“And what about Logan?” Angela took a step toward her sister, her shoulders squared, her attitude as confrontational as Rachel’s. Angel always had been able to give back as much as she got.
Like now. “What about him?” Rachel fought to keep her tone even.
“How does he fit into this picture of hedonistic sex? I can’t imagine he’s the love ‘em and leave ‘em type you seem to prefer.”
Rachel gritted her teeth and forced herself to speak coldly. “Logan doesn’t fit into my picture at all. Maybe you’ll find he fits with yours. You seem to like picking up my leavings.” And she turned, flinging open the door on a startled bellman and stalking past him, preferring to let him figure out the luggage on his own than to continue the conversation with her sister.
****
A limousine took her to the island’s little airfield and the driver escorted her to a comfortable waiting room inside the hangar. “Mr. Logan wants you to wait here for your pilot.”
Rachel nodded absently. She’d half hoped Logan would appear to say good-bye or even attempt to convince her to stay, but he hadn’t. Her whole exit had been so carefully orchestrated, in fact, she couldn’t help but believe that he was relieved to see her go. Maybe he’d decided she wasn’t worth the effort. And he was right, of course. A man like him could find a woman without all the baggage she carried. A woman who could love him completely with a heart that had never been broken.
Not that it mattered. Millionaire resort owner or local pool boy, he was just another man, and one she couldn’t afford to be near. She wanted him, but not like she’d wanted the Spanish kid or any of the other men she’d seduced. She wanted him with a core of her being that wasn’t even there anymore. It wasn’t possible for her to want anyone this way, let alone Ian Logan. But he’d torn down her defenses and when she rebuilt them, she’d left gaping holes. As if she wanted to let him back in.
Restless, she paced the little waiting room, finding a pot of coffee on a table nearby and deciding to help herself. Just as she started toward it, however, a voice spoke quietly from the door. “I see everything worked out well this morning.”
She wheeled to find Logan standing in the door. “Holy God. What are you doing here?” The words were yanked from her in her astonishment and she clapped her lips closed at the end of them, not happy to think they might reveal her pleasure at seeing him.
He smiled, his eyes flickering over her. He looked good in a silky Caribbean blue shirt and light-colored slacks. She glanced down, not surprised to find he wore a pair of raffia flipflop sandals. He moved past her. “You wanted coffee?”
She hesitated, then nodded. He poured a cup. “Cream or sugar?” He glanced at her.
“Black.”
He nodded. “I figured.” He handed her the cup.
“None for you?” She raised her eyebrows, taking a sip of the scalding liquid and regretting it.
“Never when I fly.” At her look of surprise, he shrugged. “Pilots can be hard to come by for unscheduled hops. I’m taking you on my private plane. And I’m the pilot.”
She gave him a suspicious look, blowing on the hot coffee before taking another sip. “I hope this isn’t some attempt to convince me to stay.”
“Oh no. We settled all that last night, didn’t we?” He motioned at her mug. “Finish up. It’s a short jump to the mainland, but we need to get going. I’m just going to go finish up the pre-flight.”
He sounded so chipper she wanted to hit him, but he was out of the room in a moment, and she took another long drink of the cooler coffee, still feeling sluggish and tired. She wished she’d slept more. She sighed and looked around, finally sinking into an armchair. If this cup didn’t make her feel more awake, she’d have another. No way was she going to spend her last hour with Logan half asleep.
****
“Rachel!” The voice yanked her into semi-consciousness, or maybe it was the hands gripping her shoulders. God, had she fallen asleep in the waiting room? And why was everything so bright, and why did it all hurt so much? She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, let her rest for a few more minutes, but the anxiety in his voice when he called her name again made her push past the inertia.
“Jesus. What? Did I fall asleep?”
He stared at her for a second, then enfolded her in his arms. “Thank God. For a second I thought…” He stopped, pushing her away from him and she noticed for the first time the black marks on his face.
“God, what happened to you? Were you working on the plane or something?” She pulled away, brushing something gritty from her shoulders, feeling more in her hair. Why was she sandy? She looked around, taking in her surroundings with astonishment. “What?” She returned her gaze to him. “What am I doing on the beach?”
He frowned. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“The waiting room at the airport. What happened? I hurt all over.” She struggled to stand, but he stopped her.
“Wait. Take it easy. You don’t remember getting on the plane? Maybe you hit your head harder than I thought.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “You’re not bleeding.” His frown deepened. “How do you feel?”
“What do you mean, how do I feel? I feel like a truck ran over me. I told you, I hurt all over.” Her voice came out sounding petulant and whiny and she stopped, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand. What happened?”
He hesitated, glanced around and finally said, “Let’s get out of the sun. It’s the middle of the afternoon and you don’t have any sunblock on.”
She let him help her to her feet, leaning on him as she turned toward the shadier area just off the beach. She stopped, first because she didn’t recognize the beach and second because of the smoking, blackened hulk a few hundred feet away. She gasped, her knees buckling beneath her. “Oh my God! Were we on…that?”
“Let’s get out of the sun.” His voice was very gentle, his arm strong around her. She let herself lean on him, gratitude for his support overwhelming even her shock. He led her to the shade of a palm tree and helped her sit. “Wait here.”
Before she could stop him, he went back toward the wreckage, tossing aside some of the lighter pieces, obviously searching for something. She scanned the area. It looked like the set of a Hollywood movie. She felt dizzy and returned her gaze to Logan. His blue silk shirt had torn and blackened in places, but she didn’t see any blood. How could they have been in a crash like this one and walked away unharmed?
Relatively unharmed, anyway. She really did feel sore all over. Her head ached and her mouth was dry and she felt more than a little nauseous. Not bad for a woman who’d just escaped a plane crash, though. She might have thought it was a really bad hangover if she didn’t know better. She groaned. Way to look at the bright side, Rache.
“Are you all right?” Logan stood beside her, holding a first aid kit.
“Yeah, great. Would you please just tell me what happened?”
He handed her a packet of aspirin and a bottle of water, his expression grim. “What happened is I’m firing whatever mechanic worked on my plane this last time. I told them there was something off with the rudder—”
“Stop!” She tore open the aspirin and swallowed it with a grateful gulp of the water. Had water ever tasted so sweet? She closed her eyes for a minute, then opened them again. “Okay, so there was something wrong with the plane. How did we survive that?”
“We didn’t.” At her astonished look, he laughed. “I mean we survived; your head wouldn’t hurt so bad if we didn’t, would it? But most of that happened after I made the emergency landing.”
“The emergency landing.” Feeling weak, she lay back on the sand. “And you managed that on a beach and dragged us to safety. And I slept through all of it?”
“Like I said, I think you hit your head. But yeah. That’s the gist of it.” He flopped onto the sand next to her. “If it makes you feel any better, I think I saw some of your luggage had been thrown clear.”
&nb
sp; “Oh so much better.” She turned her head to look at him. Did he actually look cheerful? Was that a little smile in his eyes? “Are you happy about this?”
“Could have been worse.” He brushed her hair from her face, his expression sobering. “For a minute there I thought it was worse.” His eyes flickered down to her lips and back to meet her gaze. “I like the world better with you in it.”
Her lips parted involuntarily and then she sat up, alarm bells clanging in her aching head. “Did you say you saw one of my cases around somewhere? I could use something stronger than aspirin.”
He stood with an ease and grace that made her wonder if he could be as sore as she was. “Stay put. I’ll bring you what I can find.”
For half an hour, he searched the wreckage, bringing her anything he could find that might be useful. Her cosmetic case with the Dramamine and Valium was unfortunately missing, but he easily located the two cases of clothes. When he brought her purse, she had a momentary surge of hope, but it died when she noted the cracked black screen of her cell phone. “So much for that. I don’t guess the plane has an emergency beacon, does it?”
“It does. Whether it survived the fire I can’t say yet.” He studied the still-smoking hulk and cracked open another bottle of water to take a swig. “Probably, but we may have to wait and see.” He swiped his arm across his forehead. “Although if I’m right about where we are, at least shelter may not be a problem.”
“Really? Why is that?” She tore her eyes away from the open collar of his shirt and the tanned skin beneath. How could a man look so good on a hot day right after they’d both been through a plane crash? Was she actually horny now? What was wrong with her? And how much of her arousal could she blame on survival instinct and how much on the tender look he’d given her? I like the world better with you in it.
He seemed not to notice her discomfiture. “Buddy of mine owns a fishing cottage on one of these islands. Not much else here, but he keeps it provisioned and we’ll have a roof over our heads.” He gave her a measuring look. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah. At least, I think so.” She stood, feeling a little unsteady but happy to find her feet would support her. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Great.” He picked up her suitcases. “Let’s go check it out.”
****
Rachel followed him blindly through what seemed like impenetrable jungle. She didn’t even care if he was right about the fishing cottage. She just wanted to find a place to lie down and sleep. Wasn’t I just unconscious for who knows how long? She knew she must be in shock. Who wouldn’t be?
And yet as they left the wreck behind on the beach, it felt as if the crash hadn’t happened. Except that she was here on some tiny deserted island with Logan when she should be in Cancun planning her next escapade. Her last escapade. And she was actually happy to be alive. “This is so weird.”
“Did you say something?” Logan looked over his shoulder. He’d found some sort of knife in the wreckage and had been hacking the undergrowth aside to make a path for them, the heavier of her two bags slung effortlessly over his shoulder. A dark trail of sweat tracked over what was left of his Caribbean blue shirt. She had a sudden longing to peel that shirt off of him, feel the smooth skin beneath… “Rachel?”
Rachel yanked herself out of her impromptu daydream, hefting the bag she carried into a more comfortable position on her shoulder. “Yeah, sorry. You think your fishing buddy will be here?”
“Doubt it. He’s a stock trader, spends most of the year in New York. But every August, like clockwork, he comes down.” Logan returned his attention to hacking at vines and palm leaves. “I’m pretty sure he won’t mind us using his place though. Considering the circumstances.”
“August? Great. Just four months away. I don’t suppose he has anything useful like a satellite phone. Or neighbors.” Rachel felt the tartness of her words on her tongue and didn’t care. She was nearing the point of exhaustion. When was the last time she’d gotten this much exercise? Months. Months of drinking her meals, lounging by the pool—sex had been her only exertion. Guess it doesn’t build up this kind of stamina. She smiled to herself, but then her ankle turned under her and she stumbled.
He caught her with the non-knife wielding arm. “You okay?”
She shook her head. “I think I’m really far from okay, actually.”
“Well, hang in there. If I’m right about where we are, we’re almost there.” Still supporting her with one arm, he cut aside the underbrush with several more swipes and they emerged into a clearing.
At first, she almost didn’t realize that the clearing was actually more of a lawn. Not exactly a neatly kept lawn, but grass, nonetheless, with only a couple of palm trees and some shrubs and…
“I guess I was right about where we are.” Logan released her as she stared in wonder at the house in front of them.
By fishing hut standards, it was pretty damn nice. It blended in with its surroundings, the gray-green shingles of the walls mimicking the palm trees. The brownie-yellow roof at first looked like thatch, but she realized it was another impersonation of the natural surroundings. The jungle equivalent of a modern log cabin. A stone walkway led up to the front door, where Logan was even then looking for a key under the mat. He produced it with triumph. “Ta da. We don’t even have to break a window.”
She hurried to stand beside him, clutching his hand in hers, suddenly unwilling to be alone. Her body shuddered, which was ridiculous in the sweltering ninety-degree heat of the jungle. He paused, his arm going around her, his expression concerned. “Are you okay? You’re shivering.”
“I’m—” Fine. The word was on her tongue, and she choked on it, and she could only shake her head, feeling weak and tired and—for once—not afraid to let him know that. And the horrible shuddering continued, as if she were in an arctic landscape and not the Central American jungle. She shook until her teeth rattled. She turned her eyes imploringly to him. What’s wrong with me?
“You’re in shock.” He put both arms around her, massaging her and holding her close. “Jesus. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. You’ve been through so much.” The gentle way he spoke and the loving way he held her warmed her a little, helping her relax into his arms.
He ushered her inside, but she didn’t look around, her vision dimming so she could only concentrate on what was immediately in front of her. He helped her to a soft surface and she collapsed, feeling him cover her with a blanket. He disappeared for a moment, and panic threatened to eclipse what little was left of her sense. She sat up. “Logan!”
“It’s okay, baby.” And it was. He was there with more blankets than she would have thought existed in the jungle. He covered her with them, then lay down beside her, holding her, stroking her hair, somehow managing to ease the horrible tension that held her in its grip.
As she relaxed, she closed her eyes, but then she opened them again. “Don’t leave me.”
He smiled into her eyes, brushing her hair back from her face. “There’s nothing on God’s earth I’d rather do than fall asleep with you in my arms, sweetheart.”
His words warmed her from the inside, and she sat up, pushing the blankets away, then lay back in his arms. A tiny shiver ran through her and his arms tightened protectively, as if by instinct. Feeling safer than she ever had before, she buried her face in his torn shirt.
Chapter 7
It was darker when she woke, and he was gone. One of the blankets covered her, and she sat up, feeling completely rested and surprised to find the pain was gone. She stretched and looked around. The light looked different, like late afternoon, almost evening. She must have been asleep for a couple of hours.
The interior of the little cabin was as surprising as the exterior. Marble floor stretched from one end of the large room to the other, and extravagant jungle scenes adorned all the walls except one, which was one large window. A half partition with a granite countertop divided a small kitchen area from the living/dining room. A door
opened off to the left, probably to a bedroom. The furnishings were plain but sumptuous. The couch she’d slept on was made of some microfiber material softer and more luxurious than anything else she’d ever experienced.
“This is a fishing cottage?” She spoke out loud without meaning to. A second later, Logan came out of the bedroom.
“You’re awake.” He smiled. “Thank God. Are you all right? Do you feel okay? Any disorientation?”
She stretched again. “I’m fine. In fact, I feel great. Those must have been some pretty good aspirin.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Relief? But before she could question it, he stood briskly. “Well, if we’re going to be stranded on an island, this is the way to do it. While you were out, I turned on the hot water. The place is run on a generator and a geothermal HVAC. It’ll take a while before things get going, but once it does, we’ll have almost all the comforts of home.”
He walked into the kitchenette and rummaged through the cabinets. “Not bad. A lot of canned and dried stuff. Some spices. Ahh.” He turned, holding a bottle in his hand. “Yet another thing Jake and I agree on.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Whisky?”
He tsked. “For a drinker, you don’t know much about alcohol, do you?”
“Not really.” She rubbed her aching feet, glad he’d taken off her sandals. Why, oh why hadn’t she worn flipflops or tennis shoes or those cute little hiking boots she’d noticed in the boutique window the other day? Of course, to be fair, she hadn’t counted on hiking through a jungle today. But that didn’t help her sore feet much. “I only ever drank wine before—” She paused, frowning. She’d almost said “before the accident,” and she didn’t want to make a confession now. As soon as they were rescued she would be nothing but a memory to him.
Island Magic Page 8