Night, Sea, And Stars

by Heather Graham

  “Get off of me!” she hissed but she was rudely interrupted by a cutting laugh.

  “Or what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Or what? You just informed me you had a talent for threats. Go ahead. Threaten me. What are you going to do?”

  Skye had never felt such a pure blinding rage before. Tears formed in her eyes and she closed them, trying to wrench free of his grasp. He calmly straddled her, holding his weight off of her, pinioning her down. She was growing incensed and panicked, and despite all logic and reason, she began to flail madly against him. So much for civilization! Away from law and structure for a day and they were reverting to caveman and his captured prey.

  No! I’m not, she told herself. He is… he’s stronger and he’s taking full advantage of that simple fact. But that wasn’t it. She had the sudden feeling that Kyle would disregard any but his own moral law wherever he was. She struggled madly just to strike him.

  And he was finding all her efforts nothing less than amusing. Nonchalantly, with less effort than he would probably need to swat a bothersome fly, he captured both her wrists, and held them calmly securing them with the long, powerful fingers of one hand. Seething and shivering with her frustrated rage, Skye finally lay still, watching him, the will to commit murder shining in her eyes.

  “I’m waiting,” he said softly.

  “For what?” she demanded, panting with hostility.

  “Your threat.”

  “All right, you want a threat?” she hissed, her slender frame shuddering with the impact of emotion. “We can’t be on this island forever. And when we get off, you will rue this day!” Growing icy now, Skye couldn’t seem to shut herself up. She was too humiliated by the entire debacle. She had never before been in a position where she wasn’t the one in control, and it was galling. “If I don’t manage to get you behind bars, I will make damn sure you are fired! I’m a wealthy woman, Mr. Pilot, and not without a certain prestige.”

  "Aren't you going to threaten to have your lover beat me up?”

  "Don’t be ridiculous!” Skye snapped.

  "That’s very reasonable of you," Kyle said dryly, and Skye winced. At the moment her own behavior could be classified as anything but reasonable. But what about Kyle? He had pounced upon her, but he hadn’t hurt her. He had merely prevented her from hurting him, and he hadn't made a single threat.

  Her words had spurred him on—words issued because she was afraid of him, afraid of herself, afraid of her reactions to him. She couldn’t handle the situation. The need to lean on him was overwhelming, and she had never felt such a need. He was destroying the confidence it had taken a lifetime to acquire.

  He, not the crash, had single-handedly destroyed her entire vision of her pleasant life. He had shaken her belief in her love for a perfectly fine man… a good man.

  He had taken over her senses.

  He released her suddenly with impatient disgust, rising and towering over her as he stared down at the sand, his eyes holding her prisoner still.

  "If you have anything to say to Mr. Jagger,” he told her coldly, “do so now.”

  “What?” Skye demanded with confusion.

  “I am K.A. Jagger. I’m sure you find me quite in keeping with the tyrannical monster you’ve imagined.”

  As Skye stared at him with shocked dismay, he turned abruptly and disappeared down the beach.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Skye lay in the sand for a long time after he left her, trying to assimilate the fact that her co-survivor was none other than the K.A. Jagger. It made sense, she thought stupidly. Kyle. Of course. Why hadn’t she asked him about his name earlier? It would have been a normal, civil question…

  She had been too caught up in herself, Skye decided with a sinking feeling. Too worried about her own survival, too concerned with her own emotions. Too unnerved by him…

  And now she was stuck wondering, trying to remember all that she had said about Jagger. It didn’t really matter. She had surely damned herself. What did it matter how far?

  And what did she care, she thought, trying to dispel her dismay with anger? She owed the man nothing, and nine out of ten she despised him—whoever he was! And what had he been doing flying his own plane anyway? He deserved anything that she had said.

  Skye still felt a little ill. She thought about the overpowering attraction she felt for him despite everything, and even lying down, she was swamped by a jittery feeling. She had always felt that surely only idiots allowed themselves to feel anything for a married man— separated or not. She had felt only contempt and pity for the women with, she had read, bounded to the side of Jagger with no questions asked.

  "Well, I’m not an idiot,” she said aloud to herself, trying to convince herself that no attraction existed. “And I hate the man. His using this situation to take all his frustrations out on me because I’m in no position to fight back.” She was alarmed to find herself fighting a mental battle of her own, attempting to inform herself that he was, yes, a handsome man, but nothing more. She felt nothing for him. She had crashed, she had gone through a storm. Any kindred feelings were merely a result of the environment.

  Ted was every bit as striking in looks as Kyle. He was dynamic, he was personable. He was wonderful, kind, and a sensitive lover.

  And his image weaved illusively in and out of her mind, it wouldn’t stay…

  But it will! she assured herself. It will. It’s just that it has been weeks and weeks now since I’ve seen Ted, days since I’ve spoken to him, and that across an ocean.

  Skye began to shiver uncontrollably. Her clothing was still damp from the drenching. Pulling herself up as if she had suddenly become an old, old woman, Skye moved back to the fire and rubbed her hands together. She continued to shiver. The fire was burning low. Grabbing a stick, she tried to poke it back into action. She managed only to scatter the kindling and reduce what little warmth remained.

  I do hate Kyle Jagger, she told herself, tightly closing her eyes. He had done nothing but bully her and push her around… and shelter her from the explosion of the aircraft, and from the wrath of the storm.

  She didn't really hate him because of the bullying, she knew. She hated him because of the reactions he could draw from her. She was so defensive! She simply wasn’t behaving like herself. She didn’t run around threatening people. And she never gave away her personal life. No one knew she was afraid of the dark; no one knew how badly Steven’s death had desolated her, not even her brother’s widow, not even Ted.

  She hated Kyle because he was so much stronger than she was. Because she wanted to lean on him so badly. Because she had always scorned women who couldn’t control their emotions.

  Kyle was K.A. Jagger. Just knowing who he was unnerved her. Jagger, she had always thought, was a legend—not a real human being. And if a reality existed, he should have been an old, graying despot, not a powerful, well-toned flesh-and-warm-blood, sensual, and virile man…

  Not alive and vibrant, and alone with her on an island.

  So what? she demanded of herself with annoyance. They had definite difficulties getting along. Rescue would come; it would surely come soon. A multimillionaire couldn’t be allowed simply to disappear. And then they would both be off the island; they would return to their lives. She would be safe.

  “I am safe!” Skye hissed aloud to herself. She was no fool. She would control her emotions. She was an entity herself; she would not be used by a man like Jagger, no matter what the circumstances. A tiny shiver of heat rose up her spine despite her still damp cold, and she tightened her jaw with misery. She was terribly afraid that she was going to learn that she was a fool. In spite of her self-disgust, an uncanny fear assailed her. She had never known the feeling of wanting someone the way she was beginning to want Jagger. And the pity was, if only he weren’t Jagger, she would probably not be half so critical of her own appalling confusion.

  He returned as she still hovered nervously by the fire. For several moments he held hi
s distance, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Skye, who continued to gaze into the fire even though she was well aware that he had returned.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Skye shrugged, and kept her vision on the dying flames.

  Kyle emitted an impatient oath and moved to the fire himself, adding twigs and kindling to stoke the flames expertly. He was annoyed with himself—he hadn’t intended on hiding his identity, but belatedly he had realized he had liked her not knowing who he was. It had been the first time in years he had had the simple comfort of being nothing but a man.

  Not that she seemed overly impressed by his name. In fact, she was less than impressed. Oh, well, he thought bitterly, she had already decreed Jagger a monster. He knew she found him autocratic and less than liberated when it came to women. She was probably thinking—smugly, at that—that he fit the monster image of K.A. Jagger perfectly.

  So what did it matter anyway? he asked himself with irritation. They weren’t cohabiting the island by choice. She was a woman I happily attached to another man, and he didn’t think much of the attachment. Kyle had a dry feeling that she was the one who scorned marriage. Her business was a good one and she traveled like a butterfly.

  The fire sparked back to life and he looked at her to find that her eyes were finally on him, enigmatically. He stared into their beautiful topaz depths for a moment. They were femininely feline, with the light of the fire giving them a glimmer of deep, enchanting mystery. Even with the still damp tendrils of her honey hair tangled about the fine bones of her face, he was suddenly sure he had never seen a more beguiling woman. Women more beautiful existed, but there was an essence about her that was the most arresting he had ever come across. She was tiny, but along with a rare combination of traits he admired—spirit, pride, and independence—she possessed an innate sensuality that was a part of her every movement. It was in her walk, in the cast of her eyes, in the tilt of her head. It was in the touch of her fine, long fingers… it was in every gesture of her slender body.

  And the amazing thing, he decided, was that she was totally unaware of the sensuality, which was all the more seductive because it was still innocent and subdued. In self-assessment, she would surely grant herself confidence and pride. But knowing that she tantalized and intrigued would most probably be quite a surprise.

  And he had to crash with her—a woman he clashed with instantly; a woman who drove him half crazy. He couldn’t comprehend the stark desire she elicited within him, a desire that went beyond the known and ordinary… that tortured his moments, waking… sleeping.

  The island wasn’t helping any. He craved rescue on the one hand. He had created his business over years in which it had become the center of his heart, of the love he had learned to withhold from women. Two things had come to matter to Kyle—his business and his son. Rescue would be a return to both.

  But on the other hand he was finding a certain pleasure in the island—until just moments ago, when Skye had learned his identity. Until then he had had the rare opportunity to be just a man with nature in an environment that offered a survival simply. So he craved rescue, and yet he wouldn’t mind if it took a little time in coming. His fear was that it might never come. The Pacific had already claimed and stranded many in her vastness.

  But still, he wasn’t a pessimist. He believed they would be found, and perhaps that was why he could accept his situation. He was aware that Skye believed they would be off the island within days, and no matter how angry he grew, he didn’t have the heart to tell her that might not be so.

  But if the tension between them escalated, he knew he would blow and give her the facts in no uncertain terms. She would then learn that life was going to be a bit rough for an indefinite period.

  Except that it was going to be far rougher for him. Each hour that passed was taking him farther and farther away from the laws of society. He didn’t give a damn what was back in the States. The here and now was overpowering. In this enforced Eden it was taking all his concentration to remember that he could not revert to simple laws of nature and demand that she accept the role of female to his male.

  Kyle moved away from the fire, annoyed to find that she was watching him, a wary cast to her almond eyes. He smiled, amused by his own wanderings. He was tempted to tell her to relax, that he wasn’t a rapist, but he wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t. That thought made him even more amused. Despite his marital situation, he had never, never lacked for feminine companionship, and the idea of forcing a woman, any woman, was so alien to his character that it was ridiculous. And if he was composed of any one thing, that one thing would be control. She might not know it, but if it was her choice, she was as safe with him as she would be with a cloistered monk.

  His smile became very warm with his thoughts. Her eyes, even when wary, looked upon him with a gaze that made him feel special. He was sure she gave that impression to everyone—and that the successes of her life were partially due to that endearing quality. Her vibrant topaz gaze had the ability to create a world. When one gazed back, she became the most beautiful woman in the world. The effect was strange, Kyle thought, something he had never felt before.

  “Are you any warmer?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  “Don’t worry too much about being cold,” Kyle offered. “I’m sure the temperature never goes below seventy.”

  Again Skye nodded, but this time she lifted her head and gave him a tentative smile. A momentary truce was being offered.

  “Kyle?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you’re… if you’re K.A. Jagger, shouldn’t a host of people be searching for you with a fine-tooth comb?”

  “Yes,” he said slowly, wondering what she was getting at.

  “Shouldn’t they have found us by now? Won’t they wind up believing us dead if they don’t find us soon?”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” Kyle said reassuringly. “It just seems like forever because of all we’ve been through. Don’t worry—they won’t give up until they do find us. And don't forget that Coke bottle! Someone has reached this island before.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” Skye saw that Kyle had unknotted all their fabric pieces and was spreading the lot out to dry. She was still hunched by the fire, numb and spiritless. He was always practical, she thought, her feelings resentful, but also grudgingly admiring, always moving, always working. She finally stood herself. “What would you like for dinner? I’m afraid the menu isn’t vast. Coconuts, bananas, or figs. Or a few crackers and cheese, I think.”

  Kyle laughed at her distasteful grimace. “I’ll take some of each, and if you take that imperious little twitch off your face, I’ll make you a piña colada to go with dinner.”

  “A piña colada?”

  “Minus the pineapple, I’m afraid, and certainly not what they’d serve at the Plaza, but better than nothing.”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Skye agreed. “I’ve still got chills.”

  “Well, it won’t take you long to cook,” Kyle said dryly. “Fetch dinner, my lady, and seat yourself back by the fire.”

  “Aye, aye, captain, I won’t argue with you there!” Skye left the fire only long enough to rustle in their cache of things for the food and then returned. She glanced uneasily at their roofless shelter while handing coconuts to Kyle. “What do we do if it rains tonight?”

  “Get wet.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s not going to rain again.”

  “How do you know?” Skye demanded, annoyed by his positive assurance.

  “I don’t know how I know, but I do. Maybe I always wanted to be Weaver the Weatherman.”

  “I’m beginning to think you believe you’re a stand-up comic.”

  "No, you’re stuck with a levelheaded businessman, Ms. Delaney.” Skye saw his eyes glaze slightly. “Never a comedian. Where’s the rum?” He looked back to her abruptly.

  "I forgot it.”

  “Well, go get it.”

&nb
sp; Skye automatically felt herself stiffen at his tone. There were times when he teased that she could tolerate his autocratic tone, but blunt orders had always set poorly with her. She wasn’t accustomed to being told what to do, and although she wasn’t ordinarily argumentative or petty, he happened to push the wrong button at the wrong time.

  “Go get it yourself!” she snapped.

  He glanced over at her slowly, hands crawling to his hips, eyes returning to the mint frost she was coming to know so well. “You’re not much on cooperation, are you?” he demanded icily.

  Skye took a slow, deep breath, returning his chilling stare. “I’m a great believer in cooperation. I also believe in ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and requesting instead of demanding.”

  It was such a small thing, and she was right. He could have said please. He could have changed his tone. He could have gotten the rum himself. He was used to having orders obeyed without question. What did it matter? he asked himself, his temper rising. They weren't at a damn tea party. He really didn’t mind carrying the bulk of the work, but he’d be damned if he’d treat her like a snow queen while he did it. He knew he was tired and disgusted, but he couldn't help it, his temper flared.

  Suddenly, before he was aware of what he was doing, he was crouched like a tiger beside her at the fire, his hand snaked out to cup her chin. “Listen, duchess,” he told her, shocked by the harsh coldness of his own voice, but momentarily unable to control it or the tension that spread through his muscular frame. “I really do hate to put you out of your way, but you weren’t stranded on this island with a personal servant. Now I’m not sure if you’ve noticed or not, I’ve put myself on a few lines to keep that fair skin of yours in nice shape. I haven’t received a bucketful of thank yous for my efforts either. You want requests? All right, here’s a request. Would you mind, would it break your sweet little derriere, to get up and get the rum?”