ever known people. At least he’d always thought he’d known people.
Sometime around dawn he dozed off, and slept hard for a couple of hours. When he awoke, the sun was up and he found Phoebe gone. Concerned, he called out to her, and when he didn’t get an answer he did a brief search. Still, he couldn’t find her.
“Phoebe!” He paced the stretch of beach, alternately searching the waves and the shady tree line. “Phoebe!” Panic welled up. He jogged back and forth, searching for fresh footprints. “Phoebe!”
“What?”
He whirled around so quickly he nearly stumbled over his own feet. She stood a few yards away. He strode to her, his heart still pounding. “Jesus, you scared me to death,” he said.
She raised her hand, and it took a moment for him to realize what she held.
“I got us breakfast,” she said. “You were sleeping.”
Jonathon licked his lips, his mouth watering at the prospect of a decent-sized meal, even if it was roasted sea gull. “How did you catch it?” he asked.
She shoved the dead bird into his hand. “Your rotten sea turtle shell. I made a blind, sat behind it, and when it came close enough…” She slapped her hands together, and he got the idea. “I killed it, so you can cook it. I’m going for a swim.”
She trotted out into the breakers and dove beneath the waves. He tu
rned and headed back to camp. He wasn’t sure the best method to cook sea gull, but he stoked the campfire, plucked what feathers he could, finished dressing it out, then left it to roast on a skewer balanced above the fire. Soon the smell of cooking meat made his mouth water, and he inhaled the aroma in greedy gulps. He drank from his bottle to keep his hands busy so he wasn’t tempted to try to eat it half-raw.
“God, it smells wonderful,” Phoebe said from behind him.
“It should be ready in a few more minutes,” he replied.
She took a seat across from him, ringing saltwater from her hair before throwing it back into a braid. He rubbed his hand over his cheek, several days of beard growth scratched his palm as he curiously watched her work with a couple of palm fronds. She fashioned a bandeau top and skirt from the greenery. Phoebe stood and put them over her bra and panties. Her skin had taken on a deep tan, and the green set off the color. She looked exotic in the costume.
“I don’t think the cotton in my underwear will hold out much longer,” she said, taking a seat in the sand.
He’d love to see her naked, and almost said as much, but Jonathon managed to hold his tongue. Things were weird between them. Perhaps the rest of their island stay would be up and down like it had been since they’d met.
“Maybe you can make me a skirt like yours,” he joked. His own briefs had suffered from the sun and ocean as well. Once dark blue, now the cotton was a bleached out grayish blue.
“I can make you something from one of the bags on our next drop,” she said. “Like a loincloth.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea of wearing a loincloth. “Nah, I’ll go commando. You know, for ratings.” He winked, more for Phoebe’s camera than Phoebe. Still, he saw her slight blush.
“I’m not sure if you’ll want to risk sun exposure on…certain parts. Sunburn and blistering could be an issue.” Her serious face mixed with her practical statement for some reason caused him to bust out into laughter. She gave him a stern look. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
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