by Lynsay Sands
Yes, she did, Abigail admitted if only to herself. She also found herself staring at his ass as he walked and wanting to grab and squeeze it like his cheeks were melons. What on earth was the matter with her?
"The boat is gone."
Abigail dragged her mind out of his pants, well, his metaphorical pants since he wasn't wearing any, and shifted her attention to the coastline. They were standing at the edge of the trees with a perfect view of the ocean, and he was right. No boat. She glanced to him again, her gaze shifting to his bare bottom as he bent to grab something off the ground.
"Now what do we do?" she asked, a little distracted.
"Now I check your wound," he announced, straightening and turning to catch her hand. He led her back the way they'd come, but this time taking her deeper into the trees.
Probably in case the boat came back around again, Abigail thought as she followed him docilely. She then frowned and raised her free hand to her head to search for the wound he spoke of. For one moment she had no idea what he was talking about, but when she felt the cloth around her head she recalled hitting it on the cargo door as they'd left the plane. In fact, that was the last thing Abigail remembered before waking up here.
"How did we get here?" she asked curiously as they walked. "Did the parachute bring us to this shore?"
"No. The parachute landed us in the ocean. We swam all night," he answered.
She translated that in her head to mean he had swum and dragged her with him since she hadn't been conscious to swim herself. She also gathered it meant they'd landed really far out, although he hadn't wasted the words to actually say that. Now she wondered how far out they'd landed and how far he'd had to drag her unconscious body to get here. It couldn't have been easy swimming while dragging her.
He'd saved her life, she realized. And bandaged her up, she added, feeling the cloth around her head again. It felt like gauze, which reminded her of the first aid kit she'd been holding when they'd left the plane. She doubted she'd managed to hold on to it after she'd lost consciousness, so supposed he must have taken it from her. It was a wonder he'd been able to swim at all while dragging everything with him, she thought guiltily. She hadn't really been much help in this escape. Although, to be fair, she hadn't wanted to escape this way, leaving Jet alone with the kidnappers.
"Here is good." Coming to an abrupt halt, Tomasso turned to face her and gestured to the ground.
Abigail translated that to a suggestion to sit and did so only to find herself staring at his junk now swinging in front of her face.
"Really, Tomasso, we need to find you something to wear," she muttered almost wearily, averting her eyes. His erection had wilted in the past few moments, but wasn't completely gone. It was still magnificent and distracting.
"Here," he said abruptly, and held out what he'd picked up earlier.
The first aid kit, Abigail realized as she took the red packet. He'd been picking it up when she'd asked "Now what do we do?" She just hadn't seen it because she was distracted by his bare bottom as he bent over. He really had a nice one, Abigail thought. And a nice chest, and nice arms, and legs and--
She gave her head a shake, which not only ended her inner recital of his pretty body parts, but dislodged her eyes from his bottom as he disappeared into the jungle again. He did seem to walk away a lot, Abigail thought now. The good news was that he always came back . . . so far.
Tomasso wasn't gone long this time; five, maybe ten minutes. Abigail stared at him blankly when he returned, her gaze caught by the splash of green over his groin. He'd fashioned a sort of loincloth out of leaves, weaving the stems together with some kind of vine that ran around his waist. But the man obviously had no clue just how big his junk was, the leaves didn't quite cover the tip.
"Better?" he asked as he approached.
"You need bigger leaves," she said dryly. Her words made him pause and frown down at himself. She doubted he could see the problem from above though, so she wasn't surprised when he said, "Is fine."
"Right," she muttered and simply resigned herself to continuing to avert her gaze . . . at least when he was looking. She took too much pleasure in looking at him to do it all the time. She wouldn't want him to notice her devouring him with her eyes though, so she'd just have to peek when he wasn't aware she was.
"How bad is it?" Abigail asked when Tomasso settled to sit cross-legged in the sand in front of her and began to unravel the bandage from around her head.
"Not so bad," he assured her. "Does it hurt?"
"Not at the moment," Abigail admitted with some surprise, only now becoming aware of the fact, and then she added, "But it did when I woke up."
His response was a grunt as he finished removing the bandages and dropped them to the sand. He then took her head in hand and tilted it down so he could better examine her wound.
Abigail waited patiently, her gaze dropping to the discarded bandages, but when she saw the blood on the cloth, her eyes widened with alarm. "It bled."
"Si. Why else the bandage?" Tomasso asked patiently, poking at the wound.
"Yes, but . . ." she began, then let the words die away. He was absolutely right. Why else would there be a need for bandages? She just hadn't realized she'd actually bled and was a little startled to know she had. Sighing, she waited as he took the first aid kit from her and opened it. Abigail frowned though when she saw him retrieve an antiseptic ointment and open it.
"Is it bad?" she asked with concern as he smeared the cool gel on her forehead.
"No. This is the jungle."
That was all he said. Fortunately it was enough. This was the jungle. Infection could set in easily in this moist heat. The ointment was a precaution. She remained silent and merely watched as he retrieved a large bandage from the pack and quickly opened it. Abigail found it somewhat reassuring that it was just a bandage this time, and not gauze he felt needed to be wrapped around her head. Surely that meant the wound was healing. Right?
She hoped so. But she also wished she had a mirror to check it out herself.
"Wait here. Rest."
Pulled from her thoughts, Abigail glanced up with surprise at this latest order, but he was already disappearing into the woods again. Honestly, the man spent most of his time walking away from her, she thought and noted absently that his butt cheeks were the last part of him to disappear into the trees. He hadn't covered them with leaves, she noted and was glad.
Rolling her eyes, Abigail glanced around briefly, and then looked down to where she sat. It was a nice sandy bit in the crook of the roots of a tree. A perfect bed, really, she decided. And realized she was tired. They couldn't have been awake long, but she was already exhausted. It must be the heat, Abigail thought. Or perhaps just the emotional turmoil she'd been through since waking up. Whatever the case, the idea of lying down and resting for a minute was an attractive one despite her earlier worries about snakes and bugs. Abigail did perform a quick inspection of the area first though, just to be sure there wasn't anything around that might bite her, but then she stretched out, shifted onto her side and closed her eyes. She would just rest for a little bit. Just until Tomasso returned, she assured herself. Then they would no doubt have to start walking in search of civilization. They needed a phone so she could check on Jet and so Tomasso could call . . . whoever.
Tomasso's footsteps slowed as he broke out of the trees and stepped into the small clearing where Abigail waited. She was curled on her side under the tree where he'd left her, sleeping soundly.
His gaze slid over her pale skin and the exhausted shadows under her eyes. She'd remained unconscious for quite a while after they'd left the plane. She hadn't woken through the swim to this island, or even as he'd carried her ashore and settled her next to him under the palm trees as dawn broke. But unconsciousness wasn't the same as sleeping and she obviously needed rest.
Tomasso shifted his feet, and then set down the coconuts he'd gathered and straightened to peer at her as he considered the situation. They needed
to find civilization and a phone. He needed to call in and let his family know he was all right and that Caracas was where they needed to look for the other missing immortals. He also needed to find out whether his brother had managed his escape successfully or not. Dante hadn't wound up in a cage next to him again, which seemed to suggest he had, but Tomasso needed to know for sure.
However, all of that would apparently have to wait. Abigail had been wounded and was in dire need of rest. So rest she would have.
She also no doubt needed food and drink. He'd intended the coconuts to take care of that. She could drink the coconut water and eat the white fleshy fruit inside, but fish would probably be better. He just had to sort out a way to catch some. Maybe he could somehow fashion a spear, Tomasso thought as he turned to head toward the beach.
Abigail woke up with her nose twitching in interest. Something smelled delicious. Stifling a yawn, she sat up to glance around, but couldn't see anything but trees. Curious, she got to her feet and moved around the tree she'd been sleeping by, and blinked as she spotted Tomasso on the beach at the edge of the jungle, turning something over a fire in the shade of a large palm tree.
Stomach rumbling, Abigail started forward, her gaze shifting to the sky beyond the trees. The sun was setting on the horizon and it was growing dark. She must have slept quite a while, she thought with a frown.
"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked as she stepped out onto the beach.
Tomasso glanced to her with surprise, and then smiled crookedly as if at an adorable puppy. All he said, however, was, "You needed rest."
Abigail considered him briefly, noting that his five-o'clock shadow was more a seven-o'clock shadow now. But it was his smile that was making her suspicious, so she simply moved past him and walked down to the shore. The water was still. There wasn't even a hint of a breeze to stir it. It made the surface a serviceable mirror and Abigail stepped a few feet into the water, then peered down at her reflection and moaned. Her hair was standing up in every direction. That combined with her pale face made her look like a clown.
Muttering under her breath, Abigail shrugged out of her blouse, tugged off her jeans, and then pulled off her tank top. Leaving her clothes in a pile on the beach, she then strode determinedly into the water in just her underwear and bra. It was as good as a swimsuit, Abigail reassured herself as she went, and she was not returning to the fire looking like this.
The air had cooled while she slept, but the water was even cooler and Abigail shivered as she moved deeper into its embrace. That didn't slow her down though. She had always loved swimming. Her mother had insisted she take lessons as a kid and she was good at it. The moment she was up to her waist in the tide, she dove under and kicked, coming up several feet further out.
Finding her feet again, Abigail turned then to look back to shore, her eyes widening when she saw that Tomasso had followed and was now waist-deep in the water. As she watched, he dove as well. A moment later he popped up in front of her.
"Never swim alone," he admonished, but his gaze was not on her face. In fact his eyes seemed locked on her chest and she glanced down to see that her plain white bra was not much of a covering when wet, but had gone transparent. Her nipples were showing through, and they were growing erect, whether from the cold or his nearness, she didn't know, but it didn't matter. They were still erect and on show.
Groaning with embarrassment, Abigail turned away and struck out in a strong swim away from shore, aware that Tomasso followed and then caught up and swam beside her. Apparently he was serious about her not swimming alone.
She didn't swim far. Abigail was aware that she was out of shape and would tire easily, so stopped again after several feet to tread water. Tomasso immediately stopped as well and turned to face her just a little more than a foot away. Close enough she could have reached out and touched him, but not so close she felt uncomfortable.
"Hungry?" he asked.
Recalling the smell that had woken her, Abigail nodded and glanced back to shore. The smoke from the fire was barely visible from here. He'd kept it small, no doubt to prevent drawing attention in case Jake and Sully were still looking for him.
Thoughts of his kidnappers were quickly followed by thoughts of Jet, and Abigail frowned. Tomasso had dragged her off that plane, leaving Jet behind in the company of a couple of nefarious dudes. That was why she'd tried to break away from him at the last minute and had managed to hurt herself. Frowning, she turned back to Tomasso.
"What will they do to Jet?" she asked with concern.
"The plane?" he asked, confusion obvious on his expression.
"No. My friend, Jet. Jethro," she added, using his proper name, and then explained, "He was the pilot of the plane we were on."
A scowl claimed his lips and he growled, "That is the Jet you kept mumbling about in your sleep?"
Abigail's eyebrows rose at this news. She'd been mumbling about Jet in her sleep? Actually, that was a bit reassuring. It meant she had been thinking about him, and didn't have to feel guilty for not bringing him up until now. Of course, he probably should have been her first concern on waking the first time, but Abigail decided to blame that on her head wound. No doubt her thinking had been a little muddled. That excused her, right? Actually, it was probably even true, Abigail acknowledged. She wasn't the sort to just forget about a friend who might be in trouble like that. Instead, she was a worrywart. In college she used to make friends call when they got home from visiting her place, just to be sure they made it all right. Not thinking and worrying about Jet until now definitely hadn't been the norm for her.
"What is this Jet to you?"
Abigail blinked her thoughts away and glanced to Tomasso curiously. He was sounding kind of cranky. Like maybe he was jealous, which was just ridiculous of course. She wasn't the sort men got jealous over. Besides, they'd already had this conversation on the plane. He'd asked then if Jet was her boyfriend and she'd said no, he was a friend. Of course, Tomasso had probably been a little fuzzyheaded from the drug they'd been giving him in that IV and maybe didn't recall, so she excused him.
"He's a friend. We grew up together," she said patiently and explained, "He's been my best friend forever. He's like a brother or something. Jet is not my boyfriend."
"Hmm," he muttered, not sounding much happier, and then he asked, "What kind of name is Jet?"
"His name is Jethro," she explained, despite having said his proper name earlier. "But he always wanted to be a jet pilot, so I shortened his name to Jet when we were kids and it stuck."
Tomasso merely grunted at that, but the slight sneer that had claimed his lips eased now and he frowned and asked, "So this Jet, your friend, was the pilot of the plane?"
"Yes." Abigail glanced toward the sky as if he might fly over them right then, and sighed when she didn't see his plane.
"So he works with the kidnappers?" Tomasso asked darkly.
"No!" Abigail shifted her attention back to Tomasso. "He was a fighter pilot for the navy, but finished his tour a couple weeks ago. A buddy of his who got out a month before him had a job with a cargo company and arranged an interview for Jet when he heard he'd finished his tour. Jet got the job. He only started a week ago, and this company is legit. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't get involved with transporting a kidnap victim."
"Then why was I on his plane?" Tomasso asked simply.
Abigail frowned. "From what I overheard the guy saying when he was wrapping up your arm, you must have got loose and trashed their plane?"
Tomasso nodded slowly.
"Well, it seems they needed to find alternate transport and quickly. Jet was told it was an emergency trip. Had to be right away, that sort of thing."
"Probably they were running low on the drug they were using to keep me under," Tomasso said thoughtfully.
"That could be it. I don't know for sure. All I know is that I'd just got into San Antonio and met up with Jet at a bar as planned. He was supposed to have a couple days off, but then he got a call from
his boss about this flight. Jet said he was going to refuse, but then decided it could be fun. I could fly down with him and we could kick around Caracas for a couple days and then fly back."
"Why were you in the cargo area and not the front of the plane?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.
Abigail stiffened in the water at the suspicion in his eyes. The moment she stopped moving, she started to sink and immediately started treading water again, but it was an effort. She was tiring, Abigail realized, and turned to head back toward shore. Once she'd reached water shallow enough that she could stand, Abigail walked out of the surf and dropped to sit next to her pile of clothes.
"I was in the cargo area because the clients didn't want me on the flight at all," she said quietly when Tomasso dropped onto the sand beside her. "Jet had me hide in the cargo area so they wouldn't know I was going despite their wishes."
"You were a stowaway," Tomasso murmured as if that was what he'd thought all along.
"Not really," she argued. "Jet was the pilot and knew I was there."
"But Jake and Sully did not," he pointed out.
Abigail shrugged. Stowaway, shmowaway. She didn't care. What she did care about was Jet and that he was okay. Picking up a shell half buried in the sand, she tossed it out into the water and asked, "What will they do to him?"
Tomasso was silent for a minute, and then shook his head. "He will probably be fine."
It didn't sound to her as if he really believed that and Abigail frowned and said, "He's one of the good guys, Tomasso. I'd feel awful if anything happened to him because I left the plane with you."
"I did not give you much choice," Tomasso muttered, his gaze on the horizon. Shaking his head, he added, "I should have found out all the particulars before donning that parachute and taking you off the plane. I just assumed you were a stowaway and . . ." He shrugged, not bothering to finish.
Abigail's mouth twisted unhappily. "You know what they say about assuming, right?"
"That it is foolish," he said soberly.
"Yeah, that too," she said wearily.
"Come," Tomasso said abruptly, gathering her clothes for her and getting to his feet. Catching her hand, he then helped her up as he said, "The fish will be done. We will eat, then start walking."