Under The Covers

by Crystal Jordan, Lorie O'Clare

  His heart.

  Nativity Island

  Lorie O’Clare

  1

  “What do you mean, engine trouble?” Mercedes Porter leaned forward, wrinkling her nose as she stared where one of the crew members pointed. “But you can fix it, right? I mean, three weeks with all of you has been a blast, but I need to get home in time to do my Christmas shopping.”

  “We’re docking at a nearby island in about an hour.” Captain Huraldo, an older man who’d been full of tales of the sea during the past weeks Mercedes and her team had been studying marine life, didn’t usually look this stressed. “If we can make repairs there, we should be able to return to the mainland soon.”

  “Soon,” Mercedes grumbled, following her team members out of the engine room. “This doesn’t sound good.”

  “I’m sure they’ll have it fixed in no time.” Hyde, one of Mercedes’s lab partners, glanced over his shoulder at the crew members.

  Mercedes didn’t like the way they huddled together, arguing in hushed whispers. As she headed toward her cabin, a sinking feeling she didn’t like made her stomach hurt. “I think I’ll pack a few things.”

  “Might want to pack more than a few,” Hyde said, scowling and then leaving her, his flip-flops slapping on the stairs as he hurried downstairs to his cabin.

  An hour later Mercedes walked along a sandy path with her crew, scowling at the zero bars on her cell phone. She glanced up as they approached a row of thatched huts, complete with what looked like straw roofs.

  “Is there even electricity on this island?” one of her crew members immediately complained.

  The comment instigated a spew of protests. Mercedes barely heard them. They passed a wooden sign with the words SEA SIDE RESORT burned into it, and, beyond that, she watched a man walking from the other direction. He appeared to be coming from the beach, his bronze, bare chest noticeably well built, even from this distance.

  “Scenery isn’t that bad.” Trudy Montrose, a biologist from the mainland, nudged Mercedes with her elbow, giving her a knowing wink as she, too, admired the half-naked man who ignored them.

  And he had to be intentionally doing so. They were a noticeable group, lugging suitcases and complaining loudly as they approached the hut labeled OFFICE with a similar burned wooden sign. The man disappeared around the back side, taking the few seconds of pleasure from Mercedes. Shoving her way into the office with the others, she fought for space in the stuffy, dimly lit cabin.

  “Plenty of rooms for everyone,” a woman announced in her singsong accent.

  After being shown to her room, Mercedes relaxed at the edge of her bed, facing her TV but staring out the sliding glass doors at the view outside. She’d loved the ocean since she was a child dreaming of exploring the world. During her more rebellious years she imagined being a pirate, taking what she wanted while ruling the dangerous and wild sea.

  The aqua-green water faded into shades of dark turquoise as she stared at the calm ocean. The white beach with its border of palm trees nearer the resort could have been right off a postcard. Maybe enjoying a fine meal and then hopefully being on their way by morning, at the latest, wouldn’t be such a terrible interruption in their schedule. She pulled her attention toward her laptop, deciding she might pull off some of her Christmas shopping online.

  There weren’t a lot of gifts to buy. Something for her grandparents in Seattle and parents in Sacramento. There was her sister and her brother-in-law and their kids. No doubt her family would descend on her sister’s home for Christmas. Porsche was the happy homemaker, the one who made their parents proud, landing the perfect husband and producing perfect grandchildren. Mercedes was the explorer, the one who couldn’t stay in any one place long enough to get a date, let alone start a relationship. Her grandmother always asked what was she running from. Mercedes gave up trying to explain herself years ago and just stayed away. There wasn’t a man for her anyway; no one would tolerate her work or her love for the sea. And she wouldn’t tolerate settling down so she could be around a man and where he worked.

  Sighing, she opened her laptop and pulled out pen and paper, deciding to make a list to help get her shopping underway. “You’re going to have to priority mail, if not overnight, everything to get it there on time,” she reminded herself, noting that she had less than a week until Christmas. When was the last time she’d actually done her Christmas shopping in a mall, fighting crowds and struggling with lots of bags and boxes to hurry home and wrap everything? “And pay to have everything wrapped,” she added, jotting down the reminder on the corner of her notepad.

  After writing names of who to shop for—plus the names of everyone on her team—she checked her bank balance and then headed to her favorite online stores. Two more hours slipped by before she realized she hadn’t heard a word from the ship’s crew or captain.

  Can’t be a good sign, she thought. Her team would need answers, as would she. Staying at this resort indefinitely wasn’t part of the schedule. With more than half her shopping done, she stood and stretched. She needed a shower and clean clothes and then some exploring and answers.

  She thought of the man she’d seen while checking in and pictured the small island they were on being filled with such gorgeous creatures. A hot, invigorating shower—and images of gorgeous men at her beck and call, surrounding her and eager to take care of her every need—had her skin tingling as she adjusted the spaghetti straps on her mini dress while staring at herself in the mirror.

  “Feast your eyes on this, cabana boy,” she purred, shifting and turning as she ran her hands down her ass and decided that, for thirty-two years old, she still had what it took to turn heads—slim, with not too much rear but enough to give her figure some shape. “And you aren’t sagging either,” she added, cupping her breasts in her hands while continuing to stare in the mirror. “Maybe you aren’t a showstopper, but you aren’t doing that bad.”

  Mercedes never did much with her hair. She fingered her natural curls until they lay the way she wanted them, with the damp strands brushing her shoulders. Then, deciding on a bit of makeup, just in case there was any truth to her fantasy, she grabbed her purse and headed outside. The sunset was breathtaking, although she was disappointed when she discovered there was no formal dining area.

  “Have you heard?” Trudy asked, appearing to have also showered and cleaned up a little as she hurried to join Mercedes at the edge of the beach.

  “Heard what?” Mercedes cringed, staring at the mixed drink Trudy sipped and wondering where she’d gotten it. She was ready for bad news, knowing their ship was worse off than they’d originally been led to believe and knowing she’d now need to make other arrangements to get herself and her crew home. “Just break it to me quickly.”

  “You know the book Give Them What They Want?” Trudy asked, sidling up next to Mercedes and lowering her voice conspiratorially. “We think Jeremy Fall is here.” She wagged her eyebrows and hummed delightfully. “You know the book, right?”

  “I just ordered it for my sister for a Christmas present.” She wouldn’t add that she’d gazed at the cover longer than she should. Jeremy Fall, who was on the cover of his New York Times best seller had written the perfect book about how a man should treat a lady. He was every woman’s dream, and rumors were Jeremy Fall was really a woman, and the cover was simply a model, making for perfect drool material. Everyone said there was no way any man could have such perfect insight into the mind of a woman. “But Jeremy Fall isn’t really a man.” Mercedes didn’t add that she’d tried reading the book and hadn’t been able to get into it. Everyone loved the book, and sharing her opposite opinion only started arguments she didn’t want.

  “Then the model on the cover is here,” Trudy said stubbornly. “The man we saw when we first arrived—he was on the beach a few minutes ago.” She turned around, holding her hand over her eyes as she squinted and frowned at the beach behind them. “I don’t see him now. But I’m serious. If that man I just saw isn’t him,
he’s his twin.”

  “Any word on the ship?” Mercedes asked. She really didn’t have time to drool over some stranger.

  “None. I figured you would tell me. How long are we going to be here?” Trudy continued scanning the beach. “I guess he’s gone now.”

  “I need to find out our status,” Mercedes said. “There’s no restaurant, is there?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Trudy held her hands out, her pale, thin body almost glowing against the incredible sunset. “There are these huts, and that’s it. I’m not sure if there is even a town on this island.”

  “Oh, no,” Mercedes groaned. “It can’t be that bad.” She forced a laugh. But Trudy’s skeptical look wasn’t reassuring.

  In fact, it was worse than bad. The ship wasn’t going anywhere until after Christmas. They were stuck, as close to shipwrecked as they could be on an island that indeed didn’t have anything resembling a town. It was a village at best, with more huts, a gas station, a few cars, and no restaurants. Mercedes’s phone had a decent signal in her room, but nowhere else. After spending more than an hour placing calls to get her team home—arranging for a charter plane to take them to New Zealand, where they would then be able to arrange for flights to the U.S.—she found a guide to take her and the captain around the island. Although the beauty on the island could almost make a person forget their worries, there were no tools or supplies they could use to fix the ship.

  “Do you want me to book you and your crew on the charter plane as well?” Mercedes asked Captain Huraldo as they walked away from the small village toward the beach and his ship.

  “You take care of your crew, and I’ll take care of mine.” Captain Huraldo was gruff but nice in his own way. “And again, I’m very sorry. I’ll stay with the ship if you need to keep your equipment running on board.”

  “That would be great.” Mercedes finished her phone call and confirmed a charter plane would be there to fly all of them to New Zealand first thing in the morning. “I’d hate for three weeks of research and our marine life samples we’ve gathered to go to waste. I’ll probably arrange to ship most of them back with my crew.”

  “Whatever works.” Captain Huraldo took off his hat and ran his leathered fingers over his almost shaved head. He looked exactly how a captain of a small ship should look, in Mercedes’s opinion. When he squinted, his tanned, smooth skin created perfect crow’s-feet on either side of his green eyes. “I didn’t have plans for Christmas, anyway.”

  Mercedes thought of her own situation. Her family didn’t expect her to be there for Christmas. It had crossed her mind to try making it to her sister’s, but it seemed more work than it was worth. Sending gifts was enough. “No family?” she asked.

  “None I’m close with. The sea is my family.”

  Mercedes nodded. “I understand.”

  She headed back to the huts, deciding that being stuck on an island named Nativity Island was rather appropriate for Christmas. There were worse places she could be. The sun settled on the horizon, creating a radiant glow across the ocean. Magnificent shades of reds and oranges mixed with the radiant blue, stealing her breath. It was the most incredible sunset she’d ever seen—she hated heading back to her room, where she’d email everyone and tell them of the scheduled charter plane that would take them all to the mainland in the morning. Slowing her pace a few moments to take in such a glorious sight was certainly worth it. As if the sun knew it had an audience, it seemed to suspend just under the horizon, holding position while unimaginable streaks of color raced across the sky and over the ocean.

  It took some effort to pull herself from the view, but Mercedes turned toward her cabin. The man she saw when she arrived stood in front of the cabin next to hers. That door was open, and he stood just outside, not wearing a shirt. The first thing she noticed was the dark sprinkle of hair that stretched across his bare, tanned chest. He was muscular and tall. Sandy, dark blond hair, and a brooding expression added to his mysterious appearance.

  Mercedes squinted, realizing she stood there, staring, without moving. But the man wasn’t moving either. They were staring at each other, both of them still. Her mouth went dry.

  Crap. He was the epitome of perfection. From that breathtaking bare chest to the loose-fitting khaki pants and loafers, he reminded her of Tom Selleck on Magnum, P.I. My God, he was too much man and standing a short distance from her.

  Not moving. Staring at her. As she was him.

  2

  Jeremy Faulkner turned from the woman staring at him when the owner of Sea Side Resort walked out of his room. “That is the lady I told you about,” she said, sounding proud and also looking at the woman. “She is quite pretty, isn’t she? Maybe you should invite her to dinner with you. I could bring more food,” she offered, rocking up on her heels.

  Jeremy glanced up as the woman he’d watched turned from him, hurrying down the path away from the cabins. “I’m not interested in company. How long are all these people going to be here?” It was easier to growl at Francis. She left him alone faster that way.

  “They are leaving in the morning.” Francis visibly sulked as she walked away, muttering something about not being able to enjoy romance.

  “Welcome to the club,” he grumbed after her, closing his cabin door loudly behind him and stalking his food, which had been left on the tray on the table by the sliding glass doors, just as he liked it. Francis had made his bed while in the room; a fresh scent, some kind of air freshener, made the room smell like flowers.

  With a two-week deadline breathing down his neck, he didn’t have time for romance. And that was exactly what he’d been imagining while drooling over that hot little piece standing outside at the edge of the beach. He was a leg man, which was what had grabbed his attention when he’d spotted her heading in from the beach. But she had everything else, too—a narrow waist and breasts he bet were more than a handful, perfect to bury his head in and enjoy their soft, full roundness. He’d caught a glimpse of her firm ass and the way that sundress she wore had hugged it perfectly when she’d turned from him.

  God! He now sported a nice hard-on, which wouldn’t make working during the late-night hours any easier. Maybe a cool shower before eating his dinner, and then he would settle into his work. He needed to concentrate, remain focused. It was the entire reason he was here. Once his book was turned in to his editor, he would then make time to find a woman or two. All of which these days needed to be kept on the hush-hush, as his editor loved to repeatedly remind him.

  His first book, Give Them What They Want, had soared to the top of all the best-seller lists as soon as it had hit the shelves. He was an overnight legend—the perfect man. And the only way to uphold that image was to keep a very, very low profile. The moment any woman talked to him and learned he was an old-fashioned guy at heart, he’d be exposed as a fraud. His second book would never sell.

  After writing about how men should treat women, Jeremy Fall had become an overnight icon. Jeremy Faulkner, on the other hand, never got laid, was a terrible hermit, and hid behind curtains to watch gorgeous women.

  “Maybe you should go invite her to eat with you,” he grumbled, spotting her traipsing along the beach as he stared out his sliding glass doors.

  She pulled off her sandals and started running toward him.

  He needed to back out of view. But, damnit, the view she offered, breasts bouncing as she bounded toward him, kept him locked in place. What he wouldn’t do to make them bounce while she was riding his cock. He was harder than stone staring at her as she neared the cabins.

  Her hair was dark and curly, not quite black, but more than brown. As she neared he saw highlights he’d bet were natural—dark auburn shades streaked through her silky-looking hair. With her tanned skin he figured whatever she did for a living, she was outside a fair bit.

  She damn near slid to a stop, also sliding out of his view. Jeremy edged closer to his window. Apparently, she didn’t see him. Her attention was focused on opening the slid
ing glass doors to the cabin next to him.

  “Well, hello, neighbor,” he growled, his cock throbbing so hard the cold shower was now imperative.

  He heard the glass door slide open and then closed. She was gone, yet right next door. Damn shame she’d be gone in the morning.

  “No! Not a damn shame,” he grumbled, sporting his hard-on as he almost limped to his bathroom. “You wouldn’t get a damn thing done with a hot vixen like that living next door to you.”

  Wasn’t that what chapter twelve in Give Them What They Want was all about? Women hated Peeping Toms and stalkers. They wanted a forward man, someone not ashamed to come out and say they appreciated what they saw and wanted to learn more. Jeremy couldn’t count how many e-mails he received on that chapter alone. Women adored him, loved him. As long as they never knew the true him.

  Nativity Island had its advantages. Waking up early and enjoying the sunrise with some of the best coffee he’d enjoyed in a long time was one of them. Francis was nowhere around, as Jeremy helped himself to a cup of hot brew in the resort office. He stepped outside, not missing Francis’s early morning chatter. With everyone leaving, including the distracting dark-haired beauty he’d fantasized about last night while jacking off in the shower, he could almost imagine himself the only man on the island. Exactly what he needed to meet his deadline.

  “And there she goes,” he murmured, watching a group of people boarding a charter plane. Blowing on his coffee, he kept an eye on the woman as a small group hovered around the plane with their luggage.

  Today she wore shorts that showed off her ass as nicely as the dress she’d worn last night. Her hair looked thick and streamed down to the middle of her back. When she turned slightly, hugging another woman, and then the man next to her, the view was just as exquisite. She was tall but not too tall, maybe five-six or so. The way she held herself, with an air of confidence and elegance she didn’t flaunt, made her stand out in the group. Anyone would notice her. He liked her sultry moves. They weren’t pretentious yet were distracting to the point that he willed her to get on the plane. She held him captive, standing there with the heat of his coffee steaming in his face.