“A fire?”
“Si, for warmth.”
I let him think I was cold. Telling him I was about to jump his bones was beyond my vocabulary at the moment. Not to mention the fact I was literally stunned that I actually did want to jump his bones.
And all this time I thought my vagina was broken.
‘Course maybe it still was. Just because I felt the stirrings of desire didn’t necessarily mean my vagina was ready for a full-on sex romp.
Sex romp? What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t even know what a sex romp was. I bet he does.
I jumped at the unexpected thought.
“Ava?” he murmured, his voice and body still entirely too close. I skittered away like a nervous filly.
“Thank you,” I said, pulling my hair over my shoulder and quickly braiding the length of it. When I got to the end of the braid, I realized I didn’t have anything to tie it with. I went to release it and he stopped me.
“Wait.” He tore a strip off of the worn gray T-shirt he’d been wearing. He came close again, wrapping the scrap around the ends of my hair and tying it tightly into a bow. Then he stepped back to admire his craftiness.
“Thank you,” I said, reaching for my T-shirt, feeling way underdressed. I couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered over my bare skin and on the triangles of my black bikini top.
He cleared his throat. “I’m going to go look around for wood for the bonfire.”
“I’ll help.” I moved our belongings farther up, closer to the plane, and then started looking around for wood. I wasn’t very successful, but I did manage to find a few things I thought would burn. Then I figured I would be more useful creating an area to actually burn the fire so I began to clear out a space in the pristine, white sand.
By the time I was finished, the sun was beginning to slip behind the horizon and I was covered in sand. I felt gross all over again. I dared a glance around me, noting that Nash was still nowhere in sight.
Leaving the bonfire site and the meager offerings I found to burn, I went down to the water, discarding my shorts and shirt. The water was cooler now than earlier because the sun wasn’t as hot, but it was still refreshing and felt great against my overheated skin.
A fish swam by my leg and I lunged at it, thinking I would capture it and make it dinner. Of course, all I ended up with was a mouthful of salt water.
I heard a yell and looked over my shoulder at Nash. He had his hands full of wood, and as I watched him, he dumped it onto the sand and jogged forward. I stood, wondering what the alarm was about, and then he stopped and put his hands on his hips.
I made my way out of the surf and walked up the sand to where he was standing. “What’s the matter?”
“I thought you had fallen,” he said, his gaze sweeping over my body. My nipples hardened and I fought the urge to cross my hands over my chest.
“I was trying to catch us a fish.”
He laughed. “With your bare hands?”
“At least I tried,” I snapped.
He patted me on the top of the head. “Thank you.”
I growled.
“Here,” he said, grinning, pulling his ratty gray T-shirt out of the back pocket of his shorts. “You can use it to dry off.”
“Thanks,” I said, accepting it and toweling off my arms. It smelled just like him. I wondered if my skin would bear his scent after I finished drying.
“You did good clearing a space,” he said and then got to work on the fire. He had the wood stacked in no time, and then I watched in fascination as he adeptly used two sticks to create a flame, which he then used some of the stuff (mostly foliage) as kindling and started what would be a very decent-sized fire.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” I asked.
“My abuelo taught me,” he replied, staring at the flames. “My grandfather,” he corrected. “He thought it would be good to teach me basic survival since I was going to be flying a plane.”
“Looks like it came in handy.”
Once the fire was in full swing, he disappeared toward the plane and I put my clothes back on. He returned with one of the plane chairs and sat it in the sand near the fire. Then he went back and got another one, sitting it right beside the first one.
It was like having a couch outside on the beach. I snickered.
“Beats getting eaten by sand fleas.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You’re right.”
We sat down as the smoke from the bonfire wafted up into the twilight sky and created a heady, thick smell in the air around us.
We sat there for a long time, watching what was left of the sunset, while I realized that our second day on this island passed without a single trace of anyone else. Not one airplane, not one boat, nothing.
It made me wonder what our chances of being found really were.
In truth, we didn’t even know where we were. We had no idea how close or far civilization could be. Suddenly, the theme song for Gilligan’s Island was playing through my head.
“Marianne or Ginger?” I asked him.
“What?”
“You ever see reruns of Gilligan’s Island?”
He laughed. “A couple.” He turned thoughtful. “I’m partial to blondes.”
Oh. Well.
Thank goodness it was getting dark because I knew I was blushing.
“What about you?” he asked after a minute.
“You want to know who I prefer?” I laughed.
He shook his head, the fire casting an orange glow over his features. “What kind of guys do you prefer?”
“I actually haven’t dated in a while.”
“What’s a while?”
“A couple years.”
He made a sound of disbelief.
“It’s true,” I said, shrugging. It really didn’t matter if he believed me or not.
“I don’t get it,” he said, sitting forward and leaning his elbows on his knees. “A girl like you—”
“What’s a girl like me?”
“Tall, blond hair, blue eyes, legs that go on for miles…” he said, glancing at me. “And you know you seem pretty cool too.”
“Or maybe I’m just an easy target for jerks.” The words came out before I could stop them. I didn’t look at him for a reaction. I just stared into the flickering red and orange flames.
“If someone hasn’t treated you right, he was well beyond a jerk,” he said, his voice taking on a steely tone.
I didn’t say anything. My past wasn’t something I cared to relive. “You don’t have a very thick accent for living in Puerto Rico.”
He went with the change of topic, thank the stars. “I went to high school and flight school in the States. I lost my accent somewhere along the line. My father lived in the States before he married my mother.”
“You went to, like, a private school?” I asked, curious.
“Yeah, my family wanted me to have a good education.”
“What was it like, being away from home?”
He gave a small shrug. “At first it was hard. But they visited often and I spent all the holidays and vacations at home.”
It made me wonder how wealthy his family was to afford all of that. ‘Course, I didn’t say it because that would be rude.
“Looking back,” he continued, drawing my attention. “It was a good experience. Made me who I am today.”
Something deep inside me whispered he was better than most.
I leaned back in my seat and looked up at the cobalt sky. Stars were starting to bloom above and I knew out here, away from city lights and distractions, lying under nothing but the moon and the stars would be incredible. They would spread across the sky like the ocean spread across the Atlantic.
I could hear the loud sounds of the cicadas taking over the wilderness behind us; not even the crashing waves could drown out their song. The gentle ocean breeze tugged at my hair, pulling loose strands out of the braid and whipping them against my cheek.
If I closed m
y eyes and didn’t look at the downed plane, it would be easy to believe this was just a vacation, a getaway from life. Not essentially a prison.
“What about you?” Nash’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Did you go to college?”
“For a year.” I admitted. “I hated it. My mother tried to make me keep going, telling me I couldn’t do anything without a degree.” I sighed. “I told her a degree wouldn’t help me if I couldn’t decide what I wanted the degree in. It would have been a waste of money for me to keep going and taking classes when I didn’t even know if they would help me earn whatever degree I might decide on.”
“I can see your point.”
“I felt caged sitting in a classroom all day. I hated it. Listening to someone drone on and on about stuff they thought I should know. Who really cares what x plus y equals? No one. Who cares what the elements on the periodic table mean? I feel like there are a lot of different kinds of smart out there and not all of them come from a textbook.”
“I hear some passion,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.
I snorted. “That’d be the first time anyone’s ever said that.”
He glanced at me. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “Back home, I’m the family member who drifts through life. The girl who doesn’t finish school and who gets let go from her job. I’m the girl no one wants to date and everyone thinks is broken.”
“People think you’re broken?” he echoed.
Had I really just said all that? The fumes from the bonfire must have been going to my head. “Not all of me. Just certain parts.”
I clamped my lips shut. Yep. The fumes were really getting to me.
“What parts?” he asked, his voice turning serious and a little hard.
“Forget it,” I said, waving him away, trying not to die of embarrassment.
He caught my arm in a solid grip. “Tell me.”
“No.”
His green eyes glittered with the glow from the fire and his dark curls cast shadows across the side of his face. His jaw looked like rock-hard granite as it jutted out in anger because I refused to answer his question. His fingers tightened around me a little more and I prepared to yank away my arm.
But that’s when we heard it.
An odd sort of sound.
Almost like the rhythm of drums.
Our eyes collided, both of us not daring to speak as we listened and scarcely breathed. He didn’t release my wrist and I was suddenly glad because I was scared. It seemed strange to me that my first thought after realizing we may not be alone as we originally thought wasn’t relief or excitement.
It was fear.
The kind of slippery fear that brushed against you like too-long grass in an empty field. The kind of fear that haunted you, that never quite went away, and you walked around feeling spooked and uneasy every second of every day. Sure, sometimes I let my head overrule my gut and I’d learned some hard lessons that way. But this time… this time my gut was screaming so loudly that I couldn’t have ignored it if I tried.
The pounding of the drums continued. It was an intense and driving sound. It made my belly feel funny. And then came another sound. The sound of a loud yell or cry. I jerked and sank down in my seat.
Nash worked quickly, extinguishing the fire. We sat there for a long time, listening to the call of the drums, staring up at the starlit sky, and wondering just what in the hell was on this island with us.
7
I awoke grumpy and with a kink in my neck. Memories of last night pushed through my foul mood, and I realized we had far bigger problems. The sounds from last night, the drums… it could only mean one thing.
We weren’t alone on this island.
Given the inhabited and native condition of this island, the idea of not being alone here gave me the willies. Who knew what else was living here? As if freefalling from the sky, crashing on a beach, having Nash stitch up my head with a needle, and having no food, water, or means of getting help wasn’t scary enough, now we had to worry about some weird tribe of pigmies with machetes and weird beads in their dreads coming to make us some weird sacrifice in a pagan ritual. (What? I was dehydrated and hungry. You’d think strange things too.)
God. My life was so turning into one of those bad made-for-TV movies.
I was drained. After coming back to the plane last night, we sat huddled inside, listening for more strange sounds, both alert and ready for something bad to happen. I guess at some point, exhaustion won out and we both fell asleep.
Tossing off the blanket, I stretched out my wicked sore body and then went quickly into the cockpit. I knew it was probably a waste of time, but I had to try again.
I retrieved the broken radio from where Nash kicked it and sat down, tucking it into my lap. I pressed the buttons. I shook it around beside my ear, listening for—well, I don’t know what I was listening for—and holding the microphone up to my mouth and calling for help.
Of course, nothing happened.
Well, actually, something did happen.
My panic got worse.
I tossed down the radio moved from the front of the plane, going back to where Nash was still sleeping. Nash was in one of the airline seats, his dark lashes fanned out over the dark circles that smudged beneath his eyes. He couldn’t have been comfortable. He looked way too big for the chair he was slumped in.
He almost looked boyish sleeping like that. His hair was mussed, his body appeared boneless where it rested, and he had this air of innocence that wrapped around him, making my heart squeeze. However, the boyish comparisons ended the second my gaze settled on his lips. They were full and well-defined. The lower lip was curved and almost pouty, giving me an overwhelming urge to peruse them slowly with my own mouth. Just looking at them, thinking of how it felt to have those lips scorch my skin, made my body tingle.
I forced my stare away from him. This was no time to be having make-out thoughts about Nash. We were experiencing an emergency here. We needed a plan. We needed action. We needed coffee. I closed my eyes, wishing the tasty brew would magically appear in front of me. It didn’t.
The grouchiness I’d been fighting came back full force. With a sigh, I moved quietly to the place I’d been marking the wall to help us keep track of the days. We were already on day three. Actually, more like day four or five, depending upon how long we both lay here after the crash. The tally read four because I was being optimistic that we hadn’t lost more than one day.
Nash was still sleeping when I folded up my blanket and glanced longingly at the protein bars. My stomach rumbled loudly and I silently shushed it. I knew I couldn’t eat one of those bars right now. It was probably better if we started splitting them in half instead of each eating a whole one.
It made me depressed, and it also made me worry. How long could someone of Nash’s size go without food? I couldn’t imagine how hungry he felt. It had to be far worse than the empty weakness I was feeling.
That gave me an idea. This was a semi-tropical climate. There had to be some kind of fruit growing on this island.
Yes, but fruit might not be the only thing on this island. I reminded myself. Going out there alone would be reckless. I might be blond, but I wasn’t stupid. Okay, I tried not to be stupid. Sometimes I wasn’t very successful.
I should just wake him up. We could go out in search of food together.
I watched his chest rise and fall with his even breathing. I could wait a few more minutes. He looked so exhausted. I glanced out the back of the plane at the growing plants. Maybe there was some fruit close by, right outside the plane. Maybe I could find some and bring it back here to surprise him. I pictured the way his green eyes would light up when he saw the food.
That decided it. I was going. I would stay close, within yelling distance. If I didn’t find anything, I would wake him and together we could search farther out.
I found my sandals and slipped them on, not wanting to be barefoot in the forest. I moved quietly toward the back of
the plane, actually quite impressed with the stealth of my movements. Maybe when I got home, I should be a superhero.
Okay, maybe just a sidekick to a superhero.
I was about to leap out into the lush landscape when a strong arm snaked around my waist and pulled me back. “Where do you think you’re going?” slurred a voice thick with sleep.
“To the bathroom,” I lied.
“I’ll come with you,” he countered.
“I’m a big girl. I know how to use the bathroom.”
“Maybe I need help,” he said and shifted. Once again, I was met with the thing that lived inside his pants.
I gasped. “Does that thing ever go down?” I blurted out.
He threw back his head and laughed. He laughed so hard I felt his belly rumble against my back.
“I can’t help it. It’s my morning wood.” He said it like he was proud.
“Your what?” I said, trying to turn around to look at him. He wouldn’t let me go. If anything, he pressed it farther against me. Dammit if my body didn’t start to respond. I felt the rush of liquid heat between my legs.
“My morning wood,” he said again.
Should I know what that means? I guess when I failed to respond, he realized I had no clue what he was talking about. He spun me around, pinning me with that penetrating green gaze. “Have you ever spent the night with a man before?”
I acted like I was offended. “That’s none of your business.”
“That’d be a no.”
I glared at him.
He released me. “It happens in sleep, sweetheart,” he explained. “All men wake up with a hard on.”
So it wasn’t just me. Well, damn, there went my ego. “So that is natural?” I couldn’t help but glance down at the massive lump in his shorts.
“In the morning, yes.”
“But what about the other times?”
A slow smile spread over his scruffy face. “Those times were all you.”
Oh. Oh my.
I wanted to pat my broken vagina on the back. If it had one, that is.
“Well, I’m going to go do my business now,” I said, turning away.
“I’m coming with you.”
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