Marooned with the Rock Star (A Crazily Sensual Rock Star Romance, with Humor) (11 page)

When we are finally replete, our tummies full
to bloating, I swear I will never have another coconut served to me
at the poolside again when we are out of here.

If we ever get out of here.

KURT

Our quest for water continues long into the
afternoon.

The coconuts nourished us some, but we know
that we will need water and more sustenance before long.

“There’s water nearby,” Rebecca insists. “The
earth was damp.”

“It could have been from the last
rainfall.”

Speaking of rain, where the hell is it? We
are supposed to be in the tropics, aren’t we? Isn’t there supposed
to be a thunderstorm every afternoon?

And just how big is this island anyway,
assuming it is an island?

“Do you think anyone is looking for us?”
Rebecca says.

She has started to straggle a bit, and I slow
down to let her keep up.

“Someone is bound to notice I am missing from
my janitorial duties,” I say wryly. “So I reckon . . . yeah.”

“You think they have mounted search parties
for us?”

“I’m sure they have.”

“We need to make some sort of sign on the
beach so that any airplane flying by will see it and know we are
here.”

“Sure. But let’s find water first.”

I’m not even sure where the beach is anymore.
We seem to be walking around in circles.

Just when we think we are going to need
another coconut refresher with another bunch of monkeys, we hear
it. In the distance.

The sure sound of merry water trickling.

“Water!” we both shriek as we plunge into its
direction.

Our bare feet slap against twigs and crunchy
leaves and goodness knows what else when we finally arrive at the
edge of the stream. It is an honest-to-goodness stream, with
bubbling and silvery tinkling water running merrily over smooth
rocks without a care in the world.

We are delirious with joy.

We dive into the stream immediately, soaking
our bodies in it as we gulp down the cool, cleansing water. The
water is as fresh as natural water can be without the taste of
contaminants we sometimes find in small town streams back where we
lived. We dance in the water. We sprinkle silvery drops all over
our hair and bodies.

We are happy, happy, happy and laughing with
euphoria.

When we have drunk our fill, we claw back to
the banks of the stream to lie there on our backs contentedly. I am
exhausted. I don’t know about Rebecca, but her limbs are sprawled
on the ground like a ragdoll and she is not moving.

I turn my head.

“Rebecca?”

Her mouth is open and her eyes are closed.
She is snoring slightly.

I lean back and smile. I watch her for a long
while, still smiling, as the sun sinks.

REBECCA

When I wake up, it is dawn.

I sit up, flabbergasted. Gad, did I sleep for
more than sixteen hours straight? I could have sworn it was
twilight when I fell asleep.

Kurt is curled up next to me. He has his
pants on, but he is still shirtless. In the wan light, he resembles
a Boticelli angel. I pause to admire the way his long eyelashes
dust his cheeks and the way his hair fans across the ground.

The stream caresses the early morning with
its soothing gurgles. My stomach growls wickedly. Yes, I know I’m
hungry. I had nothing but coconuts and water for the whole of
yesterday.

We have to find more food. I wonder if there
are fish in the stream, and more importantly, if I know how to
catch them.

I get up, my legs feeling stiff. I tread
lightly because I don’t want to wake Kurt up. I can’t help but cast
my gaze over him now and again. He is too damned beautiful for his
own good, and too damned smug about it.

Now that I know where the stream is, I follow
it upward for a little while. The morning is fresh and sprightly.
Looking upward, I notice a low-lying branch with a bird’s nest.

Nest.

Eggs.

My stomach making known its interest, I hike
up my dress so that my legs are allowed their full range of motion.
Then I start to climb the tree. The mother bird squawks and flies
off, rustling the foliage above. I feel bad for her, but my
survival instincts take precedence. When I get up to the branch
with the nest, I reach for the eggs. There are seven of them, still
warm and very oval.

I slip them one by one into my brassiere, the
only item I have to hold anything without the use of my hands. Then
I climb down carefully again. I’m glad I was such a tomboy growing
up. All that treehouse building certainly came in handy.

I wander upstream a little bit more. I see
birds pecking the fruit of a tree. I think I know the fruit. I have
seen them on Discovery Travel and Living – the paw paw. Delighted
with my find, I look around for a long stick, and I find a fallen
branch. I take this and poke roughly at the stems of the paw paws.
Luckily, these trees are not as tall as the coconut ones.

Armed with my treasures, I return to where I
left Kurt sleeping. Only he isn’t where he is anymore.

I turn to the sounds of splashing. Kurt is
swimming in the stream. Or rather, he is bobbing about, prancing on
his feet. I know Kurt must be a master swimmer because he dived in
to save me without another thought.

My face burns when I remember how I treated
him yesterday. He had saved my life, and all I did was to berate
him.

God, what a bitch I am!

An object strikes my vision. I turn to look
at it. And then at Kurt. And back to it again. Kurt’s underwear
lies there on the ground where he had lain, drying in the rising
heat.

If Kurt is not wearing his underwear, then .
. . uh, what is he wearing?

Right.

My cheeks flame.

He waves at me. “Good morning. The water’s
brilliant. Come in!”

Uh, not with you starkers.

“It’s all right,” I call back. I unload my
treasure trove, taking care to show my back to him when I’m taking
out the eggs from my brassiere, which is now stiff with laundered
seawater abuse. “I’ve got us breakfast. When you come out of there,
you can make us a fire because I don’t have any matches!”

“Why don’t you come in, Rebecca?”

“You know why.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t be a prude. We’re stuck
out here in this godforsaken island. Sooner or later, we’re gonna
have to see each other naked.”

“No thanks!” I shout back.

“If it’s any comfort to you, I don’t really
want to see you naked.”

Uh . . . thanks a lot.

“And I certainly don’t want to see you naked
either.”

I whip my head around. And almost have to
cover my eyes in shock.

Kurt Taylor is standing in the shallows now.
Naked. Water drips from his body in silvery rivulets and droplets.
His genitals are every bit as huge as his earlier covered package
in his underwear suggests. His penis is luscious and long and thick
and semi-hard. His balls dangle beneath, shrunk by the cool
water.

He literally wears nothing but a broad grin
on his handsome face.

I let out an outraged yell and immediately
cover my eyes with my hands. But my fingers allow slits for me to
peek through. Not that I’m admiring his cock, mind you, but I just
need to see what he would do next. My heart is thumping very loudly
against my ribs.

“Kurt! Cover yourself!” I say, aggrieved.

He laughs as he strides out of the water. He
is quite the exhibitionist.

“With what? Fig leaves? Why don’t you chill
out, Rebecca? I need to dry my clothes, and frankly, yours need a
wash too.”

I know he’s right. I wave at the spread of
food.

“Know how to start a fire?” I say.

He comes right up to me, defiantly parading
his wobbling genitals. Something about his cock is so sexy that I
can feel a twitch of desire shooting right through my loins.

No. No. Mustn’t find him sexy.

“I can try.” He bends down to take two pieces
of rock. I avert my eyes. I must stop roaming my eyes over his
naked and very magnificent body. “But maybe not here. The stones
here are too wet. And I need dry kindling. I’ll do it in the
forest.”

He straightens and looks me up and down.

“You’re very industrious, Rebecca,” he says
admiringly, indicating the eggs and the paw paws. “Where did you
find these?”

I launch into telling him about the events of
the morning. I keep my eyes at the level of his face as I do so,
refusing to give in to his obvious bait. But his dick keeps drawing
me to it, especially since it seems to get harder as I chatter on.
It rises ever so slowly, filled with life-giving sap.

It is Kurt’s turn to flush.

“Uh,” he interrupts me and indicates his
dick, “don’t think this is because of you. It’s my usual morning
chubby.”

I am suddenly speechless.

We both realize at the same time that we are
in a very awkward situation. There’s a long pause where neither of
us does anything but stare at each other. (At least, I’m trying to
stare at his colored face and not at, well, his
more-than-impressive manhood set.)

Then he says quickly, “I guess I better go
start a fire.”

“I guess I can see that your wound is healing
nicely.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

There is another awkward pause where the air
contracts between us. Then he swiftly reaches down for his
underwear and grabs it. I turn away, my palpitations obvious in my
chest, as he pulls it up his legs to cover that marvelous package
of his. Now it’s nicely tucked away, but the bulge is still very
prominent.

We run off to do our respective errands.

KURT

I don’t know what I was thinking of when I
exposed myself to Rebecca like that. Now she will think I’m sort of
lowly flasher. But that’s right. I wasn’t thinking. I never think
twice when I bulldoze my way into doing something.

I was the same way when I went for the
American Rock Star
audition. I never stopped to think twice
when I waltzed through that door. I never thought about how I might
not have had any formal singing lessons, or if my voice was shaky,
or if I couldn’t warble a tune like Adam Lambert. I only went
headlong up on stage and did it.

I was the same way when I dived in after
Rebecca without wondering if I could keep afloat myself.

Rebecca will probably report me to my
probation officer when we get out of here for exposing my genitals
to her. She would probably get a restraining court order to ask me
to keep two miles away from her. And I would probably deserve it as
well.

But as it was, I didn’t think of what I was
doing when I climbed out of the stream, dripping all over the
ground like a soggy rag. I only thought of shocking her – of seeing
her smug face explode into ‘are you kidding me?’ incredulity.

That was extremely childish.

Not to mention extremely foolish.

We might be stuck here for a long time, and
now all I have achieved is to create an awkwardness between us. As
if we weren’t already awkward enough with each other.

All I can do now is to make amends by
starting a bonfire. Provided I can actually find two dry rocks in
this entire forest.

Damn.

Where’s a trusty lighter when you need
it?

*

I do not succeed in making a fire all
morning, even when my palms are raw from striking two oddly shaped
stones. I have no magnifying glass or way of concentrating sunlight
either.

So I scratch my chin, which is started to
prickle with a day’s growth of beard, and say to Rebecca, “How are
you for raw eggs?”

She shrugs. “Raw eggs are fine. I’ll just
think of it as a protein shake from the gym.”

“Fine with me.”

So we make a feast out of raw eggs and paw
paws. To most people, it would be a revolting combination. But to
us, it was as delicious as anything we (didn’t) taste at the
Clarion. We are both nicely dressed now. I have even put on my
pants for the occasion, even though my shirt is a lost cause.

Neither of us brings up the subject of
nudity. Thank God.

“So, Rebecca,” I say, chewing the last of my
paw paws slowly, “you go to the gym?”

She scrunches up her face. “You going to make
a nasty remark about that?”

I think for a while (a first!), and then I
retort, “I was just going to say that if you’ve been going to the
gym, it hasn’t managed to shake off that baby fat. So getting stuck
here eating raw eggs and paw paws is probably going to do a helluva
lot more for your figure than any pricey personal trainer.”

Her mouth opens, and then snaps shut into a
firm line, just as I knew it would. I grin. It was mean of me to
say it, but I feel mean today. It’s the only way I can defuse how
my body is reacting towards her.

“If you have a thing against large-boned
women, why don’t you come out and say so?” she challenges.

“I don’t have a thing against them. I’m just
making an observation. Think of this ordeal as a protracted weight
loss program at a spa.”

Her expression turns apoplectic, but she
doesn’t say anything.

Later, much later, when she has decided to
speak to me again, she says, “So what do we do now, Mr.
Cock-of-the-Walk?”

I laugh. “So you’ve decided to forgive
me.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” I lean back on my
elbows, watching the stream.

I’m actually quite worried as to how we are
to find our next meal. I’m hungry again, and I know we have to find
something more substantial than eggs and paw paws.

She bites her lip, and then says: “I think we
should go back to the beach and put up a SOS signal just in case
any rescue plane looking for us is going to fly by the island.”

As usual, she makes perfect strategic
sense.

I pretend to stroke my chin. The bristles
right now are sharp and poky.