Island Magic

by Michelle Garren Flye

  She closed her eyes again. “I wish they wouldn’t. I could stay here. I might even be happy…after a while.” She smiled a little. “Don’t you ever wish for that? Just sweet oblivion and no one to bother you.”

  Yes. “I’m here. Won’t I bother you?” To prove his point, he moved behind her, massaging her shoulders. She felt tense, but not as bad as she might have after all she’d been through.

  “Umm.” She stretched like a cat, rolling her head back so she looked up at him. “I doubt it. At least, not in the way you mean.”

  He smiled a little and stepped away. “In the mood to try something new?”

  “You mean the Scotch or something better?”

  “Let’s start with the Scotch.” He retreated to the kitchen, ready to regroup. She’d sounded so lost when she spoke about her wish to stay on the island. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when she found out he’d lied about the crash. Or misled her, anyway. He rummaged the cupboard, finding the bottle and glasses and deciding it didn’t really matter one way or the other. What was done, was done.

  She’d removed her bruised feet from the hot tub, but she still sat on the edge, looking like a girl with her knees drawn up to her chin as she looked out at the jungle. He paused, trying to remember what it was like to really experience the jungle for the first time, and she turned her luminous eyes on him. “Oh good. Drinks.”

  “Not just drinks.” He shook his head reprovingly, handing one glass to her as he took a seat a safe distance away on the sofa. “Scotch. This is The Glenlivet 15 French Oak Reserve.”

  “Oh, The Glenlivet? Not just any Glenlivet, then?” Her eyes sparkled with amusement and he felt an answering smile on his own lips. He couldn’t help it. She affected him that way.

  He tsked. “Now, now, don’t take this lightly. It’s serious.” Only when she assumed a deliberate solemn face did he continue, swirling the reddish-amber liquid in his glass. “The first thing you’ll notice about the taste is the burned flavor. Enjoy it. Savor it. It’ll never be like that again.”

  She laughed out loud. “Really? Jeez, this is serious. I feel like I’m losing my virginity all over again.”

  “Really. It’s surprising, if you think about it, how many things truly aren’t the same the second time around. It might be better, but it’ll never be the same as the first time.” Like the jungle. Like sex. Like love… He took a sip of his drink, the ice cubes clinking a little. His eyes met hers and he smiled a little at the consternation he saw there. “Go ahead.”

  “Are you going to watch?” She raised her glass to her lips, letting it hover there. God, how could she make drinking sexy? Was there anything about this woman he didn’t find attractive, though? Even earlier when he’d glimpsed the hurt little girl inside the sexy woman…even then he’d wanted her. God help him.

  He cleared his throat and took another sip of his drink, barely noting the taste. He liked Glenlivet. It was nothing compared to the Macallan, of course, but she was hardly ready for that. He held the woody flavored liquor in his mouth for a moment before letting it trickle down his throat. Finding his resolve again, he looked back at Rachel. Only then did she take her first sip of the drink.

  Did she intentionally make everything she did sensual, or was it a total accident? He couldn’t be certain, but he suspected the latter. Still, she knew how to play her natural sensuality to her favor, and she did it mercilessly. She savored the drink for a moment, then dropped onto the couch beside him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth, and when she dipped her finger in the Scotch and smoothed some over her lips, he accepted the invitation without question, leaning forward to taste her, unsure if it was the scotch or her that gave him the heady sensation.

  Only when she moved onto his lap, straddling him, her skirt hiking dangerously up her thighs and her still damp feet pressing against his legs did he come to his senses. “No. We can’t do this.”

  “I beg to differ.” She chuckled, rocking her hips against him. “God, you’re so hard.”

  He was. He could feel the blood pulsing in all the wrong spots. He couldn’t take advantage of her now, though. It would be tantamount to rape, considering he’d kidnapped her to get her here. And his reasons for kidnapping her did not include having sex with her. At least not like this.

  But how on earth was he supposed to find the strength to resist her?

  “It would feel so good, wouldn’t it?” She whispered the words against his ear and began to kiss his neck, her hands moving beneath his t-shirt. “I’ve always heard sex after a traumatic experience is amazing.”

  She was good at the whole seduction game. The realization perversely gave him the strength to do what he had to do. Placing his hands on her waist, he stood, turning her over so she sat on the couch with him straddling her.

  She smiled up at him. “Oh, baby. Works for me.” But her eyes flickered with doubt. She wasn’t used to men taking the initiative, and it hadn’t been in her plans for tonight, either. She wanted to maintain control.

  He smiled back at her. “We’re not doing this.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” She slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his jeans and he moved away quickly.

  He rolled over on his back, his heart beating faster than he liked. “You’ve been through enough today.”

  “Really?” She sat up and crossed her legs, giving him a very reasonable look. “What am I, a delicate flower? I’m willing, you’re willing, at least from the feel of you.” Her lips curved. “Let’s just do it. Relieve the tension. Call it survival sex or something.”

  For half a second he teetered on the brink of giving in to her, but it wouldn’t be right. Not tonight. She was emotionally damaged, and until she accepted the fact that she could heal, he needed to resist his all too natural impulses.

  He stood. “You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  She groaned, leaning her head back on the cushions. “You’re really no fun at all, you know?” She reached for the Scotch. “Besides, I didn’t finish my drink, and I doubt you want that to go to waste.”

  He shook his head, a little smile twisting his lips in spite of himself. “Go ahead and finish your drink. I’ll get ready for bed.”

  “Fine.” She took a sip. “If you change your mind, you know where I am. And the bed is big enough for two.”

  He waved over his shoulder as he retreated, trying not to feel like the coward he was starting to think he was.

  ****

  Rachel woke, sweating, from the nightmare. A shriek split the night outside and she clutched the blankets closer, wondering if she’d actually heard the sound or if it had been left over from her nightmare. Hadn’t it been the squeal of brakes instead of something jungle-related? She lay flat on her back, disoriented, the sheets tangled around her.

  How long had it been since she’d had the dream? The horror of it clung to her like spider webs. For months she’d managed to smother it with alcohol and drugs, but tonight it had come back in force. She bit her lip against the wave of anger and terror and sorrow, but above all the other useless emotions rose self-loathing. Oh God, how had she let it happen? She almost welcomed the dark pit that opened in her middle. If only she could throw herself into it and disappear instead of reliving the all-too clear memory of the afternoon everything changed.

  …the heavy traffic…the piercing sun…her head ached…she reached for the visor…

  The rest of the memory was a blur. Rachel remembered the sharp, hard shot of terror followed by a lot of screaming and pain and blackness. She groaned, covering her face. She couldn’t escape. She couldn’t disappear. Her punishment was to smother in her own hatred of herself, alternately trying to hide in a haze of alcohol or lose herself in sexual pleasure. But no matter what she did, in the end she couldn’t escape the pain of loss. Tears wouldn’t come anymore. She’d cried herself dry, and no matter how much she cried, she couldn’t get away from the knowledge that what she’d lost had been her own fault. She sat up,
hugging her knees to her chest, wishing for more wine, more Scotch…God, if only they’d found her cosmetic case with the Valium.

  “Rachel?” She felt his weight on the bed, his hand on the back of her head. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

  The tenderness of his voice soothed her self-loathing. When he scooped her into his arms and held her against him, she let herself lean her head against his chest, feeling his heart beat and knowing this was a good man who held her. A good man who was doing his damnedest to remain good in spite of…her.

  Damnit. She wanted to wail and cry and hit him. She wanted him to stop resisting her, but not so she could drown herself in him temporarily. She wanted him to make love to her…to offer her the solace and peace she’d never sought before even though she needed them desperately. Her own thoughts were like freezing ice water in her spine, propelling her out of his arms and off the bed, not stopping until her back was against the wall.

  He looked puzzled. “Rachel? Are you all right?”

  She nodded, feeling numb, welcoming the numbness because it hid the other emotions she couldn’t stand to feel right then. “I—a nightmare. That’s all. Sorry.”

  “Can I do anything for you?” He stood slowly, as if she were a stray kitten he didn’t want to frighten.

  Oh, so much. She shook her head, not trusting her voice.

  “Okay.” He nodded acceptance. “Come back to bed?”

  Jesus. If he only knew what those words, spoken so gently, did to her. She took a half step away from the wall and stopped. She couldn’t go any closer. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to resist the knowledge that in his arms, finally, she could find the relief she knew she didn’t deserve. As if he understood, he nodded again and started to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “I’ll be right outside—if you need anything.”

  Again, she didn’t trust her voice. She slid beneath the sheets, suddenly wishing she’d put on something besides the silk nightie that barely fell to mid-thigh. Dear God, and he’d held her in his arms. Of course, she had put the nightie on in the hopes that he’d see her in it, but her viewpoint had been totally different then. At that time, she’d thought all she wanted from him was sex. Now she knew something different was at stake. She closed her eyes, letting herself admit what she’d kept at bay since the moment she’d first seen him. It wasn’t his body she wanted. It wasn’t sex she wanted. At least, not just those things.

  My God, I want him to be in love with me, but I can’t allow that to happen.

  Chapter 8

  Rachel woke to the sounds of the jungle the next morning with a definitive feeling of unreality. An absolute certainty that the ground under her feet would shift if she took a step. And she knew it all came from her middle of the night reality check. She couldn’t be in love. She didn’t deserve love. Especially not from a man like Logan. Hell, she hadn’t even deserved Kevin’s love, a fact he’d made very clear. She winced in a pain that hadn’t moved from immediate to remembered.

  And that’s not even the half of it. The blackness in her heart sat up and yawned, more than ready to wake with her. She clutched it to her, welcomed it to her soul like a lover into her body. If he knew what a selfish coward I was, he’d hate me just as much as Kevin did.

  “Jesus, Rachel, what the hell do you expect me to feel? If you hadn’t panicked…”

  Rachel threw back the covers, reaching for her luggage at the same time. She needed more clothes. She couldn’t face Logan dressed like this. Not after last night’s insight into her own heart. Lust was one thing. She could spend the rest of her life on lust. It was a shield that didn’t involve anything important. Lust protected her.

  But love, oh God, love was different. Love exposed her, laid her naked and yearning under the bright jungle sun. She needed clothes to hide her heart, and she found them beneath all the bikinis and sundresses. A pair of jeans and a heather-grey cotton t-shirt. The t-shirt wasn’t as loose-fitting as she would have liked, but at least it wasn’t overtly attractive.

  Still feeling vulnerable, Rachel crept from the bedroom to find the kitchen and living room empty. The afghan was neatly folded over one arm of the couch, the pillow he’d borrowed from the bed laid across it. His shoes were by the door leading out onto the patio from the kitchen. She followed her nose to the heavenly aroma of coffee and found a pot brewing in the Cuisinart coffeemaker. Good Lord, is there nothing this place is not equipped with? This Jake guy really likes living well.

  She poured herself a cup of the lava-like liquid and went to stand by the window, wondering where Logan had gone, imagining him off searching the jungle for supplies or help. Movement caught her peripheral vision.

  Logan stood at the other end of the cleared area around the house, his body moving in the slow, rhythmic way of Tai Chi. He wore light-colored, loose-fitting pants and his chest was bare. His expression was one of deep concentration. Even at a distance, he was god-like in his appearance.

  He was far enough away so she wouldn’t disturb him if she opened the door. She bit her lip, still hesitant, and watched him for another moment. A bead of sweat trickled down one pectoral muscle. She imagined licking it off, and smiled at the thought. Absurdly reassured by the lust—how could she be falling in love with him if she could imagine using his body the way she did?—she opened the door and stepped outside.

  The tropical sun pressed down and she stepped back into the shade cast by the eaves, sipping her coffee and watching the way his muscles lengthened and contracted in the movements of the exercise. He made it look easy, but she’d done a couple of classes of Tai Chi a few years ago. It wasn’t easy. It was harder than the yoga class she’d taken up after, and that had been damn hard.

  Of course, that was another life, when it had been more important to stay in shape, to keep her weight down, to be the perfect wife. That part of her was gone now. She could stand here on the patio of the fishing cottage in the middle of a Central American jungle and watch a sexy, six-foot-six ex-magician and think about all the things she’d like to do with him in the tangled sheets of the bed she’d just left and not even feel it was anything out of the ordinary.

  The longer she watched, however, the less important his body became. It was as if she could see the spirit of the man moving above the physique she already admired. He moved in concert with the jungle’s noises, or maybe the jungle had learned his routine and sang him through it. At any rate, as she watched him, she felt a strange peace settle over her soul, along with a longing to keep it that way. She wanted to feel this way forever.

  He finished his workout with a final stretching move, then placed both hands at his sides and executed a little bow eastward, as if to the sun. The harmony in the air and in her heart dissipated, so when he turned toward the house, she stepped out of the shade and pretended to applaud. “That was…well done.” She let more carnal feelings overwhelm the mental calm she’d achieved while watching him and smiled as her eyes swept over him. “Very nice.”

  “Thank you.” He appeared undisturbed by her lascivious looks as he strode toward the house. “Did you sleep well?”

  No mention of the middle of the night. She swallowed her gratitude. “Yes. Sort of. Is it always this noisy here?”

  He laughed, looking around at the jungle that buzzed and hummed with life. “Yeah. Pretty much. Except when it rains. But then it’s just a different kind of noise.”

  “Great.” She sighed. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

  “Well, maybe we won’t be here long enough for you to get used to it.” He glanced at the sky. “Could be any time now. Keep an eye out for the rescue choppers.”

  She spared the sky only a quick glance, knowing she didn’t want to see anything there. Rescue meant a return to reality and that wasn’t what she wanted at all. She shook off the creeping dread and realized how hot she was. Jeans might not have been her best wardrobe choice after all. “Well, if we’re stuck here for the time being, we should make the most of it. What do you do for
fun out here?”

  “Me?” He opened the glass door and stood back to let her enter first. She welcomed the cooler air and leaned on the counter to watch as he grabbed a towel from the back of a chair and scrubbed his arms and face before looping it over his shoulders. He turned back to her. “Not that I’ve spent that much time here, but there’s always the beach. And I did go on a few hikes with Jake. There are some pretty spectacular views.”

  “And fishing holes, I guess.”

  At his startled look, she shrugged. “You said your friend was a fisherman, right? Or that this was his fishing cottage?” She frowned at his reaction.

  “He is.” Logan looked thoughtful, then turned to the stove. “Surf fishing, mostly. Let’s eat and then I’ll show you some stuff.”

  “Stuff?” She raised her eyebrows. “And what are we gonna eat?”

  “I’m thinking pancakes.” He rummaged in the cupboard and produced a large box of pancake mix and a bottle of syrup.

  “Mmm. Is there anything your Jake didn’t think of?” She sighed. “Okay. But if we’re going to look at ‘stuff’, what should I wear?”

  “What you’ve got on is good for hiking through the jungle.” He tossed her a grin as he turned back to the stove. “Better shoes than yesterday, though. And you might want to bring a swimsuit. We’ll take a break and a swim this afternoon.”

  She turned to the bedroom. Had she even packed any tennis shoes? And if she hadn’t, could he magically produce some? It seemed right then that nothing was beyond his power.

  ****

  An hour later with what she had to admit were some delicious pancakes filling her belly, Rachel followed Logan willingly into the jungle, trusting his reassurances that it wasn’t far. She still wished she’d bought the hiking boots she’d noticed at the boutique, but her Keds were definitely better suited to the terrain than the high-heeled sandals of the day before.