Night, Sea, And Stars

by Heather Graham

  I’m supposed to be in love with him, she told herself, summoning up a picture of the man she had always told herself she would eventually marry, when circumstances were right, tragedy behind her, her business flourishing.

  Ted. Warm brown eyes, tawny hair, aura of hectic suavity. The vision dissolved, and she couldn’t bring it back. How ridiculous, she thought with dismay, because Ted was charming… handsome… strong… They had so much in common, they respected one another, they admired one another…

  The picture wouldn’t return. When Kyle was gone, she assured herself, she would pull out her wallet, she would find the photo of herself with Ted at his last opening, she would remember all the little things, all the endearing nuances of his face.

  But she was annoyed that her mental vision had so quickly faded, and she was even more annoyed with herself because she hadn’t even given a thought to the man. She should have. Her very first thought should have been of him, knowing he would have to be going crazy when she didn’t call.

  No, Ted didn’t go crazy. He would be strong and silent. Suddenly she found herself growing angry. He should go crazy; he should cry for her.

  I’m the crazy one thinking he should be crying when I haven’t even thought about him, worried about him.

  It’s because it has been two months since I’ve seen him; I’ve been with Virginia. And she and I have been talking about Steven.

  And besides—she dragged herself back to present reality and the vision that had sent her into this spiral of shock and thought and defense—it was frankly impossible to picture another body with one very blatantly in front of her.

  Skye suddenly realized she was staring.

  Alarmed that her afterthoughts could be her undoing after she had handled the initial situation with such aplomb, Skye hastily pretended to busy herself brushing sand off her clothes.

  “Actually,” he continued pleasantly, “I didn’t intend to assault your sense of decency. You were very soundly sleeping when I set off skinny dipping—snoring like a small dragon—and I didn’t think—”

  “I do not snore!” Skye interrupted with outraged dignity.

  He shrugged with a wry smile, neither pushing his point nor acquiescing to hers. “You were definitely soundly out—I didn’t think you’d wake up for some time.”

  Skye grimaced indifferently and rose, carefully checking her ankle as she did so. Although still sore, it accepted its share of weight.

  “Go easy on that today,” Kyle warned. He was dressed now—or at least he had his pants on. His feet were bare, as was his slick chest, glistening with the saltwater on taut muscles. His dark hair was also very wet and it formed curling waves over his forehead, giving him a much younger look than the austere combing of yesterday. When he grinned now, it was with an almost boyish charm—a far cry from the hard man who had such a talent for slicing into her. Still, she was no fool; the hard man did exist as well as the pleasant one. If she found his physique appealing, it was surely nothing more than an aesthetic appreciation for a fine male specimen.

  “I should be able to go nice and easy on my ankle,” Skye said dryly. “No marathons to run around here, no place to get in a hurry.” Shedding the lightweight jacket of her suit as she moved, Skye walked closer to the fire to inspect the cooking meat. “What is it?” she quizzed him, puzzled.

  “ ‘What is it,’ she asks!” He groaned. “What would you expect? Fish.”

  “I know it’s fish,” Skye replied with condescending patience, even though she hadn’t been at all sure it was fish. “What kind of fish?”

  “A little yellowtail.”

  “You caught it?” she queried dubiously, kneeling by the fire and rolling up the sleeves of her blouse as the morning sun was intensely hot. “With what?”

  “I speared it,” he replied with rueful pride, careful not to tell the number of attempts it had taken. “I’m not sure who was more surprised—me or my victim.”

  “Well, congratulations,” Skye murmured. “Shouldn’t we be turning it or something?”

  “Yeah.” He turned the stick that was poked through the fillet. “I’ve kept it high to try to smoke it.”

  “Oh,” Skye said simply. She could sew like a dream, but gourmet cooking was not at the top of her talents. She could manage passably with beef and chicken but wisely stuck with specialty restaurants when the desire for seafood hit her. She grinned at him suddenly with grudging admiration. “You certainly do seem to have a knack for some useful things.”

  “Why thanks, Ms. Delaney.” He sank down beside her and returned her grin. “You’re going to use a few of your talents today too, ma’am!”

  “My talents?” Skye frowned. “Like what?” She arched a doubtful brow and scanned their visible world. “Casual wear for those who wish to crash-land on uninhabited tropical islands?”

  Kyle laughed good-naturedly and shook his head. “I’m sure you have other talents than design, but actually that is the one I have in mind. As you will have noted, it’s hot as the blazes here during the day and a little cool at night. I’m going to cut these pants off—since you’ve already seen the whole and been totally unimpressed I’m sure bare kneecaps aren’t going to offend you—and I suggest you turn that skirt into something more practical. Cut down that blouse. Then use all the scraps and both our jackets to whip up some kind of sheets for bedding with that trusty little sewing kit of yours.”

  Skye had been frowning as he spoke and when he finished, she tried to keep her voice from quavering. “It sounds as if you think we’re going to be here for a long time.”

  Kyle weighed his answer quickly. He didn’t want to depress her, but he didn’t want to offer empty promises. Not a single plane had passed them by since yesterday; he had yet to see even a dinghy on the far distant horizon. It must be obvious by now that the Lear had not reached its intended destination. Search parties should have already been out. Of course it was daylight again…

  “I don’t expect we’ll be here forever,” he said with a casual shrug. “But we might as well get as comfortable as we can while we are here. And we’ll remain a great deal saner by keeping busy. Boredom leads to depression. And to nit-picking arguments.”

  Skye nodded slowly, remembering how quickly last afternoon and evening had gone by once they had started on survival tasks. They had been too involved with work to talk, much less to think up witty sarcasms.

  “Is this fish done yet?” she asked. “I’m starving.”

  “Umm… he should be good and done.” Kyle removed the crude fillet from the fire, issuing an “ouch” as his finger sizzled in the effort to spit the food on sticks. Skye chuckled, surprising herself with the sound. Even with the odds, it was good to be alive. Laughter was proving to be as irrepressible a human expression as tears.

  Kyle half scowled, half smiled. “Okay, duchess, laugh. But hop to. No skimping labor on my island. How about some morning brew.”

  Skye wrinkled her nose with distaste but collected coconuts. The taste of the juice, or coconut milk as it was called, was something she was going to have to acquire a liking for. But her mouth was parched from the night and her stomach was rumbling, and once Kyle had gouged holes in the coconut with his pocket knife and handed her a piece of fish on a stick, she lit into both greedily.

  “How is it?” Kyle inquired.

  “Lacking bacon and eggs,” Skye acknowledged after swallowing, "it tastes just fine.” Her brow knit curiously. “I’ve always heard that snapper and grouper were the most common fish around reefs. How. did you happen to trap a yellowtail?”

  His eyes lit with that pleasant sparkle of amusement and he pursed his lips to hold back a chuckle. “A yellowtail is a snapper,” he told her.

  “Oh.” Annoyed at his very ill-concealed humor over her ignorance, she snapped, “I told you I didn’t know a damned thing about fishing,”

  “Did I say anything?” he inquired innocently.

  “You don’t have to say anything. You’re smirking.”

/>   “Sorry, I can control my words but not my smirks.”

  On the verge of anger, Skye suddenly found herself laughing along with him instead. He did seem to be doing his best—except for his taunting over his nudity—to make life pleasant between them. He had rekindled the fire for her during the night; the least she could do was make an effort herself.

  “Okay, so now I know that a yellowtail is a snapper,” she said easily. “Actually, I’m just glad that you know. I’m sure there must be a pack of inedible fish out there and I surely wouldn’t know which were which.” She smiled. “And I haven’t hit a single bone. I’m glad you have such a talent for cutting a nice fillet.”

  Kyle shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll both be discovering numerous talents.”

  Skye glanced at him uneasily. “Maybe we won’t have to discover many more. It’s daylight now; search planes could be out.”

  “Sure,” Kyle agreed, concentrating on his fish and not meeting her eyes.

  She didn’t like the tone of his voice.

  “We will be found—and soon,” Skye said stubbornly.

  His eyes came to hers with something like malice, taking Skye aback. “Oh, there will be planes out. I’m sure that boyfriend of yours will be searching heaven and earth to retrieve you.”

  Skye stiffened instantly. “You’re right,” she said curtly, aware for the first time that he had obviously read articles in which her name appeared. Her relationship with Ted was one of her own choosing, but she still resented being judged because her private life had been exploited in tabloids.

  “Why haven’t you ever married him?” Kyle demanded abruptly.

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Skye informed him coldly.

  Kyle shrugged indifferently. “If what I’ve read is true, you’ve been seeing Ted Trainor for four years. That’s a long time to make up your mind, lady. Something must be wrong there.”

  “I repeat”—Skye was icy—“it’s none of your business.” He shrugged again and Skye was startled by the depth of annoyance he had managed to bring out in her. “There is absolutely nothing wrong,” she heard herself saying—explaining where no explanation was needed. “Ted is a wonderful human being, he’s—”

  “Oh, Lord!” Kyle chuckled, undaunted by her cool vehemence. “A wonderful human being? Oh, honey, there is something wrong!”

  “How the hell would you know?” Skye demanded, fully irritated with herself and him. She should be the one shrugging; she was confident in her relationship. And what difference did this stranger’s opinion make anyway? Still, she heard herself answering. He was baiting her and she knew it but she was going for the bait. “For your information, just in case you lose your flying job and look for employment among the less reputable newspapers, Ted Trainor is everything any woman could want. He’s sharp as a whip, industrious, talented—”

  “Good-looking?” Kyle supplied with a grin.

  “Very,” Skye replied coolly, continuing with, “Extremely gallant, strong, charming…”

  “Rugged and yet sensitive,” Kyle added with a brow raised mockingly as her voice trailed off.

  “That’s right.” Ted was all those things, Skye thought, so why was she defending him when it wasn’t at all necessary. Because she was on the defensive; he seemed to know quite a bit about her, even though he had made no allusions to his knowledge until now. Yet she still knew nothing about him.

  “Actually”—Skye smiled with sweet sarcasm—“Ted is quite similar to you in looks. You’re about the same height, same build, but there the similarity ends. Ted would never be so rude as to quiz a mere acquaintance on her personal life. Nor would he have any problem adapting to simple, restrained civility were he in your position!”

  “Ahhh… strong, silent type.”

  Skye saw that beyond his serious and humble comment he was laughing at her, egging her on. She regained her cool and smiled again—this time with guileless innocence.

  “That’s right.”

  “He does sound perfect,” Kyle agreed. He finished his last morsel of fish and said blandly, “Is the problem in bed?”

  Skye hadn’t finished her fish, and her last morsel caught in her throat, causing her to gasp with great indignity. She was thoroughly chagrined to see the laughter in his satyric green gaze.

  “That is definitely none of your business.”

  “Oh, so the problem is in bed.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Skye denied hotly. “We have no pro—” She broke off, realizing her denial was just what he had searched for. “I really don’t care to discuss my life with you.”

  “Fine.”

  He fell silent, lighting up a cigarette and gazing out to sea. Skye should have left things alone, but for unknown reasons she couldn’t. She couldn’t understand why he had irritated her so, and she simply wanted to turn the tables.

  “I’m sure all your relationships are perfect.”

  “Far from it.”

  “I don’t see why,” she murmured sarcastically. “You must be charming. An island-hopping pilot spending all his free time running around in cutoffs—”

  “Cutoffs?” He picked up on the word and raised an amused, questioning brow as he leaned toward her. “That was an astute observation. You do take in all that you see, don’t you.” He laughed insinuatingly.

  She hadn’t blushed at the sight of him, she hadn’t blushed during his irreverent probing, but now, with his face so close to hers, his bronzed chest near, broad and admirably muscled, matted with hair, she felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

  She had been very observant… too observant.

  What is the matter with me, she wondered. She hadn’t been with him a full day, but she was sure she disliked him.

  And still he held a strange influence over her. He could anger her, infuriate her… and yet she felt dizzy around him. Her heart pounded to a strange new beat… her blood surged.

  It was the tropics, she thought, the heat of the tropics. Everything was coming home to her, memories of Steven.

  And of her own fears where Ted was concerned.

  Why hadn’t she married him?

  She did love Ted, and it was a good love, a quiet love, born of countless hours together, of companionship…

  Then why hadn’t she been able to make a commitment, and why was she now sitting within touching distance of this rude stranger, wishing she had the nerve to reach out that short distance and actually touch him?

  “I’m not particularly observant!” Skye snapped, withdrawing. “I’m simply not blind.”

  He laughed suddenly, and it was a pleasant sound. It made Skye think that they were strangers, and yet not strangers.

  In all this time Ted had never once concerned himself with her fear of the dark; he had never talked to her about Steven; he had held her, but she had lost her twin, and he hadn’t understood how terrible it had been. He hadn’t been there.

  “I’m glad to hear it!” Kyle said, brushing her cheek with a light, oddly sensuous finger. “You’re going to need your eyesight, woman, because we’ve got work to do.”

  “Twenty questions is over?” Skye asked dryly.

  “For the moment.”

  “Saved by the need for manual labor!”

  “Ummmm,” Kyle murmured dryly, rising and dusting sand from his pants. “Let’s get started. Hit those scissors of yours, woman.”

  “Would you stop that!” Skye objected.

  “Stop what?”

  “Refering to me as ‘woman’!”

  He grinned, a brilliant, teasing glimmer in his eyes. “Too macho, eh? Sorry, maybe it’s a hard habit to break. Besides, a man needs some form of amusement, and as sad as this may sound, it’s fun to irritate you. You hold your own quite nicely, and since I've so far been builder, provider, and cook, you need to get your fanny going so I’m entitled to address you as I please.”

  Unable to dispute the fact that he had carried the bulk of work, Skye silently procured her scissors. Ignoring his state
ment, she asked curtly, “What do you want cut?”

  “My pants.”

  “While they are on you?”

  “I’ll be happy to take them off,” he supplied with an evil amiability.

  “No thanks!” Skye retorted, kneeling to plunge into the material on his muscled thighs. She was keenly aware of his body heat as she surveyed the project. “How short do you want them?”

  “Pretty short!” He chuckled, seeming to sense her discomfort.

  He didn’t see the uneasy flush she quickly covered with a scowl. “Careful then that you don’t move, Kyle. I’d hate to wound… your pride.”

  She heard his chuckle, low and throaty, and his swift rejoinder. “You may be a brave young woman, Ms. Delaney, but I don’t think you’re quite that brave. Or stupid.”

  Compressing her lips, Skye set to snipping material, shocked and dismayed again to find that the task was giving her a certain pleasure. Her fingertips were achingly responsive to each brush with his flesh; sensitized nerves seemed to be sending warning signals that both chilled and burned her. Each snip of fabric was making her keenly aware that she was stranded with a very sensual man. And worse, much worse, he was very easily creating very sensual feelings within herself.

  She still wasn’t sure she even liked him; she was sure that he was a man who barely tolerated women. Cute playthings for occasional amusement and comfort seemed to be his estimation of the female of the species.

  She had no intention of being a sexually obliging companion for such a man simply because they happened to be stuck together. Especially when she still didn’t know a thing about him.

  It was a pity, because like it or not, if she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that, despite herself, despite her loyalties, she was being subtly but completely stimulated. She was enjoying each touch, enjoying his towering nearness, his deep masculine laughter.

  “God I hope we get off this island quickly!” she muttered heatedly

  She was treated to more of his throaty male laughter. His pleasure brought fear. There was mockery in that laughter, as if he had read her thoughts with embarrassing ease and did indeed find great humor in her discomfort.