Except that, for the first time in her life, she wasn’t letting anything happen. Her desire for Michael was unprecedented, the yearning simply beyond her control.
Yes, she should be grateful for his restraint. Especially since she apparently had none where he was concerned.
By the time Michael came back, with another coconut and a few small, overripe bananas for their breakfast, she’d accepted that he’d done the right thing in walking away. The smart, sensible thing.
She’d also decided that she was tired of being smart and sensible. Smart and Sensible had been her motto—and yet she’d somehow ended up stranded on a tropical island hiding from killers. Obviously Smart and Sensible wasn’t working for her.
And if she was going to die on this island, which she knew was a definite possibility, she was going to make sure she lived every minute she had left to the fullest.
“I took the binoculars up to the top of the hill,” he said, peeling back the skin on one of the bananas. “There’s a lot of traffic on the water, but nothing close enough to signal to. No sign of the coast guard and, so far at least, no sign of Peart’s yacht, either.”
“I hate the waiting,” she said. “Knowing they’re coming back, but not knowing when.”
He nodded and bit into the fruit.
When she’d jumped off the Femme Fatale, she’d thought she was making an escape. Now it appeared she’d only delayed the inevitable. Rico and Jazz would come back for her, and she would have to face whatever fate A.J. had in store.
She should have just stayed on the boat, because now Michael was in just as much danger as she was.
“Isn’t there anything else we could be doing—instead of just sitting here and waiting?”
“We could build a raft.”
The casual tone with which he made the suggestion convinced her he could do so without any great difficulty.
“But on the water we’d be exposed and essentially defenseless,” he explained. “I know it’s frustrating to sit and wait, but I really believe we’re safer here.”
She couldn’t argue. Michael had proven time and again that he had more experience and expertise in this kind of situation.
Instead, she peeled her own banana, forced herself to eat despite her sudden lack of appetite.
She didn’t want to think about Rico and Jazz anymore, to speculate about what would happen when they returned. She especially didn’t want to consider that this day could be her last. But it was a possibility she had to acknowledge and she decided that she was going to live this day rather than regret it. She was going to go after what she wanted—open herself up to passion and possibilities.
“If all we have to do is sit and wait, why can’t we have sex?”
He nearly choked on the banana he’d been munching. After he’d finished coughing and swallowing he asked, “Did you just say what I think I heard?”
She hadn’t expected to have to say it again. But she’d made up her mind and she wasn’t going to back down. “I want to have sex with you, Michael.”
He shifted away from her—clearly establishing both a physical distance and an emotional withdrawal.
Yesterday such a response would have obliterated her resolve. But today she was a stronger—or maybe just more desperate—woman.
“I’m not asking for a relationship or a commitment,” she told him. “I just want to forget, for a while, that every minute on this island could be my last. I want to forget that when Jazz and Rico return, we could both end up dead.
“And the only thing I can think of to possibly drive those thoughts from my mind is sex. No strings attached.”
It was every man’s fantasy.
A beautiful woman offering the joys of passion without the constraints of a relationship.
But Shannon was offering it under false pretenses—because she believed she was going to die.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Mike said, somehow managing to find his voice.
“As much as I know you want to, you can’t make that kind of guarantee.” The words were spoken with gentle conviction as she moved toward him.
Two steps, and she’d breached the distance that separated them. She pressed her lips to the side of his jaw.
He grabbed her arms, intending to push her away before he completely forgot the assignment to protect her, his own convictions and everything else but his desire for her.
“I’m not asking for any guarantees.” She flicked her tongue against his earlobe, then nipped it gently. “I’m asking you to help me forget—just for a little while.”
Maybe a stronger man could have refused, but he couldn’t.
Especially not when she pulled his head down to kiss him.
The touch of her lips was tentative at first, an innocent passion, softly questioning. Her eyes remained open, searching his. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to control his response, to let her set the pace.
He felt the tension ease from her body as her eyelids drifted downward and her lips parted.
He’d always thought of kissing as a kind of foreplay, a necessary precursor to the more physical aspects of sex. Not that he didn’t enjoy kissing, but it had always been a means to an end.
He realized now, kissing Shannon, that he had underestimated both the power and the satisfaction of this simple act. Her lips yielded, parting willingly to the pressure of his. But it was a sharing rather than surrender—a mutual exploration and reciprocal pleasure.
There wasn’t just heat, there was warmth—a sweet and gentle warmth that stirred something deep inside him. Was this what she’d been referring to? Was this the emotional intimacy he’d avoided for so long? The possibility was unsettling. No matter how sweet it was, he wasn’t ready to succumb to it. Not yet.
But he was more than ready to give himself over to the physical intimacy they both craved.
He fisted his hand in her hair and tilted her head back to deepen the kiss.
There was no hesitation in her response, no resistance.
Her mouth was hot and hungry now. Her hands eager and adept. Her curves, pressed against him, perfect. The complete package was pure seduction.
He slid his hands beneath the hem of her T-shirt, his fingers skimming over the satiny softness of her skin, searching—and finding—the front closure of her bra.
He released the simple clasp, filled his hands with the luscious weight of her breasts.
She gasped as his thumbs stroked the already-rigid peaks.
He trailed kisses across her jaw, down her throat, teasing her with his teeth and his tongue. His three-day growth of beard rasped against her tender skin, but she didn’t seem to mind.
He tugged the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Then pushed the straps of her bra down her arms and discarded the scrap of peach lace as well. Her skirt followed, and a pair of wispy peach bikini underwear after that.
He tumbled with her to the ground.
Desire was like a trapped animal set free. It attacked him with sharp claws, sank into him with jagged teeth, overpowered him with ravenous hunger.
When he’d thought about making love with Shannon—and there was no denying that he’d thought about it—he’d planned to take things slow.
There was no going slow for either of them now.
He might have worried except that her response was as primitive and unrestrained as his own.
He slid his hands up the back of her thighs, over the curve of her bottom. Her skin was soft, smooth and supple.
She was like a marble goddess in the dappled sunlight. Her long, fiery hair flowed over her creamy shoulders to the round fullness of her breasts. Her waist was slender, her stomach flat, her legs long and lean. She was almost too perfect to be real—definitely too soft and warm to be taken on the hard barren ground.
“Wait a sec.” He kissed the furrow in her brow. “I’ll be right back.”
Shannon watched as he disappeared into the shelter, returning a moment later
with the blanket and a condom.
“It’s not a feather mattress,” he said. “But it should be an improvement.”
It was a sweet and thoughtful gesture. She knelt on the center of the blanket and smiled at him. “It’s perfect.”
He knelt beside her. “I know I’m crazy for even asking this, but are you sure this is what you want?”
If she’d had any lingering doubts at all, his question—the very fact that he’d paused long enough to ask it—alleviated the last of them.
She met his gaze evenly. “I’m sure.”
Then, in case he needed more convincing, she reached down between them to slide her fingers inside his briefs and wrap around the hard length of him.
“Shannon.”
She didn’t know if it was a plea or a warning. She didn’t care. She slid her fingers upward, then slowly downward again.
His breath hissed through clenched teeth.
She pushed him back onto the blanket and tugged his briefs down over his hips. Then she knelt over him, leaning down to press a hot, wet kiss to his mouth as her hand resumed its stroking motion.
She felt needy; she also felt empowered. Because as much as she wanted him, she knew he wanted her, too. She’d never realized how good it could feel to have a man want her. The naked desire in his eyes left her in no doubt that he did.
The thrill of satisfaction, the sense of power, went to her head, made her giddy—and maybe just a little bit reckless.
“Shannon.”
It was a growl this time, definitely a warning.
And the only one she got before he’d reversed their positions, effortlessly flipping her onto her back and bracing himself over her.
He laved her breasts with his tongue—stroking, sucking. Sensations bombarded her, overwhelmed her.
She wasn’t innocent, but she felt as though she’d never been touched before. She’d certainly never been touched the way Michael was touching her. She’d never felt the way he made her feel.
She arched against him, instinctively thrusting her hips against his.
She heard his groan and repeated the action.
He swore this time, then grasped her hips in his hands.
“I think you need to work on relinquishing some of that control,” he told her.
The words, equal parts threat and promise, sent a surge of anticipation through her veins.
He quickly sheathed himself with the condom then shifted toward her, so the weight of his arousal was positioned at the juncture of her thighs, against the softness of her femininity. The pressure was subtle, yet undeniably arousing. Even more so when he began to rock gently, teasing the aching nub with slow strokes while his hands continued to roam over her body, and his lips continued to torment her breasts.
She felt the pressure building inside her.
Slowly. Relentlessly. Inexorably.
Until finally, the world exploded into a spinning kaleidoscope of blinding light and color.
Michael couldn’t think of anything more satisfying than watching Shannon—the self-proclaimed master of planning and control—lost in the throes of passion.
He watched her eyes glaze, felt the shudders rack her body.
Her hips arched, positioning the tip of his erection at the center of her slick heat.
“Now, Michael.”
It wasn’t a plea, but a demand.
Only yesterday they’d argued about whether or not they’d become lovers. She’d denied the possibility; he’d said she’d beg for him.
They were both wrong.
He didn’t want her to beg.
He wanted her exactly the way she was now, gloriously sensual and uninhibited.
He thrust forward and into her in one smooth motion.
She gasped at the invasion, but any concerns he had about hurting her were obliterated by her throaty murmurs of approval. She ran her hands over his chest to his shoulders, linked them behind his head to tug his mouth down to hers. Then she slid her tongue in and out of his mouth, mimicking the rhythm of mating, telling him in no uncertain terms what she wanted.
It was what he wanted, too. But there was so much more he wanted to share with her, so much he wanted to show her. At the very least, he wanted to take his time, prove he was capable of a certain amount of finesse. Her provocative kisses and searching hands made that next to impossible.
Type-A personality or not, she was writhing beneath him—just as he’d imagined. But the soft, sexy sounds she was making went beyond anything he’d imagined, the throaty sighs and moans nearly driving him wild.
His hands fisted into the blanket as he fought for control that was rapidly slipping out of his grasp. Control that was wrenched completely away from him when she wrapped her endlessly long legs around his waist and pulled him even deeper into her.
He stopped fighting and gave in to the overwhelming need.
They moved together—racing higher, harder, faster—until space and time were nothing but a blur and the world outside of this moment nonexistent.
He was vaguely aware of her nails biting into his shoulders, of her body arching. She shuddered as the climax ripped through her. His own immediately followed, leaving him spent, stunned, shattered.
Chapter 10
“Get dressed.”
Michael pulled away from her abruptly, scooped up her clothes and practically threw them at her.
Shannon clutched the garments to her chest, stunned.
After the most incredible sexual experience of her life, she was completely unprepared for such an immediate and abrupt withdrawal. Her body was still quivering and he was already tugging on his shorts.
“I didn’t expect promises or flowers,” she said coolly, slipping her arms through the straps of her bra. “But I didn’t think a little postcoital civility would be too much to ask.”
“What?” Fully clothed now, he stared down at her, uncomprehending.
She tugged her T-shirt over her head.
Then she heard it, the low drone in the distance. Her heart, still pulsing erratically from the passion they’d just shared, skipped a beat. “Is that a boat?”
“Yeah. What did you—oh.” He crouched down beside her, cupped her cheek in his hand. “Did you think I was in that much of a hurry to be finished with you?”
She shrugged, unwilling to admit that was exactly what she’d thought.
He kissed her gently, soothing the unintentional hurt he’d caused. “I have to go check this out.”
“Of course,” she agreed immediately.
“But I’ll make this up to you later.” He brushed his lips over hers again. “I promise.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I overreacted.”
His gaze was steady. “It’s not okay. And I’m not finished with you or this conversation, but we’ll have to postpone both until later.” Then he jogged away with the binoculars in hand.
Nerves skittered like Ping-Pong balls inside her belly as she waited for him to return.
This was it—the moment she’d been alternately anticipating and dreading—the moment when they found out if it was Peart’s men or the coast guard who would come for them first.
Shannon figured it made sense to be ready to leave regardless. She folded up the blanket and shoved it into the backpack.
When Michael returned, the grim expression on his face confirmed her fears before he spoke.
“It’s the Femme Fatale.”
She swallowed the panic that threatened to choke her, forced her voice to remain steady when she asked, “What are we going to do now?”
“You’re going back to the cave.”
“But you said it was too obvious.”
He nodded. “If they were to arrive unexpectedly. But we know they’re coming, and I’ll make sure they don’t make it that far.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Please, Shannon. Just go to the cave. It’s the safest place for you.”
“Dammit, Michael, do you really think I
only care about myself?”
“No.” He took her hand, linking their fingers together and leading her away. “But your safety is my priority right now.”
“What if something happens to you?”
“Nothing’s going to happen. Shannon, you have to trust me.”
“It’s not a matter of trust,” she insisted. “It’s a matter of probabilities. There are two of them, and they have very big guns.”
Despite the tension of the moment, he turned to grin at her. “Don’t you know it’s not the size of the weapon but how you use it that counts?”
Maybe he could joke about this, but she couldn’t. “Well, the last time they used it, you got hurt.”
He glanced at the white gauze pad on his arm, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Lucky shot,” he said dismissively.
“Not lucky for you.”
He ignored her comment, not speaking again until they’d reached the cave.
“I’m going to leave this with you.” He held out his gun.
She swallowed, eyeing the weapon uneasily. “Why?”
“Because if anyone else shows up here, I want you to shoot them.”
“I don’t—I’ve never—”
He put the gun in her hand, wrapped her fingers around it. “Just aim and pull the trigger.”
“But if I have this, you’ll be unarmed.”
“I have the knife.”
But how effective would a knife be against the automatic weapons Rico and Jazz carried?
“I don’t need the gun,” he said patiently. “I’m trained to handle this kind of situation.”
“But there must be something I can do to help. I could create a diversion or—”
“Shannon, I need you to stay here. I’ll be able to focus better if I’m not worried about you.”
She hated being tucked away in a safe little corner while he risked his life, but she would do it because he’d asked.
“Okay?” he asked gently.
No, dammit, it wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay. She was terrified.
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