Island Peril

by Jill Sorenson

  “Far away, I hope.”

  “What if they come back?”

  “I hate to underestimate them again, but I don’t think they can. Inflatable Zodiacs aren’t that easy to repair. Even if they have an extra, this harbor is the only landing site. There’s no way to sneak on the island.”

  “Will a helicopter come?”

  “Yes. Eventually.”

  She lay back down on the mat, satisfied they were safe. With the fire at her left side and him on her right, she was warm enough. “I can’t believe we’re alive.”

  “It seems like a miracle.”

  “Do you believe in them?”

  “No.”

  After losing both parents, Ella couldn’t blame him. “You saved me again.”

  “I just made a fire.”

  “You also found another convenient hiding place.”

  “I’ve circumnavigated Prince before,” he said, shrugging.

  He used big words, too. Maybe it was sexy. “You said your sister rescued her boyfriend from cold water.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she warm him up the same way?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.”

  She laughed softly, her heart aching with an unknown feeling. It was a strange coincidence, if not a miracle, but she couldn’t say that. Because what did it mean? That fate had brought them together? She’d never believed in miracles or fate. She was a woman of science with no particular religious affiliation. The horrors of the San Diego earthquake had solidified her suspicions that there was no God.

  And yet, here they were.

  Keeping her chest covered, she turned toward him and rested her head on her hand, elbow bent. “How did your parents meet?”

  He smiled at the question. “They went to the same college in San Francisco. She was a nursing student volunteering at a bicycle race. My dad took a nasty spill on his bike and needed first aid.”

  She smiled back at him, enjoying the story. “What were they like?”

  “They were...fun. Not too strict. They took us on trips and hikes and stuff. We played board games.”

  “Did they argue?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about?”

  “Lots of things. Dishes, my dad’s work schedule, the rules of Scrabble, movies.”

  “Movies?”

  “My dad was a fan of gory slasher movies, but my mom hated the sight of blood on film. She also had...philosophical objections.”

  “To violence?”

  “And sexism.”

  “Did your dad do the dishes?”

  “Not as often as he should have. But he couldn’t have loved her more. They were crazy about each other right until the end.”

  Her throat tightened at his honest description. It was sweet but not sugarcoated. He didn’t diminish them by downplaying their flaws. “My parents are like that, still happily married. I don’t want to settle for anything less.”

  He tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the stars, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. They talked about Ella’s parents and Abby for a few minutes. Then he straightened, reaching for his shorts. “I should put some more wood on the fire.”

  She caught a glimpse of his taut buttocks as he dragged the fabric up his hips. Throat dry, she admired his retreating form as he walked down the beach. During her semi-conscious state, he’d held her naked body against his. He’d also planted one hell of a kiss on her before swimming to the kayak. Her lips tingled from the memory.

  While he gathered bits of driftwood from the windswept beach, she secured the blanket under her arms and rose to retrieve her discarded bikini. It was wet and sandy. Wrinkling her nose, she shook out the pieces and hung them up to dry on a palm tree branch. Then she did the same with their other garments. His long-sleeved shirt must have been made with some kind of special fabric because it was hardly damp.

  He brought several loads of driftwood and tossed them into a pile. After feeding the fire, he warmed his hands over it, adopting a wide-legged stance to dry his shorts. Ella returned to the grass mat. They fell into a companionable silence, studying the flames.

  “Are open fires legal on San Miguel?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “I thought you didn’t break the rules.”

  “I’m living dangerously.”

  “Sit with me,” she said, gesturing to the space beside her.

  His gaze moved from her blanket-clad form to the dangling bikini. He knew she was naked beneath the flimsy silver barrier. A thrill traveled up her spine, prickling the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck.

  “I have to keep watch,” he said.

  “You’re going to stand all night?”

  He shrugged, looking away.

  She understood his reluctance. Desire had been humming between them all day; he didn’t want to give in to temptation and get distracted.

  But why not go for it? They were alone and several hundreds of feet from the shore. Moonlight glittered across the surf, highlighting the harbor’s wide expanse. The criminals couldn’t sneak in.

  Paul removed his shirt from the palm tree and held it over the fire for a few minutes. Instead of donning it himself, he gave the shirt to her. “Here. It’s dry.”

  “Thanks,” she said, touched by the gesture. She put her head through the neck hole and slipped her arms into the sleeves first. Then she tugged the fabric over her body, making sure she was decently covered before she rose from the mat. The shirt smelled nice, like smoke and salt and warm male skin. “I’ll stay up with you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to.”

  His shirt dwarfed her, hanging loose to her upper thighs. She felt exposed without anything under it. The thin fabric showed the outline of her nipples, but her breasts weren’t large enough to jiggle or attract attention.

  In theory, anyway.

  His eyes traveled down the front of her body, studying her slight curves as if he couldn’t help himself.

  Her nipples tightened and an ache pulsed between her legs at his perusal.

  He turned his back to her, flushing. The firelight danced across his bare shoulders. Her fingertips itched to explore that expanse. She engaged in a brief fantasy of coming up behind him and pressing her lips to his spine. Distracted, she stumbled over a piece of driftwood.

  “You should rest,” he said, mistaking her clumsiness for fatigue.

  “I’m cold.”

  “Get back under the blanket. I’ll put my arm around you.”

  Ella murmured an agreement. She needed the comfort of human contact; it didn’t have to be sexual. They returned to the mat, sitting side by side. He held her close, tucked the blanket around them and stared across the quiet harbor.

  They had logical reasons to maintain a polite distance. His professional reputation—and their personal safety—were at stake. She didn’t know if he was in the market for a steady girlfriend or even a casual relationship. Maybe he’d pegged her as off-limits because they had too much in common.

  She leaned against his shoulder, soaking in his heat. His skin was smooth and warm. Snuggling together half-naked was a minefield of pleasant sensations. The crackling fire and deserted beach added to the ambiance.

  “I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he said, “but I can’t sit here and pretend I’m not dying to touch you.”

  “You don’t have to be a gentleman,” she said, moistening her lips.

  Whatever this was—temporary insanity, stress-induced lust or just a casual fling—she wanted it.

  He closed the distance between them, brushing his mouth over hers. She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back. His tongue plunged inside, penetrating her in silky strokes. Her skin prickled with awar
eness and her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out the sound of the waves. Their mouths were hot and wet and hungry, tongues lashed together.

  She offered no resistance when he pushed her down on the mat and covered her body with his. Her breasts flattened against his chest and his erection swelled against her belly, making her shiver. He took her mouth like he owned it, kissing her again and again. She dug her nails into his shoulders and threaded her fingers through his hair. Groaning, he slid his hand along her thigh and palmed her naked hip.

  He rolled over, bringing her on top. The hem of the shirt rode up, exposing her bottom to the cool air. She squirmed for more contact, but he didn’t take it too far. He just kissed her, caressed her lower back and nudged his thigh between her legs, driving her crazy with gentle pressure. When he finally cupped her bare buttocks, she shuddered with pleasure, sucking his tongue into her mouth.

  She wanted to touch him, too. Shifting her weight to one side, she slipped her hand between their bodies. Her fingertips played over the firm contours of his chest and stomach before moving south, to the front of his shorts. When she rubbed her palm against his hard length, he broke the kiss.

  To her disappointment, he pulled away from her. “Maybe we should stop,” he said, glancing around the empty beach.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have a condom.”

  She reached under the waistband of his trunks and wrapped her fingers around him, watching his eyes glaze over. “Just don’t...put it inside me.”

  He let her stroke him for a moment, his teeth clenched. Then he removed her hand and pushed her arms over her head, stretching out on top of her once again. She gasped as the ridge of his penis rode along the cleft of her sex. The slick friction alone was enough to bring her to the edge of climax.

  His breath turned ragged. He pushed up the hem of the shirt, revealing her breasts. What she lacked in size, she made up for in sensitivity. Her flesh plumped in his palm, her nipple tight and achy. When he dipped his head for a taste, she arched her spine and pressed herself harder against his mouth. He moistened one ripe tip, then the other, sucking her like delicate fruit. She shivered at the sensation, imagining he’d perform oral sex just as thoroughly.

  He toyed with her nipples for another moment before smoothing his hand down her belly. She moaned for the strum of his fingertips. But he stilled, as if struck by a sudden attack of conscience.

  “Touch me,” she pleaded.

  Obliging her, he traced the little triangle at the apex of her thighs. She spread her knees wider to accommodate him. He moved lower, parting the lips of her sex and inserting the tip of his finger into her snug sheath. She was wet and swollen. Panting, he thrust his finger in and out, his mouth hot on her neck.

  After a few seconds of penetration, he brought his passion-slick fingertip to her clit, where she really wanted it. He alternated between circling her slippery flesh and dipping his fingers inside her. She realized he was toying with her, making it last as long as possible. Strangled whimpers emerged from her throat, like begging. He said dirty things in her ear about wanting to suck her sweet clit.

  He wasn’t all talk, either. When she was trembling with the need to come, he withdrew his hand from between her legs and lowered his mouth to her. The instant his tongue touched her clitoris, she shattered into a thousand pieces, experiencing the most powerful orgasm of her life. It seemed to go on and on, unraveling her tension in ribbons and leaving her boneless. She slumped against the mat, breasts heaving.

  When the blood stopped pounding in her ears, she became aware of his heavy breathing and taut muscles. He lifted his head slowly, as if any motion could set him off.

  The beach was still clear, the harbor empty.

  She raised herself onto her elbows, studying him. His eyes were locked on the tingling flesh between her splayed thighs. He’d played her body like a magnetometer. It was only fair that she retaliate in kind.

  Giving his shoulders a light shove, she climbed on top of him. “You’re going to get it,” she said, brushing her lips over his.

  “I should...keep watch.”

  “So watch,” she said, kissing her way down his chest. His erection pulsed at her touch, brushing his flat belly. She wasn’t picky about penises—none of them were pretty—but his was just right. Longer than her hand, moderately thick and well-shaped. “Nice,” she said, giving him a firm squeeze.

  He tried to split his attention between the beach and her mouth, but it was a lost cause. After about thirty seconds, he gave up. Tangling his hand in her hair, he groaned as she took him deep. She returned his heated gaze, her cheeks hollow. His expression grew pained as if the pleasure was too intense to bear. She gripped the base of his shaft and swirled her tongue around the tip, making a soothing sound in the back of her throat.

  It didn’t take long. His release seemed to hit without warning, giving him no opportunity to pull away. He let out a hoarse cry, hips jerking as he came. She gentled suction, swallowing the spurts of fluid she’d wrung from him.

  When she was finished, he adjusted his shorts and sprawled on the mat. She tugged his shirt back into place and pulled the blanket up, flushed with a mixture of satisfaction and embarrassment.

  “You warm yet?” he asked.

  She ducked her head to his chest and laughed, chalking up their behavior to strong sexual chemistry with an extra shot of adrenaline. They’d had a close call. They were physical beings, human and hormonal. Stuff happened.

  “I probably should have said this...before, but I’d like to take you out. Someplace nice and boring, like miniature golf.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “You don’t want to?”

  “It doesn’t have to be anything more than this.”

  “It’s already something more.”

  If his touch hadn’t already warmed her, those words would have. “Okay,” she said, snuggling closer. “I’ll go out with you. But no golf.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  THEY WERE RESCUED at dawn.

  “Wake up,” Paul said, nudging her shoulder. “The Coast Guard is here.”

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes, surprised she’d fallen asleep. An orange and white utility boat was entering the harbor. He handed her the clothes she’d hung up to dry the night before. She scrambled into them and returned his shirt.

  They stood side by side at the shore, waving their arms. This was it. The end of their adventure. She felt relieved and saddened at the same time. It seemed too abrupt. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

  He grasped her hand, frowning at the strange look on her face. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Before she could school her emotions, a group of officers landed on the beach. Ella was assailed with warm blankets and good cheer. She asked that her sister be notified of her whereabouts.

  In the chaos, she didn’t realize Paul had let go of her hand.

  They were interviewed separately before returning to Santa Rosa. She couldn’t describe the drug smugglers, other than “dark-haired men,” and she had no idea what kind of boat they’d used. The officers didn’t appear disappointed by her vague account, perhaps because they already had the suspects in custody.

  According to the lieutenant, another Coast Guard crew had intercepted the criminals late last night. The officers had been on their way to San Miguel to investigate the marijuana bale, which Ramona had reported, along with Paul and Ella’s disappearances. They had pulled over a suspicious-looking vessel with drugs on board.

  “We think they’ve been stashing cargo on San Miguel,” the lieutenant said. “It’s a convenient drop-off point. A boat from Mexico takes the bales to the island. Another boat picks them up and brings them to LA.”

  No wonder the smugglers had shot at them. Paul and Ella hadn’t just stumbled upon o
ne marijuana bale; they’d put the entire operation in jeopardy. The suspects were Mexican nationals who would probably get deported after serving a stiff sentence.

  “Are we in danger?” Ella asked.

  “I don’t see why you would be. You can’t identify them.”

  She hoped the same was true for Paul.

  Luckily, she didn’t have to share the intimate details of their night together. No one asked what they’d done to get warm.

  The officers dropped Ella off at Santa Rosa while Paul stayed aboard. They wanted a guided tour of the coastline of San Miguel, and no one knew the area better than him. Maybe they’d find more incriminating evidence. With a half-dozen officers watching her departure, she couldn’t make a scene. Paul didn’t say he’d keep in touch. When his gaze locked on hers, pressure built behind her eyes.

  Abby and Brooke met Ella at the landing. Her sister embraced her as if she’d been gone for weeks instead of hours. Ella blinked away her tears, taking a deep breath. They waved as the Coast Guard boat sped away toward the sunny horizon.

  She was too choked up to talk about the incident, and there wasn’t time anyway. Brooke’s father had arranged for a private plane to pick them up. Abby had called him last night, frantic. He’d been prepared to organize a search crew. Needless to say, the three of them didn’t feel like exploring the islands anymore.

  Ella climbed into the plane, sniffling.

  “Ray’s taking Brooke to a baseball game,” Abby said. “He’s trying to make it up to her for canceling.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I thought we could hang out.”

  Ella nodded. She didn’t get to see Abby as much now that they lived several hours apart. When they arrived in Oxnard, a cab was waiting for Brooke. Abby said goodbye and Ella gave her niece a big hug.

  “Sorry I ruined your trip.”

  “You didn’t ruin it,” Brooke said, rolling her eyes. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Tell your dad I said thanks.”

  She shrugged, as if sending a plane was no big deal. His wealth meant a lot less to her than his affection.