“Scotch.” He held the bottle closer to her, as if it would make a difference. “The Macallan 1926, to be exact. It’s sixty years old and it costs $54,000…on a bad day.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Quite a discovery. We’ll have a party later.”
“You don’t party with Scotch. It’s too civilized a drink. You sip and appreciate. There’s a whole art to it.” He frowned. “I think Jake’s got some Glenlivet in there, too. We’ll start there. You’ll need to perfect your skills before I’m willing to risk his fury by letting you at his Macallan.”
She raised her eyebrows. “At the moment, I’m more interested in a shower. Didn’t you say something about hot water?”
“Yeah, but it’ll take a while.” He set the bottle aside and came over to her, squatting down in front of her and taking her hands in his, his fingers on the inside of her wrists. His expression was concerned. “You look tired again. Why don’t you lie down for a while and I’ll let you know when the shower’s good and warm?”
He was right. She was tired. Again. Wondering when that had happened, she nodded and lay back on the couch, feeling him cover her with an afghan as her consciousness grayed out.
****
Logan spotted Tony pacing the dock as he came over the last dune. He looked anxious, and he didn’t wait for Logan to get to him. He nearly ran down the dock, calling, “Is she okay?”
“Still groggy, and in and out of consciousness, but we expected that. And she bought it. All of it. Jeez, Sabrina did a fantastic job. That old plane wreck was very convincing.” Logan grinned, feeling the rush he always felt with a successful act. He’d almost forgotten this feeling of triumph.
“Jesus, Logan. Get a grip, man. You just drugged and kidnapped a woman and you’re acting like it’s the greatest illusion you ever pulled off.” Tony glared at his friend. “You’re certain she’s okay?”
His friend’s worried tone got Logan’s attention, and he gripped Tony’s arm. “It’s okay. Her vitals are fine, so don’t worry.” He scanned the parcels they’d unloaded from the boat earlier when they came to the island. “I should be able to get most of these in one load. I’ll store the rest in the shed. I don’t have much time, though. I don’t know how long she’ll sleep.”
“You got what I said about kidnapping, right?” Tony folded his arms over his chest.
Logan stacked the parcels he would need immediately in one pile and began hoisting the others to take to the storage shed at the end of the dock. It was waterproof and sealed against the moist heat, so everything would be fine there, and he should be able to come back for supplies on a regular basis, even if he had to wait until she was asleep.
“Are you listening?” Tony shook his head and picked up a stack of boxes to carry to the shed. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. More than that I can’t believe you pulled it off.”
“Amazing what money, manpower and a little know-how can do, isn’t it?” Logan shot his friend a look. “I never thought I’d need those Hollywood skills again, but they did come in handy today. Come on, man. You can’t tell me you aren’t feeling a little high off this one, too.”
Tony opened his mouth as if to protest, then shrugged. “Okay, yeah. But this is serious, and we’ve got to be ready to deal with the consequences. You’ve kidnapped that woman and I’m an accessory.”
“It’s not going to come to that.” Logan tried to sound soothing. Second thoughts couldn’t get in his way now. Not now that he was on the right track to saving Rachel. He stacked his own boxes and Tony’s neatly into the shed and looked back down the dock. How many times had he watched the sunset from here? And what had he been thinking on those solitary evenings? That he’d like someone to share it with. “Look, it’s going to be okay. I’m so close to getting through to her. And she was on a self-destructive path before. I honestly believe she would have committed suicide if I hadn’t interfered. She still will if I take her back too soon. I can’t really make things worse for her.” He paused. “Did her sister buy that I took her to Cancun?”
Tony made a dismissive gesture. “Stacey handled her. She’s good with that kind of thing. Has her convinced that you took Rachel off on some romantic getaway.” He snorted. “Although why you’d need to leave the island for that, I don’t know.” He gave Logan a sharp look. “You know she’s really worried about her sister, right?”
“She should be.” Logan felt his features twist a little with distaste. He shook it off. Angela didn’t matter now. He couldn’t afford to spend time on negative emotions. He needed to concentrate on Rachel and convincing her that healing was what she really wanted. “I just need a couple of days. Maybe a week, I don’t know. I just need to convince her she can believe again.”
“Believe in what?” Tony spread his hands. “Magic? Life? What is it that you want this woman to believe in, Logan? You?”
He shook his head. “Something much more elemental and necessary.” He gazed at the sunset for a moment before turning back to his friend. “Love.”
****
Rachel woke to the smell of sizzling meat and rolled over on the soft bed. Disoriented, she sat up, gazing out the picture window at the twilit jungle and the memory came rushing back to her of the airplane crash. God, was that all for real? She stretched, relieved the achiness hadn’t returned. She still felt sweaty and grimy, though. A moment later, she wondered how she’d gotten to the bedroom. Logan must have moved her so she’d be more comfortable.
She heard whistling from the kitchen and stood, poking her head out the door. Logan stood by the stove, browning something heavenly smelling in a pan. He’d obviously showered and now wore a new pair of jeans and a t-shirt with the logo of a pub in London. He looked natural in these surroundings, as if he belonged there. When he glanced up a lock of his black hair fell over his eyes.
“Hey, sleepyhead. Feeling better?” In spite of his light tone, she sensed a touch of worry.
Her heart gave a little extra thumpety-thump before she managed to settle it into a regular rhythm. She yawned, covering her mouth. “Yeah, much. What are you making?”
“Best damn pasta you’ll ever taste. Pancetta with mozzarella-olive sauce. You’ll love it.” He grinned. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“I am, actually.” As if in agreement, her stomach growled and she laughed. “Where did you find pancetta?”
“Jake has a deep freeze. He keeps meat like pancetta and ham there all year. Even a couple steaks, although it’ll probably take a day or two to defrost them.” He appeared unworried. “The water’s plenty warm now if you want to shower.”
“Great.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Good thing your buddy Jake is always prepared. Was he a boy scout or something?”
He laughed. “Doubt it. Not really his thing. But he does like to live well, even when he’s down here.”
“I’ll say.” She snorted. “I know my brains were sort of scrambled by the crash, but do I remember you showing me a fifty thousand dollar bottle of whisky?”
“Scotch.” He drained the now crispy pancetta without removing it from the pan and turned. “And yes, but we won’t break into that one unless we get desperate. I want to make sure I can replace anything we use and I can’t swear I can find another one of those.”
“Unless we get desperate? How long do you figure we’re going to be here, anyway?” She couldn’t disguise her dismay. “Not that this is a bad place to be stranded. As deserted islands go, it’s pretty awesome. Hot tub, fire pit, stocked pantry, Scotch…” She shrugged. “But still. We’ve got lives, right? I mean, you’ve got a life to live and I’ve got one to fritter away.”
He set the pan on the stovetop and took a step closer to her. He brushed the back of his hand across her face and bent to kiss her gently on the lips. The caress lasted only an instant, but by the time he drew away, she felt as if she might not mind spending a few days here with him. Alone. With a soft bed and food and drink and no one arriving from the life she’d once lived to rem
ind her of all she’d done wrong. Here she might at last be able to let it all go.
For that instant, she felt as if she teetered on the brink of something powerful enough to shrink the yawning black abyss so it couldn’t swallow her.
Heaven. She raised her eyes to his, knowing he could read her heart there. She wanted to lean into him and stay there, and at the moment she didn’t care if he knew. Oh Nora, how could you leave this man? The thought brought her to her senses at the memory of what would have been if their flight had been uninterrupted. I was going to go somewhere and end it all. I was going to leave him forever, too.
She stepped back, shaking her head. “Sorry. I’m still disoriented. I—I need a shower. And food.” She turned, determined to get away from him. “I stink. I’ll…be right back.” She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if he could see her escape for what it was, but he just turned back to the stove without another word. She felt a rush of regret that she quickly diverted and dammed up in a corner of her heart. She couldn’t afford to regret. Not that, anyway. What she ought to regret was the fact that he might die with her on this island.
But they weren’t going to die. In spite of the plane crash—crash landing, she reminded herself—and the thick jungle surrounding them, she felt strangely safe. The sensation was like an old garment she’d discovered in the back of her closet and put on to find it still fit perfectly…but she didn’t like the color anymore.
I don’t want to be safe. I want to die so I won’t hurt anymore.
A shower was exactly what she needed. She let the hard, hot water pummel her skin, lathered with the soap he’d left and stepped out of the shower feeling new. She towel-dried her dark hair and put on a red sundress, painting her lips with the same shade of lipstick. She studied her image in the mirror. She looked sexy and untouchable and desirable all at the same time. An apt reflection of the turmoil of emotions she couldn’t avoid and wasn’t sure how to suppress much longer.
****
Logan set the table on the terrace, resolutely focusing on the task at hand and not the beautiful woman in his shower. When the food was on the table and she hadn’t emerged, he sank onto the outdoor couch facing onto the jungle, listening to the scratchy sounds of the insects and the far-off calls of birds and other animals. He smiled a little at the illusion of isolation he’d created here. He’d done it for himself originally, a compromise between his desire to keep the island totally natural and still share it with others. On this tiny island he could feel totally alone.
And yet, it was in actuality only a few miles away from Isla Foriscura. At the right point on the island you could see its bigger sister, easily reachable by boat. Everything on the island was the way he’d found it except for the dock, the little cottage and the beach he’d loaned to Sabrina a few years ago to stage a plane crash for a movie. The same one he’d used today for his magic trick.
The magic trick with an audience of one. Rachel. A woman he admired, a woman in pain, a woman who needed real magic in her life. And though he hoped she’d find it here, he still felt a little guilt for fooling her. What would Nora think of him bringing her friend here under false pretenses? What would Nora think of the way he’d begun to feel about Rachel? He shook off the doubts, forcing himself to clear his head of all but the sounds of the jungle.
He’d named the tiny bit of land “Foriscurita”, which suited it well. It was his tiny outdoor cure, his escape from the busy resort, which was both more and less than what he’d planned. Foriscurita, in spite of its small size, was home to hundreds of animals, thousands of insects. He heard the faint but distinct muffled growl of a howler monkey and smiled. The first time he’d heard that sound, he’d been certain it was a tiger, even though he knew it was impossible. He’d been fascinated when his guide told him about the howler monkey, who could be heard up to five kilometers away and whose call was only slightly less noisy than a train.
He closed his eyes, listening to the jungle song, feeling, as he had from the first moment he set foot on the island, that it was full of magic. A much more elemental magic than what he’d performed on the Strip of Las Vegas or on Broadway in New York. And much, much more true than what he’d let himself be twisted into when he went to Hollywood.
The howler monkey’s call echoed through the jungle and into his heart.
“Dear God, what was that?” Rachel’s voice sounded startled.
He opened his eyes and turned to her, at peace again with himself. Stronger than he had been. “Howler monkey. No worries. He’s probably harmless and certainly miles away.”
“Miles away?” She cocked her eyebrow dubiously. “He didn’t sound like he was miles away.”
He stood. “Trust me. If he were any closer, you’d know.” He moved to the table and uncovered the dishes. “This should be hot, if you’re hungry.”
She stepped away from the door and he noticed the red sundress that hugged her curves just right. His gaze swept over her, appreciating her beauty in the same way he’d enjoy a beautiful piece of art. But when he caught sight of her bare feet, he frowned. “Jesus.”
She glanced down. “That’s just what happens to feet when you hike two miles through thick jungle in high heels. Nothing to worry about.”
“They look bruised.” He peered closer. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’ll be fine. As soon as I drink my wine. More of your friend Jake’s private reserve?” She placed her napkin in her lap, picking up the glass and studying the chardonnay with interest, passing it under her nose to catch a whiff of the scent. “God, that smells wonderful.” She took a deep sip and set it aside.
He considered her with interest. A friend had once told him what he’d always considered a basic truth about alcoholics: If you think someone has a problem with alcohol, you’re probably right. He’d always agreed with this assessment. For the most part, he figured most people probably did have some basic problem with alcohol. Not many people could resist the euphoric influence of fermented beverages—that feeling that nothing could go wrong, nothing ever had gone wrong, and even if something did go wrong, you wouldn’t really care. Most of his guests arrived half toasted and spent the rest of their stay working on staying that way.
Yet here sat a woman who he’d been certain was an alcoholic and possibly had a drug problem, too, calmly sipping her wine and setting it aside to concentrate on her food. Maybe alcohol isn’t her addiction at all. The thought was unsettling considering what he knew about her sex life. He’d heard of sex addicts. But he didn’t think that was Rachel, either. Which brought him back to whatever the trauma was she’d suffered. Her husband’s desertion didn’t fully account for it. It was as if she’d lost everything and when she put it back together, it was crooked.
She looked up from her plate. “Aren’t you eating?”
“Yeah.” He picked up his knife and fork. “What do you think?”
She took a bite. “It’s very good. I’m actually having a hard time convincing myself I’m on a deserted island.”
He smiled. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Lucky for us we crash-landed on your friend’s beach, huh?” She smiled, her sharp intelligence shining through her gaze and making him wonder if she’d already caught onto him.
“Maybe it wasn’t luck.” He met her gaze. “Maybe it was fate.”
“You believe in fate?” She raised her eyebrows.
He pushed his plate away and picked up his wine, studying the golden liquid, playing for time. “You know about Nora. I told you everything.”
“You don’t believe that was fate.” The shock in her voice rang through the night noises of the jungle.
“I believe in some instances you make your own fate. Or choose it.” He set the wine aside and leaned over the table, peering into her eyes. “I believe in fate in as far as I believe we are fated to reach certain points in our lives where we have to make decisions. But I believe the decisions we make are our own.”
She looked away, running one
finger over the rim of her glass. “You believe I’m making the wrong choices, then, choosing the wrong fate. Like Nora.”
He shook his head. “I only know how I feel about my own choices. But I don’t want to see you destroy yourself.”
“Like Nora.” Her direct gaze challenged him. Tell me I’m wrong.
“I didn’t say that.” He refused to turn away. “But yes. That’s the path you’re on, isn’t it?”
She stood, taking her glass with her. For a long moment, she stood on the edge of the patio, her bare feet just barely not touching the grass. The full moon turned the jungle into a mass of curving, blue and black shadows. He could see her stance slowly relax and she took the last sip of the wine, setting the glass aside and turning back to him. “This place is amazing.” She laughed. “I’m almost glad we crashed here.”
“Well, if we had to crash, this is the place to do it.” He shrugged. It was better not to push too hard. He’d let her change the subject.
She moved over to the edge of the hot tub and peered in. He’d uncovered and started it earlier, more for atmosphere than anything, but it occurred to him it might be what her feet needed. He moved to a chair close by. “It’s okay.” He indicated the tub. “I cleaned it and checked it earlier. It’s safe. No snakes.”
“Snakes?” She didn’t appear concerned, her voice almost absent. “That’s good.” She sat, dangling her feet in the warm water and closing her eyes in unfeigned pleasure. “Oh, that’s nice.”
She might have been on vacation. Just any woman on vacation in a Central American jungle after a plane crash. The absurdity of it made him wince, bringing back a little of his earlier guilt.
As if reading his mind, she opened her eyes. “Aren’t you worried?”
“About being rescued? Not really. We can survive pretty comfortably here for weeks. And they’ll be looking for us by now.”
Island Magic Page 9