Slipping her hands from the men’s grasps, she clutched at Owen’s shoulder as she worked the elastic waistband past her hips. The weight of the fabric almost pulled the skirt from her legs, but she held on by trapping it between her knees. She captured the length, easing her feet free and donning the garment like a scarf. With her body now liberated from the tangles, she fell into a rhythmic pace of stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, breathe.
Heath and Owen flanked her as she focused on the task of reaching land. Both men slowed after she’d counted thirty alternating arm motions, and the sun peeked through the scuttling clouds to shine on a stretch of beach no more than the width of the Macska seasonal herb garden away.
“Almost there, doll.” Heath stood, gentle waves hitting him in the chest. “A little closer and you should be able walk the rest of the way.”
Owen moved in front of her as she treaded water. “Hold onto my shoulders. I’ll tow you in.”
She hooked her palms on either side of his neck, trying to hold onto the slick leather of his drenched flight jacket. Although she hadn’t swum far and the sea was hardly cold, her muscles ached. Being thrust into the stifling storage closet from the bitter cold of home had caused knotting cramps in her calves. The stress of crash- landing an airplane in the ocean had only added to the problem.
He set off toward the shore, and less than a minute later, her toes touched the soft sand under the surf. Her knees buckled when she attempted to stand, and Heath swung her into his arms, continuing to the narrow strip of white beach. She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Exhaustion threatened to overtake her. She didn’t dare close her eyes, or she’d surrender to sleep.
The sky brightened as they came ashore, gray fluffs separating and becoming thin white wisps in the breeze. Warmth from the summery air seeped into her soaked sweater.
Heath set her down on an exposed rock. Removing her skirt-scarf, he spread it in the sun. “It shouldn’t take long to dry.”
Peeling off her sweater, she laid it beside the skirt. “Thank you.”
He nodded, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on the sand with Owen’s. “You’re welcome—but only if you tell how us how the hell you got on that plane.”
Chapter 2
Heath Ulrich tugged off his boots, vacillating between shaking his and Owen’s stowaway or laying her out on the beach and fucking her until they both collapsed. Watching her shimmy out of her skirt underwater had been one thing. He’d even survived carrying her up the beach. The second she’d stripped off her sweater to reveal a perfect pair of small, firm tits, his dick had gone from snoozing to standing at attention. Pert nipples poked at her scant camisole, emphasizing her barely there panties and shapely legs. And those sexy little naked feet. Damn, he’d love to strip off the rest of her wet clothes and enjoy some sex in the sun.
Then again, with her tiny stature, lack of makeup, and dark innocent eyes, she could be all of fifteen or sixteen years old.
Seemingly ignoring his request, she slipped the elastic from the end of her braid and unwound her dark waist-length hair. The long strands flowing down her back added to his desire to touch her. “I, um, I’m not sure how I got on your plane.”
She fiddled with thick waves, combing her fingers through the damp locks and nibbling on her lower lip.
“Somebody put you in the locker without you knowing?” Women had hidden away in his car after several air shows, claiming they’d wanted to sleep with a pilot, but he’d never found one inside the plane he was flying. His ex-girlfriend had ditched him after the last incident, not giving him the benefit of the doubt or letting him tell his side of the story.
“I was at home, and then I was...there.” The girl’s averted gaze told him she wasn’t being completely honest with him.
Sarcasm warred with horniness. “Somebody made you appear on the plane with some sort of magic spell?”
Her eyes widened, and she crossed her arms in front of her delectable tits.
“Back off, Heath.” Owen dropped his white scarf on top of his boots. “We’re all on edge because of the accident. Let her be.”
Raising his eyebrows at his flying partner and best friend, Heath flicked open the top button of his shirt. “I just want to know how she—”
“Does it matter at this point? We’re damn lucky to be alive.” Owen tossed his leather cap and goggles in the sand, raking his fingers through his flattened hair. “I think we need to worry about where we’re going to find supplies and how long until somebody rescues us.”
Heath worked the last button free and slipped off the shirt. “Fine. We’ll take care of food and shelter first, but I’m not letting her off the hook. I want answers. It’s too damn coincidental if you ask me.”
Squatting next to the lady in question, Owen patted her bare knee. “Don’t pay any attention to him, honey. He’s pissy about the engine problems. I’m Owen Vance. The grouch is Heath Ulrich.”
She seemed to study the sand at her feet, and her teeth came out to nibble on her lip again. “I’m Heléna Macska. Where are we?”
“I’m not a grouch.” Spitting out the denial, Heath glared at his friend. The urge to punch him in the nose for feeling up Heléna had Heath flexing his jaw and balling his hands into fists. “My best guess is one of the cays east of Little Abaco.”
She glanced up at him with a frown. “I don’t know where that is.”
“North end of the Bahamas.”
Her expression didn’t change. “What’s a cay?”
Her skimpy underclothes distracted him for a moment, and he held in a frustrated growl. “Kind of like an island. Made of sand or part of a coral reef.”
“Oh.” She sighed.
At twenty-three, he had enough experience with women to know that her sigh wasn’t any ordinary exhale. Was she upset that her plan to seduce him or Owen had been derailed by the unscheduled landing? Or maybe she wanted first-class accommodations for her island getaway. He’d had his fill of selfish, spoiled women. Not that she was a woman yet.
Stripping to his underwear, he willed his dick to wilt. “What are your parents going to say when you don’t come home? I’m sure glad I don’t have a teenage daughter.”
She jerked her head up, a flash of anger sparking in her eyes. Grabbing her clothes, she rose and stomped toward the far end of the beach. After half a dozen steps, she whirled around. “Teenage? I’ll have you know I’m twenty-one. And—and... Oh, never mind.”
Her skirt trailed behind her as she marched away, her luscious round ass drawing his gaze with every sway of her hips. The breeze carried hints of mumbled insults back to him.
Did she just call me a waste of pussy juice? No, he had to have heard wrong. Women didn’t talk like that.
Owen gave him a shove. “You’ve got some way with the ladies there, Heath. You start by ogling her. Then you conduct an inquisition and talk to her like a kid instead of asking if she’s okay.” Shaking his head, he followed her. “We’ve got no fresh water and no food, and you’re worried about how she got on board.”
He walked the path of tiny footprints she’d left in the sand, his longer strides closing the distance between them by the time she slowed near the water at the south end of the cay. She sat on her skirt, folding her knees to her chest and lowering her head. Was she crying?
Heath’s gut twisted at that thought. He hadn’t intended to hurt her feelings, but so much of his life had gone to hell in the past year. His love of flying had turned to hate. The female attention had only been the beginning, and the unexplainable engine trouble on the test route was the last straw. He’d finally reached his limit with the failed flight today. Even if they managed to somehow return to civilization, he was done with aviation.
Owen sank to the sand beside Heléna, his arm draping around her narrow shoulders. A stab of jealousy forced Heath to look away.
Her slight build and angelic face never would’ve suggested she was twenty-one years old. She couldn’t be more than five-foot-two and a hu
ndred pounds. Her innocent nature spoke of someone who hadn’t been exposed to the harsh realities of his world. Why was he attracted to her when he normally preferred more experienced women?
Owen was right. What did her motive matter when they likely wouldn’t survive more than a week or two if they weren’t found? Considering the secrecy of the project, the chances of his employer searching for anything other than the plane itself were slim. To stay alive, they’d have to save themselves.
* * * *
Settling next to Heléna, Owen couldn’t resist wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Nothing brought out the protective instincts in him more than a crying woman. Although she made no sound, her whole body trembled.
“It’s okay, honey. We’re all shaken up from the rough landing.” He smoothed her wet hair from her forehead. “Heath’s kind of superstitious about the area we had to fly today, and he was already about to blow a gasket before he found you on the plane. Damn full moon. Don’t let his temper get to you. He’s a nice guy most of the time.”
She stopped shaking, but she didn’t lift her head from her knees.
“Merry Christmas, by the way.” A rueful laugh escaped. “Some tropical vacation we’re having, huh?”
“I don’t celebrate Christmas.” She shifted out of his hold and pushed to her feet, facing the now deceptively calm Atlantic. “The full moon. I can’t get away from it. I thought I’d at least...”
“At least what, Heléna?”
She shook her head, sending her hair swishing back and forth. “It isn’t important.”
The hopelessness in her tone made his chest ache, and he stood to slip his hand around hers. “Whatever’s on your mind—if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”
Her jaw tensed. “I can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”
He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he’d do his damnedest to fix whatever was bothering her, but she wouldn’t believe him—especially if the certainty in her voice was anything to go by. Her determination to deal with her problems alone rankled less than he expected. As much as he liked the idea of a woman depending on him to take care of her, they were all better off with no weak link in the situation.
“Maybe, Heléna, maybe not. The offer stands.” Urging her back toward the spot they’d come from, he scanned the surf for a glimpse of wing or propeller. Since no yellow showed in the shallow turquoise water, the current had probably dragged the airplane off the limestone shelf and into the depths of the sheer drop-off. “We need to find some shade. You’ll end up with a bad sunburn if we don’t.”
Adjusting his hold on her damp skirt and sweater, he focused his search on the few widely scattered scrubby trees between the eastern side they walked along and the visible western coast. The strip of land extended to the north farther than he could see. Had they landed on Hawksbill Cays? Based on the last compass headings, he’d have to say yes—which put them about a mile swim from the sparsely populated Little Abaco Island. Too far and too dangerous.
They arrived back at the rock, but Heath was nowhere in sight. His gear was still strewn on the sand, and footprints led in the opposite direction they’d come from. If he’d gone hunting food and water, odds were he’d return empty-handed. The few times Owen had flown over the area, he’d seen nothing but rocks, sand, and some pine trees on the outer cays. No towns, no streams, and very little vegetation.
Another trio of evergreens not far from the beach offered a chance of getting out of the afternoon sun. He aimed for the glorified shrubs, snapping the skirt over the tops to form an umbrella. A lopsided triangular shadow appeared on the ground.
He spread out her sweater for a place to sit. “Not the Ritz, but it’ll keep the sun off you.”
“Thank you. It’s fine.” She dropped into the shade, sighing as she folded her knees up to her chin again. Her smooth pale skin had already turned pink. “You don’t have to babysit me. I am an adult, even if I don’t look like one.”
Obviously Heath hadn’t been the first to question her age. Rather than being annoyed or angered by it, her demeanor seemed to indicate resignation. She stared at some point past him, her full lips drawn into a frown beneath the sunburned tip of her dainty nose. Dark lashes hid her expressive eyes. She reminded him of a delicate, mythical creature with the ability to bring men to their knees in worship of her—not that she seemed aware of her own power.
He sat just outside of the protective shadow, unwilling to leave her. Although he’d accused Heath of ogling her petite figure, Owen wasn’t blind—or a monk. “There’s this aura of innocence around you. I guess it makes you seem younger than you are.”
“Innocence?” She growled the word and flipped her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head. “Wonderful. In the eyes of every man, I’m a wholesome child. Just what I wanted to hear.” Bringing her arms up to cross them on her knees, she buried her face. “Like I said, I don’t need a babysitter.”
Her dismissal couldn’t have been clearer, but he wasn’t about to let her push him away. While she might exude artlessness, his body had recognized her as a woman the moment she’d bent over to lay out her wet skirt on the sand to dry. Heath’s remarks regarding her age were likely his way of grousing after the disaster of a test flight today. Neither of them could’ve missed her utter femininity.
Owen glanced her direction. “I’m not babysitting. And believe me, I know you’re not a child.”
Her eyebrows rose as she lifted her head, and she rolled her eyes. “Too late to save face, Owen. I own a mirror.”
Turning toward her, he waited for her to meet his gaze. “Young looking or not, you’re perfect the way you are. Don’t let anyone tell you different. I love your hair, and those eyes... Not to mention the rest of you.” He couldn’t resist a visual stroll down her body. His dick pressing against his zipper was all the proof he needed that she was his kind of woman.
Running her fingers through the loose curls tumbling down her back, she busied herself with a tangle in the long brown strands, ignoring his compliment. “Have you checked for cell service? If we’re in the Bahamas, one of the other islands should have a tower.”
Cell service? A tower? What was she talking about?
“You have a cell phone, don’t you?”
He replayed her words in his mind, hoping for a moment of comprehension, but none came. “What’s a cell phone?”
Her brows lowered into a vee, and she frowned at him. “A cellular telephone. A mobile phone.”
The synonyms didn’t help. “Honey, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You can’t have a phone without wires and poles. I don’t see any of those, do you?”
She bit her lower lip and stared at him. “But...the full moon...and...you wished me a Merry Christmas. How can you not know what a cell phone is? I’m still in the same year. I have to be. What are the chances of—” Gathering her arms around her legs, she blinked at him. Her clasped hands tightened around each other. “Today is December 25, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
Her teeth nibbled at her lip again. “What...what year is it?”
The question caught him off guard, and he hesitated as he questioned his first thought. The new year doesn’t start until next week. “It’s 1931.”
The pink of her sun-kissed cheeks drained away. She opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it.
A shiver raced up his spine from her unexpected reaction, and Owen jerked his eyes up to Heath as he stalked to the makeshift umbrella.
“I caught dinner, but somebody needs to collect some firewood to cook it.”
Jumping from discussing the date to preparing supper took a shift of gears in Owen’s brain. “Uh, thanks. I’ll take care of it.”
His friend wiggled his bare toes into the soft sand, two fish on a stick dangling from his hand. “Look, Heléna, I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m sorry. It’s just that this place gives me creeps. I hate flying this route. Damn Sargasso Sea triangle is cursed.”
�
��Triangle?” She gave a strangled squeak on a gasp. Her head dropped to her knees as she groaned. “What have I done?”
Chapter 3
Heléna struggled to gather her thoughts as Heath’s statement brought a new reality crashing down on her. Not only had she transported herself backward in time eighty-four years, her spontaneous incantation had taken her to the Bermuda Triangle instead of the love triangle she’d intended.
I’m not meant to be a witch. I can’t even perform a simple traveling charm.
Sure, her mood had probably affected the spell, but misrepresenting her need for two men was inexcusable. That’s what she got for not admitting to Great Grandmother and the family that she wasn’t ready to take the oath. Her great fear of letting everyone down if Kazmer attacked again had jinxed her last year of training. She’d committed mistake after mistake while practicing the craft in her room, hiding her failures from them.
Now, what should’ve been an easy incantation had sent her who knew how many miles and years from her target. Not that her mates would want her anyway.
I’m not worthy of them or the title of witch. She was a burden to Owen and Heath on their tiny island as well.
Rising and yanking her skirt from the treetops, she slipped the nearly dry garment up her legs and past her nonexistent hips. A tug at the drawstring tightened the waist enough to keep it from sliding back down. Her sweater was another matter. Though it was only slightly damp, sand permeated the woven threads. She might need the cover for her bare arms if the night air chilled her, but she’d worry about that when the time came.
Two sets of eyes watched her, making her too aware of her awkward movements and boyish body. “I’m not hungry. You don’t have to share with me.”
“I said I was sorry, Heléna.” Rather than anger tingeing Heath’s response, the soft words sounded pleading.
Picking up her sweater, she braved a look at him. He stared back at her, and she tried to read his taut expression. His stormy gray eyes revealed nothing. The grim line of his mouth said he wasn’t pleased with her lack of acknowledgement and refusal to eat with him and Owen. Only the ticking muscle in his jaw divulged any of his emotions.
Szereto, Mellanie - Two from the Triangle [Bewitching Desires 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 2