Stranded with the Navy SEAL

by Susan Cliff

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He sat upright, incensed. He was trying to answer her questions honestly, and doing his damnedest to keep them both alive. Her words were an insult to everything he believed in. They were an insult to his dead comrades. “Don’t ever say you’d rather die.”

  “You don’t understand how I feel.”

  “Sure I do. You’re miserable. You miss your family and the comforts of home. I get it. You think this is easy for me?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I think this is an exciting challenge for you.”

  He lay back down and took a deep breath, considering her point of view. He wasn’t as rattled as she was. He thrived in dangerous situations. He had confidence in his skills, and the ability to adapt to extreme circumstances. This was an exciting challenge for him, but that didn’t mean he was enjoying himself. “Let’s focus on getting rescued. We’ve only been here three days. It’s way too early to give up.”

  “You said they might not even be looking for us.”

  “We don’t have to count on an organized rescue effort. Some random person could pass by in a boat or a plane.” He told her about his idea for a signal fire. “Smoke from a high point can be seen for miles. We can build up the triangle. I also want to repair the raft, regardless. Having that kind of mobility is always an asset.”

  “You think someone will pass by?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What about the kidnappers?”

  “What about them?”

  “Are they looking for us?”

  “I hope so.”

  She frowned at him in the dark. “Why?”

  “Because they have a better chance of finding us than a rescue team. If they spot our signal, they’ll come ashore. And I’ll be ready.”

  “You mean you’ll kill them.”

  With relish, he thought. “If I have to,” he said.

  “Then we’ll steal their boat?”

  “Yes.”

  Although she didn’t object to this plan, he could sense her unease. He could hear it in her rapid breathing. He knew she was afraid, and he didn’t want her involved in any violence. If the kidnappers showed up, he’d hide her somewhere safe.

  “Look, we’re talking hypotheticals,” he said. “The possibility of a second attack is low. It’s more likely that a random plane or ship will pass by.”

  The conversation trailed off and the rain dissipated. She was stiff as a board beside him. He remembered how distraught she’d been the last time they’d tangled with the pirates. He regretted stirring up her fears, but she’d insisted on this discussion. She’d asked him to be honest with her about the dangers they faced.

  He also wanted her to be prepared. He needed her to fight, even if she was scared. Because that was the key to survival.

  Chapter 10

  Cady didn’t sleep well in the new shelter.

  Although they were protected from the worst of the rain, the bamboo pallet needed padding. She had to lie on her back on the hard surface, which was her least favorite position. Moisture seeped inside, dripping from the palm fronds and creating a damp chill she couldn’t shake. She fretted half the night about Logan’s gonzo plan to kill pirates. Then she drifted off in the wee hours of the morning.

  The next thing she knew, it was sunrise. Logan was already up, of course.

  She emerged from the shelter with a stiff body, but a calmer mind. She had to stop worrying about worst-case scenarios. That was a bad survival strategy, according to Logan, and it was mentally exhausting. She also couldn’t prevent him from taking risks. She had to accept the situation, focus on simple tasks and live for today.

  That was her plan, anyway. If she didn’t succeed, she’d try again tomorrow.

  She did some yoga stretches and drank water from a coconut shell. She wondered if she’d be wearing them as a bra soon, complete with a hula skirt. Her dress was in shambles. The reattached strap kept slipping off. She tied back her hair, splashed her face with water and brushed her teeth with a twig.

  They ate bananas for breakfast. She thought about other dishes she could make with the ingredients available. He started working on the shelter while she collected wood for the fire. Her feet felt better. The swelling was down and the cuts had scabbed over.

  During her search for wood, she stumbled upon another treasure. A turtle shell had washed up on the shore overnight. It was oblong, about the size of a large serving bowl, and super tough. She picked it up and raced back to the shelter.

  “Look what I found,” she said.

  He was sitting on the driftwood log by the fire, making an axe handle. His hand axe wouldn’t chop down a tree big enough for the platform he was trying to build. He glanced up. “You can cook in that.”

  “Right on the fire?”

  “I think so. Boil some seawater in it first.”

  She made a sound of excitement and set the prize by the fire pit. As she went back for the wood, she realized she’d squealed in delight over the prospect of cooking in a turtle shell. Who was she right now? She didn’t even recognize this person.

  They spent the morning working on separate projects. While she boiled the turtle shell and scrubbed it with a pumice stone, he made improvements to the shelter. They had coconuts for lunch. Then he asked for her help to raise the roof onto the platform. There was a lot of cursing and adjusting and heavy lifting.

  By early afternoon, she was covered in sweat and dusted in a fine coat of sand. She felt satisfied with their accomplishments. She tried not to wish for a shower and clean clothes, but she was only human. She was a woman who enjoyed looking presentable. They shared the last of the water, eyeing each other.

  “Need a break?” he asked.

  “I need a bath.”

  “I need one more,” he said in a gruff voice.

  She smiled her agreement. Between the two of them, he was sweatier and dirtier. They went to the waterfall to refill the bucket. She wanted to strip off her dress and stand under the cool spray.

  He had another idea: “Let’s walk through the cave.”

  She didn’t want to explore the dark interior, but she nodded, because she was curious about the other side. The cave was spacious, with water dripping from the cathedral-like ceiling. At high tide, the floor was completely submerged in water. As they moved away from the entrance, the light faded. She followed close behind Logan, taking careful steps. She couldn’t see anything. She imagined sea kraits twining around her ankles. When her bare toe grazed a slippery object, she almost jumped out of her skin.

  “What was that?”

  “That was my foot. You stepped on it.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Do you want me to carry you?”

  She shook her head and urged him forward, gripping the crook of his arm. The water level rose above her knees. Then it dipped again, and they were on dry sand.

  Beyond the cave’s exit, which was obscured in vines, there was another little cove with a secluded stretch of sand. It was similar to the beach they’d slept on the first night, surrounded by rock cliffs and largely inaccessible.

  Logan studied the cliffs with interest. “We can get to that other waterfall from here. Maybe I can find some more eggs, or another breadfruit tree.”

  She followed his gaze, considering. She wasn’t eager to hike again, but she wouldn’t mind foraging for food. She was a chef, and he was hungry. They both were. His instincts were to protect her, and hers were to feed him.

  He walked around a boulder in the middle of the beach to gain a better vantage point. “Whoa!”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Buried treasure.”

  It was a sand-colored plastic storage trunk, about four feet long, half-submerged in t
he sand next to the boulder. Logan dropped to his knees and tried to pry the lid open with his knife. It was locked, and wouldn’t budge.

  “Did someone leave it here?”

  “It probably fell off a boat and floated here.”

  After about ten minutes, he managed to pick the lock. The lid sprang open, revealing a treasure trove of waterlogged supplies. There was a large canvas umbrella, two full-size deck cushions, two beach towels, two life vests, a kayak paddle, a diving snorkel with a mask and a yellow rain jacket.

  “This is a huge score,” he said, holding up the mask.

  She helped him remove the deck cushions. They’d make perfect sleeping pads as soon as they dried in the sun. He swished his hand through the water in the bottom of the trunk and fished out a pink nylon bag. After a cursory glance, he handed it to her.

  She gasped as she examined the contents. One pair of black bikini bottoms, size medium, with adjustable strings at the hips. One oversize T-shirt, white with a pink flamingo. One empty water container. One bottle of sunscreen, SPF 50.

  Every item was like a precious diamond. She hugged the bikini bottoms to her chest, blinking away tears. There was no top, but she didn’t care. She’d have paid a thousand dollars for a pair of fresh panties. Half a bikini was a godsend.

  “I told you we’d have good days here,” he said softly.

  She nodded her agreement, sniffling. If someone had told her a week ago that she’d be weeping with joy over a bag of hand-me-downs, she wouldn’t have believed them. A week ago, she couldn’t have imagined feeling this way about anything.

  Or anyone.

  She wouldn’t have survived without Logan. He’d been her rock from day one. He’d stayed positive during their days at sea, and he’d pushed her beyond her physical limits on land. She hadn’t realized she was strong enough to keep pace with a Navy SEAL.

  She hung up the wet towels and clothes to dry in the sun. “How far do you think that trunk drifted?”

  “Not far,” he said. “I’m surprised it didn’t sink as soon as it went overboard. Maybe it came off a boat that was anchored nearby. Maybe it drifted a few miles. Either way, it hasn’t been here long. There’s hardly any deterioration.”

  The words were music to her ears. Human beings had been near this island before. Surely someone else would cruise by, and they’d get rescued. She hopped up and did a series of leaps on the beach, flying across the sand. Then she turned to face him. He was watching her with quiet awe. Her chest rose and fell with labored breaths.

  It was too late to worry about getting attached to him. It had already happened. She’d turned over a new leaf today, and set aside her fears about the future. Maybe something else had shifted inside her, as well. When he looked at her like that, her heart skipped a beat, and she stopped thinking about getting rescued. She started thinking about making the most of their time together.

  Was it really so bad, being stranded with a smoking-hot survival expert who made her pulse race with excitement? The real world was a difficult place, full of stress and strife. This island was a remote paradise, ripe with possibility. She’d never felt more alive than she did right now, right here, with him.

  “I haven’t done that in years,” she said.

  “You don’t look rusty.”

  She laughed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She felt rusty and out of shape, but he didn’t know any better. He stared at her for another few seconds, his face taut. Then he started walking toward the cliff. She grabbed the nylon bag and followed him. It was an easy climb, and a short hike into the jungle interior, but the heat under the canopy was sweltering. She’d forgotten how humid the air was here, compared to the pleasant breeze at the coast.

  On the way there she found a taro plant, which had edible roots, like yams. They dug up several and tucked them into her bag. In the same area, there was a tree with lime-sized fruits. Logan plucked one and chopped it open. Several smooth brown nuts were nestled inside the fleshy white pulp.

  “These are chestnuts,” she said.

  “Safe to eat?”

  “Yes, but you have to roast them first.”

  They collected as many as they could carry, tucking them into her new bag. They’d have roasted chestnuts and taro for dinner tonight. It wasn’t coconut crab, but the meal would suffice. She was glad they’d explored this side of the island.

  As they got closer to the waterfall, the jungle teemed with life. Logan had to draw his knife to slash through a thick section of foliage. Over the buzz of insects and birdsong, she heard the telltale sound of rushing water. He cut away a tangle of vines, his forearms flexing. Then they reached a clearing.

  It was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen. A twenty-foot high waterfall tumbled into a sky-blue pool. Rocks lined the shore. Mossy cliffs framed the falls on both sides. She dropped her bag and stood at the water’s edge, speechless.

  Logan didn’t hesitate. He peeled off his shirt, dropped his pants and waded in. Although he’d lost weight in the past week, he hadn’t lost muscle. Every ridge and angle was sharply defined. His shoulders looked wider, his biceps harder. He dove under the water and came back up, sweeping a hand over his hair. Although she’d seen him shirtless on a daily basis, she still drew in a ragged breath at the sight of his wet torso.

  “Are you coming in?” he asked, seeming puzzled.

  “My dress,” she stammered.

  “Take it off. I won’t look.”

  After he turned around, she pulled the dress over her head quickly. She kept her panties on and held one arm across her breasts, tiptoeing forward. He didn’t look, not even when she submerged her entire body with a soft splash. He kept his back to her and swam toward the waterfall to drink from it.

  She stayed near the middle of the pool, reveling in sensation. The water was wonderfully cool and refreshing. It felt like heaven against her overheated, moisture-deprived skin. After days of harsh sun and saltwater residue, it was practically a spa treatment. She dipped her head under the surface to soak her tangled hair.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression guarded. “Drink from the waterfall, not the pool.”

  She nodded, venturing into deeper water. She couldn’t touch the bottom in some places. When he retreated from the falls, she swam forward to drink. The cascade made a sleek curtain of water to duck into. She stuck her head under the stream, rinsing her hair of sand and debris. He floated on his back, eyes closed.

  He wasn’t watching, so she removed her panties under the water. She wanted to burn them. Instead she scrubbed the lacy fabric and tossed the wet bundle on the shore. Those panties were well suited for a hot island night, but completely inappropriate for hot island days. They’d been giving her a nonstop wedgie.

  With a sigh of relief, she washed from head to toe. She felt like a new woman, squeaky-clean and free of constrictive clothing. Too free, perhaps. She was acutely aware of her nudity, and of Logan’s proximity. The fact that he wasn’t steady-boyfriend material didn’t matter anymore. They’d survived together, against all odds. Her body had decided that it wanted to celebrate life. She wanted to float on her back, like he was. She wanted to expose her breasts to the sunlight. And to him.

  He turned toward her, as if he could sense her desire. She straightened in the water, lifting her wet hair off her neck. Her nipples flirted with the surface. His eyes darkened at the subtle invitation.

  But the only move he made was to wade out of the water, grab his shirt and start scrubbing it against a rock. She enjoyed the play of muscles in his shoulders and the cling of his boxer shorts against his taut backside. He washed his shirt with vigor, his jaw clenched. Then he rinsed the fabric and wrung it out, biceps bulging.

  Lord have mercy.

  “We should go,” he said in a curt tone.

  She blinked the stars from her ey
es, with some difficulty. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to climb him like a tree.

  He put on his pants, giving her an impatient look. “Are you ready? I’ll turn around.”

  Her stomach clenched with disappointment. He wasn’t interested. She didn’t think he’d missed her signals. He wasn’t that clueless. She also didn’t think she’d misread him, an hour ago. He’d stared at her like he wanted to rip her clothes off and take her on the sand. Now that she was naked, he turned his back.

  She waded toward the shore, stunned. She wasn’t a vain woman, and she didn’t consider herself irresistible, but she’d never been rejected before. When she offered a man her goodies, she expected him to jump on it.

  To her chagrin, tears flooded her eyes. She felt vulnerable and exposed. She was trembling with embarrassment as she rose from the water. She chose her footing carefully on the slippery rocks along the bank. As she bent to pick up her panties, a centipede scuttled across the fabric. She hopped back and let out a little shriek of surprise.

  He looked over his shoulder. “What...”

  The question trailed off as he got a full frontal view. Before she could cover herself, he jerked his head the other direction. She donned the damp panties, flustered. Then she slipped into her stained, wilted dress.

  “You did that on purpose,” he said.

  “Did what?”

  He turned to face her, his neck flushed. “You know I want you,” he said through clenched teeth. “You know you have a beautiful body, and I was already aching for a taste of it. Now I have to deal with that mental picture every time I close my eyes?”

  She gaped at him in disbelief. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You think I planted a centipede to flash you? You’ve lost your damned mind.”

  “You didn’t have to scream.”

  “Screw you,” she said, still shaking.

  He threw his hands out, frustrated. “I can’t!”

  She didn’t ask him why not, though the question was on the tip of her tongue.