Adam

by Irish Winters

  “Oh,” she said softly, scrunching her shoulders. “It’s a splint. Thank you.”

  “Not a very good one, I’m afraid, but it’ll do.” Folding the large piece of shirt in half diagonally, he fashioned a sling. “Here. Lean in so I can tie this around your neck.”

  Shannon pulled her hair to one side so he could reach. The moment her hair brushed against his skin, he felt the current. Tingly sparks danced up his arm. She must’ve felt it too. Her breath hitched. So did his.

  All at once, tying a simple square knot was a very difficult maneuver for a guy with ten thumbs. She leaned in closer, her head bowed, holding her breath. It didn’t help. He couldn’t get his fat fingers to function properly with her almost tucked against his half-naked body like a lover. The skin at the nape of her neck that she’d just bared looked soft. Kissable. He wondered how she’d taste. If the touch of his tongue might send shivers through the rest of her body. If she made small noises of pleasure when she—

  Torrey. For God’s sake, stand down.

  He forced himself to focus on something else, anything besides that loveliness within reach. Think knots. Half hitch. Anchor hitch. Rat-tail stopper. Rolling hitch. Anything but the ivory skin presented to him now.

  It took long enough, but at last the knot was square and tight. He gave it one last tug before she straightened and let all her hair fall over her shoulders.

  “There,” he said hoarsely when he could see her eyes again, glittering with the orange from the fire.

  “There,” she repeated sweetly. “I feel better already.”

  He felt better, too.

  “My turn.” She reached for the shirtsleeves he’d tossed aside. Still joined at the back yoke, they made one long ragged strip. She leaned in with the piece stretched wide. “Lift your arms. Up you go.”

  He winced as that simple movement sent lightning bolts of pain through his chest.

  “Your ribs are broken, I think,” she said.

  He grunted. “One for sure. Maybe two.”

  “They hurt?”

  Adam nodded. “A little.” God, a man had better be careful getting too close to those pretty eyes. He might slip and fall in and never be seen again.

  “This should help.” Shannon angled her knees between his to get in closer. Inadvertently, her kneecap touched the inseam at his thigh. It wasn’t like she bumped his crotch on purpose, but she blushed at the personal contact, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The luscious body right in front of his nose beckoned him closer. Rosy-cheeked and flustered, each ragged breath of hers matched his.

  He didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable, but he could tell he did. The sensual tension between them escalated. He caught himself leaning forward, wanting her to bump him again, but Shannon was intent on her task. Reaching behind his back with both arms, her cheek almost touched his chest. Her arms trembled as she looked up. He blinked, amazed at the pleasant storm coursing through his veins and rushing over him.

  There was no come-on in her eyes, no ‘hey big boy, wanna play’ smirk on her face like the promiscuous hang-arounds at SEAL hideouts. Only innocent concern glimmered there. “Am I hurting you?”

  Like she was in any way big enough or strong enough to hurt him. So tiny. So much like a little girl. “No. Not at all,” he answered, shocked at the grit in his voice.

  Shannon pulled the cuffs of the sleeves around him and together at his chest. Tying the ends together, she leaned over to reach the other half of the stick. When she inserted it into the loop of sleeves, he understood. She meant to tighten that bandage to keep his broken ribs from grinding against each other. Maybe she was strong enough to hurt him after all. To borrow Connor’s favorite word, ‘Crap.’

  He gulped. This next part would to be painful. He wished she’d smooth her fingers over his chest before she started. That would go a long way toward easing his pain. But then again, maybe not. “Go on,” he muttered. “Do it fast. Just get it done.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide and serious. “I will. Take a deep breath.”

  He tried, but managed only the same shallow intake he’d been able to inhale since the crash. When she twisted the stick once, he saw the fear in her eyes, only this fear was for him. She didn’t want to hurt him. “Still okay?”

  He nodded, stifling a groan. This kind of pain was nothing.

  Staring at him, she twisted the stick quickly, three times in all, her tender gaze never leaving his face. The homemade wrap tightened until a shudder he couldn’t control escaped. Sweat trickled down his temples. His spine. She bit her lip, twisting the stick one last time. No slack remained in the improvised bandage, just tension. Just pain.

  “More,” he ground out, not breaking eye contact. “The tighter, the better. You know it. Get it done.”

  A tear glistened off her lower eyelid. “But I’m hurting you,” she whispered.

  “S’okay.” To prove he meant what he said, Adam covered her slender hand with his and gave the torture device two more quick, sharp turns that proved her right. Agony roared from that stick straight through his body. His clenched jaw hurt, his teeth too, but she wouldn’t see him acknowledge a couple of measly broken ribs. No way in hell. He stared her down, daring himself to break eye contact first. SEALs don’t cry, damn it.

  “I’m sorry.” The tear fell, and pain or not, Adam pulled her close. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but the sadness in her eyes hurt worse.

  “No.” He breathed as shallow as he could. “Really. I’m okay.”

  Clasping her close so she couldn’t see, he allowed his eyes to close as fire swept over him in a sickening wave. There was only one thing left to do, but he waited until he could move again. The sweat trickling between his pecs betrayed the calm he meant to portray. With her in one arm, he took his other hand and jammed the stick in between his chest muscle and the now tightly wrapped sleeve. It hurt like hellfire, but that primitive support needed an anchor to keep it from unraveling. Like it or not, all this suffering would help him heal.

  “You’ve been hurt so bad.” Her fingers moved light and gentle on the foam bandage still covering his healing gunshot wound from the failed South Dakota op. “I’m sorry someone shot you. I wish I had known.”

  “It’s okay,” he said again, finally allowing a deep sigh. He’d forgotten the hole in his shoulder. Closing his eyes against the awful day, he tucked her under his chin and focused on breathing. This broken rib was nothing. That gunshot wound was just as insignificant. But the tenderhearted woman in his arms?

  Definitely something.

  Chapter Eleven

  Zombies looked better.

  Staring across the campfire at the other survivors made Shannon very aware how lucky they were. She only wished Donavan had been there. A few of his crazy stories would sound good. Where could he be? It seemed odd that everyone else inside the plane was accounted for but him.

  And Ramsey. Was he really on this island, too?

  She rubbed another cold shiver off her biceps at the thought. An ex-Army soldier, the man had always given her the creeps. He did things. Horrible things. She didn’t know exactly what those things were, but that was the feeling she got in her few dealings with him. He came across as over-protective and always too forceful, as if he’d kill at the slightest provocation if it meant keeping her safe. Or something. The way he looked at her made her feel like a mouse, not safe as much a tasty snack in the paws of a very hungry predator. Or a toy.

  The last time she’d seen his knife, it was tucked into a knife sheath on his belt, right alongside his gun holster. She couldn’t remember if he’d climbed onboard the Gulfstream or not though, and that missing detail bothered her. She scanned the dark shadows beyond the cheery campfire. Where Ramsey went, his knife went. Was he really out there? Watching?

  To make matters worse, the much anticipated dinner was a bust. Yes, everyone ate, mostly because they were starving. The bananas tasted good enough, but they weren’t sweet, and their flesh wasn’t smooth like
the pretty yellow ones in stores. She rubbed the bitter, fruity taste lingering in her mouth with a sore tongue.

  After the first bite, she’d given serious thought to fasting, but her hungry stomach had other ideas, so she’d peeled her banana and ate a tiny portion, and then another. Before she knew it, the piece of fruit was gone, and Adam tossed another her way. It lay unpeeled in her lap while she worried the unpleasant sensation lingering on her tongue and palette from the first course. There had to be something better to eat.

  “What do you think? Is SAR looking for us yet?” Izza asked from her tree with Connor at her side.

  “Search and rescue,” Adam quickly interpreted. He’d chosen a spot between her and the Mahers to sit. That act of distancing himself from her bothered Shannon. One minute it seemed like he cared enough to get in close, the next, not so much.

  For now, he sat cross-legged, his elbows on his knees while he suffered through another banana. The poor guy still couldn’t take a deep breath, though. Shannon felt bad for him. Her attempt to help had also hurt him. His attitude about pain amazed her. He just kept on going, like an army tank with no off switch. After she’d wrapped his broken ribs, he’d gathered more firewood. The only reason he’d stopped searching for Donavan was the dark—that and he had to be exhausted. She was, and she hadn’t done one tenth what Adam had.

  “They might not be searching for us yet, but I’ll bet Alex is,” Connor said.

  “How?” Izza turned to her hubby.

  “Same as always, babe. GPS.” Connor pulled his cell phone out of his shorts pocket and wiggled it at her. “Don’t worry. He’ll find us.”

  “Yeah. Know that. Just wasn’t sure our cell phones would still work after a crash like this.” She glanced at the dark ocean and shivered. “I lost mine in the water. I think.”

  Connor leveled his phone to his nose, his brows wrinkled. “Crap. I thought it would, but it won’t turn on. How about yours, Adam? Do you have any bars?”

  Adam shrugged. “I doubt there’s coverage out here, but no. I’ve got nothing. No phone. No pistol. It’s all at the bottom of the ocean. Shannon?”

  All she could do was shrug. She didn’t know where Raul had stashed her carry-on.

  That drew a moment of somber silence until Izza glanced over her shoulder at the moonlight off the ocean. “I wonder where Donavan is.”

  The silence turned downright gloomy. With night falling and no cover, Shannon didn’t relish the thought of falling asleep. Too many things scurried in the dark, and they sounded larger than spiders or rats.

  “What do you guys think happened to our plane?” She tried to change the subject, but caught the averted glances from one agent to the next. Even Izza looked away instead of answering. Yeah. Shannon might have crashed and survived with them, but she was still the outsider, and, oh yeah, Paul Reagan’s daughter.

  “I looked at the fuselage when I went out there to light my torch,” she offered, hoping for some discussion. “Half the cockpit’s missing.”

  “That reminds me,” Adam said somberly, staring at the fire. “We’ve got three men to bury. We’ll hold funeral services first thing tomorrow morning after Connor and I retrieve the pilot.”

  “Do any of you know his name?” Connor asked, looking directly at Shannon.

  She shook her head. She’d never thought to ask. He was just another nameless member of her father’s staff. Paul Reagan went through employees quickly. It was hard to keep track. As soon as she knew them by name, they were gone.

  “The flight attendant’s in the jungle directly opposite the starboard wing.” Adam added quietly. “I would’ve buried him, but I ran out of daylight.”

  “That’s Dillon,” Shannon said. “Dillon Lorenzo.”

  “Guess one out of three isn’t bad,” Connor remarked drily.

  She caught his sarcasm. He’d gone from grateful to rude, and she didn’t know why. Just because she didn’t know the names of all her father’s employees didn’t make her cold-hearted, like he’d implied. She bit her lip. The balmy eighty-degree weather pattern hadn’t changed—just the company.

  “He wanted to be a pilot,” Shannon continued, feeling like she had to prove she wasn’t entirely thoughtless. “He took college classes at night. After work.”

  The problem was she did care. His green eyes flashed to mind. Dillon was full of life, and a charmer from the ground up. She didn’t want to go to his funeral. She wanted to attend his graduation and make sure he flew that Air Force tanker like he’d wanted to. But there was no use trying to make conversation.

  Brit’s last words lingered, adding to the depressing end of the day. Take a pill. Get an abortion. I don’t care.

  Well, I care. Interlocking her fingers over her barely rounded tummy, Shannon stared into the flames. So much death, and in the middle of it, this little spark of life rested safe inside of her. Dr. Remy had said she was six to seven months along. That surprised her. She was a little bloated, but except for that one horrific moment in front of Adam, she’d never had a hint of morning sickness. Without a regular monthly cycle, she’d had no way to know she was pregnant, either. Wasn’t a pregnant woman supposed to turn into a blimp?

  That last eight minutes of endurance sex on the floor weighed on her now. She should have fought harder. Maybe kicked and bit, but honestly, she’d never fought for anything in her life. Until now…

  She should be happy. Birth was an event to be celebrated. Shannon wished she’d read all that pregnancy information her doctor had given her instead of wasting time researching her father’s drones. It would be good to know if this little person tucked safe and sound within her womb was old enough to have all five fingers. Was he sucking his thumb? Did he know how to smile?

  Brit was the real dilemma, the poison in the baby’s blood. The thought of him squashed any inclination to celebrate or share her good fortune.

  Connor pulled Izza into his side as they lay facing the fire. Shannon glanced at them, but just as quickly, looked away. His lips were in Izza’s ear. She’d smiled, and Shannon was suddenly aware the she was very much alone. Connor and Izza loved each other. It showed. She had no one but the tiny boy or girl nestled deep in her womb. Eventually that would show, too.

  Braiding her hair into a single manageable but dirty bundle, she faced the truth. She was a single mother. That was all. Her father didn’t know he would be a grandfather. After his curt response to her request for access to company files, she hadn’t felt like sharing her unexpected but lovely secret. Now she wished she had. Happy about it or not, he deserved to know.

  Adam pushed to his feet and walked outside the circle of firelight, toward the shore. He’d seemed more and more withdrawn as the night grew darker. He might be sick, she thought. I need to pay attention. Maybe he’s hurt more than he knows. Maybe I made that wrap too tight.

  She glanced into the jungle behind her one last time. Ramsey might be there, but he might not. Just the fact that he’d lost his knife seemed to indicate he was no longer as scary as she’d thought.

  And if there were more spiders out there, they’d better be afraid of fire. But that thought led to another sad truth. Even the spider belonged somewhere, even if it was just in a bunch of bananas. All she had was a tiny creature inside of her, maybe the size of a gummy bear, maybe smaller. She didn’t know. A tear trickled out of her eye, the day at last too much to bear.

  “Hey.” Adam crouched beside her.

  Startled, she jumped. She hadn’t heard him return with another armful of branches and driftwood. Hurriedly, she wiped her eyes and turned a brave face, hoping he hadn’t seen.

  “Hey,” she answered hoarsely.

  “Mind if I sleep here?” He nodded toward the tree she sat beneath.

  Shannon blinked. “Here?” With me?

  “I mean, you’re tired, and I’m tired, and...” He smoothed the sand beside her. “I just thought a little company might help tonight. We could keep each other warm.”

  She fidgeted, her finge
rs twirling around each other and over her stomach. Over her baby. Could he tell she was expecting? Did he know what a mess her life was? Did he—care? The awkward moment stretched.

  “Hey, it’s okay. If you’d rather not—”

  “No.” She reached for his wrist. “Please. I mean, yes. It makes sense. It won’t mean anything. We’ve already kind of taken a nap together.”

  That dimple of his deepened and darn. He was adorable when he even hinted at a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep the fire going all night long.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. Pulling her braid over her shoulder, she lay down and faced the flames. He lowered himself to the ground and leaned in behind her.

  Shannon steeled herself not to notice the feel of his body. She needn’t have worried. Adam placed one big palm politely on her bicep. That was all. Not another part of his body touched hers, not even his knees. Of course. He wouldn’t want to get too close to Paul Reagan’s daughter. She should’ve known. Adam was just being kind like he’d said. Nothing more.

  It happened slowly. The longer she laid so close to him and still so alone, the more tears eked out between her squeezed tight eyelids. She caught a self-pitying sob just in time.

  He must’ve noticed. “Hey.” He pulled her into his chest, his lips suddenly at her ear, and the length of him tight against her. “Don’t worry about Connor. He’s not usually like that. You did good today. Real good.”

  All she could do was nod in silent misery, the warmth of Adam’s strong body more than she deserved. Brit had soured the whole concept of happily-ever-after. Besides, no one knew about the baby, and she intended to keep it that way.

  “Don’t cry, Shannon,” Adam whispered into her neck. “You’re quite the adventurer. Most women wouldn’t have a clue what to do out here.” He tightened both arms around her, one bicep for a pillow and the other for a blanket. He had to be hurting to do that, but she accepted the comfort he offered.