Delinsky, Barbara

by The Stud

  Sending intermittent scowls Spencer's way, she took strength from self-righteous efficiency. Back and forth she went until she had a sizable pile of wood, at which point the unfortunate realization hit that if it rained, the wood would get wet and be useless. So she transferred it, armload by armload, into a haphazard pile under the plane. By this time her shorts and shirt were dirty, she had chipped the polish off the tips of two fingernails, her hair was fast falling from its pins and she was sweaty. But at least someone had done something practical, she mused, then whirled around when Spencer's booming voice broke the island's peace.

  "What are you doing?" He was bounding to his feet with a furious look on his face. "Just because the electrical system's bad doesn't mean the whole thing's no good. What in the hell will you accomplish by burning it?"

  "I'm not burning it, " Jenna snapped, "though I should for all the good it's done us. I was gathering wood, and that seemed like the only place to store it where it won't get wet if it rains. If anything passes nearby, we'll need a signal fire. "

  His anger faded instantly. He ran a hand over his face, as though belatedly waking up, then pushed that hand through his hair. "Good thinking. " He eyed her more closely and with a touch of a smile. "That really was good thinking. I'm proud of you, Jenna. "

  She didn't like his smile. It suggested surprise that she had a head on her shoulders, and was as chauvinistic as anything she'd seen him do. "Well, someone has to think around here. " She tossed a hand toward the towel. "You eat until you're stuffed, then fall into a sleep so deep that it would take an army to wake you, and in the meantime, our rescuers would have come and gone. "

  He let out a breath. "Uh-oh, you're worked up again?"

  "Someone has to be, or we'll never get out of here. "

  "What's your rush?"

  She pointed in the direction she thought home might be, though in fact she couldn't have said where north was. "I have a life back there. I have things to do. I can't spend the next few years of my life eating fish and bananas on a tropical island. "

  He let out a bored sigh. "It's not tropical. We're not even in the Caribbean. This is the Atlantic. "

  She arched a brow. "Are people rescued from the Atlantic more often than from the Caribbean?"

  "Come on, Jenna. "

  "I want to be rescued, " she stated. "I'm not the hardened adventurer you are. I'm not used to being in precarious situations like you are. You love the mystery of it, the challenge, but not me. I like security. I like stability. I like knowing where I'll be a month from now. " She gave a short headshake. "I can't take things like this in stride the way you can. I can't just turn over and go to sleep and wait for fate to happen. I have to do something. "

  He ducked his head until he was on eye level with her and said in an exasperated way, "But there isn't anything to do. "

  "We can build a fire. "

  "Not in broad daylight. Besides, I have a flare gun in the plane. A single shot'll do it if anything passes nearby. "

  She was still for a minute. "You have a flare gun. I've spent half my afternoon gathering wood for a fire, and you have a flare gun. That's just great!" Whirling around, she stalked past the towel. "You could have told me. " She plopped down on the base of the palm.

  He followed her. "You didn't ask. "

  "How could I ask? You went to sleep. "

  "Well, I was tired. You think you're the only one who feels tension? Maybe, just maybe that landing was hard on me, too. "

  Jenna wasn't in the mood to feel sorry for him. "I don't buy that You thrive on danger. For the ten years I lost during that landing, you probably gained five. "

  "If I did, you're taking them away real quick. For God's sake, Jenna, ease up, " he muttered, and started unbuttoning his shirt "This isn't the end of the world. "

  Her eyes fell to his chest, which was fast appearing. "What are you doing?"

  "Going swimming. In case you haven't noticed, it's hot here. "

  "And you've been working so hard. "

  "I don't work hard unless there's good reason to work hard, and there isn't Not here. Not now. " He pulled his arms from the sleeves and tossed the shirt aside. "We have supplies and shelter, and all the time in the world. " He undid his shorts. "If you want to scurry around seeing to all kinds of little domestic chores, be my guest. " He pushed down the shorts and his briefs and stepped out of them. "Just don't ask me to help. " Stark naked and totally unselfconscious, he cocked his hands on his hips. "I'll be the first one to fix a meal or set up a tarp or dig a latrine, but I refuse to go looking for other work. I don't need routine. I don't need chores to keep me happy. If I'm stuck here, I intend to make the most of it. I intend to have fun. "

  Jenna swallowed and shifted in her seat. She was trying desperately to keep her eyes above his neck, but she was abundantly aware of what lay below. She had touched it. She knew the texture of the hair there, and the firmness of his flesh when he was aroused.

  "Go ahead, " he goaded. "Look. I'm not shy. "

  "That's obvious, " she said, but she kept her eyes on his. What she saw there was nearly as unsettling as what she was seeing below his waist. Those blue eyes gleamed. They were suddenly filled with a brand of mischief that had danger etched in silver, and they were coming closer. With smooth, deliberate movements, he approached, leaned over and propped his hands on either side of her hips.

  His breath was gentle against her cheek. "I dare you, Jenna. I dare you to look at me. " He remained bent that way, letting his lips play by her ear.

  Unable to resist, she looked down at his body. Her chest tightened at the sight of him. He was large and bold, suspended so beautifully that he might have been sculpted by a master—which indeed he had been, she mused. By way of resisting the urge to touch him, she pressed her hands to the palm trunk.

  Slowly he straightened and took a step back. She kept looking at him, curious and fascinated, impressed, aroused.

  "I dare you, Jenna" came his low voice. "Dare you to take off your clothes and swim with me. " Her eyes flew to his face, and everything she saw there reinforced the dare. "Dare you to let me see you naked. "

  Her heart was beating soft and fast, a tiny animal caught between danger and desire. She swallowed again. Her eyes were wide on his.

  Then he gave her the indolent blink of a tomcat, turned and set off toward the water, calling calmly over his shoulder, "You know where to find me. "

  She sat there trembling, watching him go. She had seen him naked from behind before, but not with the sun glancing off his bronzed skin and not with the sparkle of the water setting his tall, tapering shape into stark relief. The sheer magnificence of him took her breath away.

  In an attempt to restore it, she leaned forward and hugged her knees. From that position, she watched him enter the water. He waded until the waves reached his thighs, then dove shallowly and began a strong overarm stroke away from shore.

  He was right, she knew. She hated to admit it, because her own success in life had come from analyzing a situation and taking action, but in this situation there wasn't much action to take. If Spencer felt that tinkering with the engine would get them anywhere, he would do it She did believe that he knew his plane forward and backward. If he said they were grounded until he got parts, it was true.

  So what were they to do in the meantime? Not much. They could sit and fret over their situation, or make the most of it. Dragging her eyes from his dark head and the arms that stroked steadily through the water, she took stock of the setting. In its own way, the island was beautiful. Though it wasn't as lush as some of the islands she'd visited, it had a natural appeal. It was quiet and peaceful. Its sand was soft and white, its water a translucent turquoise. The air was clean, the breeze refreshing. If she had ever wanted a private setting in which to be with Spencer, she couldn't have asked for one more so.

  The danger was there, the same danger that had been present since the day Spencer had announced he would father her child. Jenna had always been sligh
tly in awe of him. From the first night they had come together, she had feared that the awe might grow into something deeper. And it had—so much so, that she who never lied had lied about not being pregnant so that she could have more time with him.

  Should the lie go to waste? Should she fritter away her time with him worrying about getting back to civilization? Or should she give him her ultimate trust, take his word that they'd get back and have a good time with him here?

  She could end up loving him more. That was the danger now. If it happened, her suffering would be even worse than it would already be when their time here was done and they went their own ways. Then again, if it happened, she would have memories to cherish, memories to someday pass on to her child about the atmosphere in which it had been made.

  She looked back at the water. Spencer was swimming parallel to the shore now, doing a strong breast stroke. As she watched, he turned onto his back. One muscled arm followed the other in confident overarm rhythm. He was clearly relaxed and enjoying himself. She wanted to be relaxed, too. She wanted to enjoy herself. If the most she could have was memories, damn it, she wanted them.

  Pushing herself to her feet, she began to undress. She put her clothes in a neat pile, thinking about habits that were hard to break, like neatness and modesty. Spencer was doing the front crawl again, so he couldn't see her, still the touch of the breeze on her bare skin made her acutely aware of her nakedness, as did the kiss of the sun on virgin curves as she set out for the water. She went faster than Spencer had, seeking the shelter of the waves. The water was bathtub warm. She dove under and came up with her head back. Her hair streamed away from her forehead and down her shoulders, those few pins that had remained in it lost to the surf. She stroked away from shore, then treaded water until she caught sight of Spencer. He was swimming toward her, his head above water, his arms beneath. The surf helped him along. He kept his eyes on her.

  She continued to tread water. When he was an arm's length away, he let his feet sink until he, too, was upright in the water. As they bobbed gently before each other, his eyes asked a silent question, then lowered to the water's surface in search of the answer. Jenna had only to look through the waves herself at the hair clearly visible midway down his chest to know what he was seeing.

  Guiding himself with purposeful scissor kicks, he came closer and ran his hands from her shoulders, down her back and over her buttocks. With the revelation that she wasn't wearing even bikini bottoms, his blue eyes seemed to take on the life of the sea. She kept hers fastened to them, taking encouragement as it was needed.

  "Hold on to my shoulders, " he urged. At the same time, he gave her hips a gentle push toward the surface. When she was prone, he began a breast stroke that propelled her backward. Not once did his eyes leave hers.

  She knew the instant he was able to stand. He touched a foot to the ocean floor, then kicked off again and swam on a little longer so that when he stood this time, the water came to midchest. Just as her own legs started to sink, he brought her against him.

  She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and closed her eyes. This was what she wanted—the closeness, the feel of his body against her, the strength of his arms around her. She felt secure and savored. She felt wanted for who she was as she had come to him, totally unadorned.

  He continued to walk until the water lapped at his waist. Reaching back, he took her arms from around his neck and eased her down to her feet. His gaze fell to her breasts, which floated just above the waterline. His face darkened with desire.

  He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. His eyes touched her with a reverence that gave her the courage to let him look his fill, and where courage left off, pleasure picked up. That surprised her. She hadn't anticipated feeling pleasure when he looked at her. She hadn't expected to feel proud or aroused, yet she felt both.

  Drawing his hands from the water, he touched her breasts with his fingertips. He traced her roundness, then cupped her fullness with his palm and gave his thumbs free rein. They slid over her wet flesh first on the outer swell of her, then progressively inward until, just when Jenna was about to go wild with frustration, they covered her nipples.

  She didn't even try to contain the sound of aching pleasure that came from her throat. Spencer looked at her as though she was a woman. He touched her as though she was a woman. The fact that she cried out like one was normal and acceptable, even desirable, if the expression of satisfaction on his face meant anything. Moving his hands to her hips, he walked her backward until the water fell away from first her ribs, then her waist, then her navel. He paused to watch the sea skim her. He spread his fingers, moved his palms. He walked her backward another few steps until her thighs emerged, and stood for the longest time with his gaze locked on the dark triangle at their apex. Then, taking a slow route that caressed her at each stop, his eyes rose to hers.

  "Don't ever hide from me again, Jenna, " he murmured. "You're too beautiful to play that game. "

  She couldn't speak, couldn't take her eyes from his face. The look there was everything she could have ever wanted, and though she didn't fool herself into thinking that it would last longer than their stay on the island, she basked in it now. It gave her the confidence to rise on her toes and initiate the kind of long, soul kiss that she hadn't liked from other men, much less been able to give.

  He rewarded her by sinking to his knees in the surf and bringing her down over his lap. She felt him rise inside her to fill the aching void that had been, and there, with the ocean playing gently around their legs, he loved her as she had never dreamed to be loved. She touched him and offered herself to be touched. She opened her mouth wide to his, opened her body wide to his. She couldn't seem to get or give enough, and when they both climaxed, when their sharp gasps had mellowed into softer pants of satisfaction, she knew that she'd made the right decision.

  For as long as they were on the island, she was Spencer's. He was the fantasy she had never dared entertain, and even if there would be pain at the end, she was going for the pleasure now. She owed it to Spencer as a thank-you for giving her a child. She owed it to the child as a source of memories of its father to warm long winter nights. Mostly, though, she owed it to herself. She was a woman. Mothering a child would be one source of fulfillment Being with Spencer was another.

  Chapter 11

  Paradise was an uninhabited island, after all, Jenna decided several nights later as she lay in Spencer's arms. He had made a bed by scattering fern fronds on the sand, covering them with towels and rolling blankets into pillows. He had even stretched a tarp from the body of the plane to its wing to provide shelter should it rain during the night.

  It had rained that afternoon, a quick island rain that came for an hour and left when the dark cloud passed by. Rather than taking shelter, they had walked the beach. When their clothes had been drenched, they'd taken them off and continued on naked. Jenna had never done anything like that before and was still stunned by the sense of ultimate freedom in it She doubted she'd forget that, or the caress of the rain on her bare skin, for as long as she lived.

  At the moment though, rain seemed unlikely. A half-moon was shimmering over the water, silvering the linings of the occasional clouds that passed by. The sea lapped the shore with fair-weather ease. It was a calm, quiet night.

  They had cooked dinner—steak from the cooler and potatoes—over a fire made with Jenna's wood. The flame had long since died, leaving an orange glow on the sand not far from where they lay. She was on her side against him, with her cheek on his chest and a leg between his, while he held her close with a single firm arm. Though she wore one of his shirts and he wore shorts, the memory of flesh against flesh, as it had been so often in the three days since they'd landed on the beach, kept them warm.

  It occurred to Jenna that she had never felt so peaceful or content in her life, which was particularly remarkable since there had been no sign of a cruise ship, a sailboat or a rescue plane. She should have been worried. But she wasn't.
It was too early to worry. She was having too fine a time with Spencer.

  "What are you thinking?" he asked against her hair.

  "How far away Rhode Island feels. Not just physically. Emotionally. Like it's another world. Like I've been through a time warp. "

  "That was the trauma of the landing. "

  "The landing wasn't so bad, " she said because he sounded disturbed. Yes, she'd been upset. In hindsight, though, there hadn't been a point when she had truly believed they would crash. Spencer had been in control of the plane the entire time. "I think it's more the difference between here and there. Here, there's no sense of time. Life is slow and leisurely. We do what we want, when we want. There, life goes according to schedule. "

  "Tell me more about that life, Jenna. About what a day is like. "

  She moved her cheek against his chest, loving the feel of the hair there, loving the firmness of his flesh, loving the way he asked questions. As an adventurer, he was naturally curious, but she'd never thought his curiosity would extend to the details of her life. Yet this wasn't the first time he'd asked.

  "My day is very organized, " she began. "My secretary types up a schedule before she leaves the office each day, so that when I arrive the next morning, I know just what to do. Sometimes I have reports to read. Mostly I'm busy with meetings and phone calls. "

  "Where are the meetings?"

  "Sometimes in my office. Sometimes in our conference room. Sometimes in restaurants. Often in restaurants, " she amended dryly. "Businessmen love an excuse to eat in style and deduct the meal. "

  "Businessmen. What about businesswomen?"

  "Not us. We're always on diets. We'd be just as happy to meet in our offices. That's the safest place. "