The Castaway Bride (16 page)

But as Cristy unbent and stood to face him, her eyes warm with the compassion she’d tried to deny—how had he ever thought they were betraying eyes?—a surge of anger at himself swept through him.

Why was he making that ring such a barrier?

Cristy had run away from her wedding. Hadn’t shed a tear over her groom. Or said a word about going back to him. And the way she’d made love to him today made him damn sure she wasn’t thinking longingly of ginger-haired Howard.

“Why do you still wear your engagement ring?” he asked.

She looked down at her left hand. “Because it’s worth a heck of a lot of money and I’m terrified of losing it. When I next see Howard I don’t want to have to tell him I’ve lost his priceless family heirloom.”

That wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. In fact her casual acknowledgment that she would be seeing Howard again made him wonder all over again just what she felt about the man she had agreed to marry. In his heart he could not believe Cristy would make love to him while intending to go back to Howard. But women like Julia had damaged his ability to trust.

Matt wasn’t used to politely backing down from a battle—that wasn’t how he’d forged his business. And this was a battle—a battle to win Cristy from the clutches of her cheating bridegroom.

Because Matt wasn’t convinced that Howard wouldn’t try to get her back. What man, if he had a woman like Cristy within a hairsbreadth of a wedding ring, would let her get away?

But by the time he and Cristy found their way off this island Matt was going to make damn sure that she wouldn’t have a thought for another man.

He wasn’t good with sentimental words—but surely she would know from his lovemaking how he felt? He would possess her body so completely that she would have no room in her thoughts for anyone but him and the sexual pleasure he gave her.

Then he could worry about the soppy stuff later.

He took her into his arms again, immediately turned on by her warm curves and her willing response. And this time she didn’t push him away.

CHAPTER NINE

Cristy
never thought she’d recoil at the thought of chocolate for breakfast, but on her second morning on the island she did just that. She’d been known to boast that she could eat chocolate for breakfast, lunch and dinner but the reality was, in fact, less appealing.

She’d been dreaming about food. Proper food. Her favorite salad of spinach leaves, finely sliced pear, toasted pecans and curls of Parmesan cheese. A huge plate of penne pasta with a rich, spicy sauce. Chilled white wine.

But just as she raised the first fork full of food to her mouth, she awoke to the sound of her tummy rumbling.

For a second she blinked, not too sure of where she was and why she was so hungry. But then she felt the warm strength of the body beside her and remembered.

Remembered and blushed.

She might be hungry for food but she was certainly satiated with sensuality.

Last night she and Matt had given up on the broken canvas bed. Now Matt lay on his back in the nest of blankets they had made on the wooden floor, the scratchiness of the blankets covered by the threadbare sheets of their togas. The heat—both tropical and that generated by their lovemaking—had meant there was no need for coverings.

Cautiously, so as not to awake Matt, Cristy stretched out her limbs one by one like an awakening cat. She had been thoroughly loved. Her thighs ached but she felt almost boneless with satisfaction and utterly relaxed.

Mentally, she raised that dream glass of wine in a heartfelt toast to lust. And to Matt.

Just how many orgasms had she tallied up since they’d first come together at the waterfall?

She’d lost count. He was the most amazing lover—skilful, energetic, unselfish. He’d taken her to heights of ecstasy she could never have imagined she’d scale—and then carried her up to the next level.

Silently, she pushed up on her elbow to watch him as he slept. The sheet was rucked up to cover his hips. One muscled, tanned arm was flung above his head, the other lay by his side next to her thigh. She remembered she’d fallen into a deep, contented sleep with it resting possessively there.

Birdsong at dawn had woken them both at the same time. Without a word, he had drawn her into his arms and they’d made love again, slowly and languorously. She’d been more than half-asleep, drifting deliciously on a sea of sensual sensation.

Was there a difference between having sex and making love? If so, she thought she might have discovered it last night. No, she corrected herself, Matt had helped her discover it.

No wonder he was sleeping so soundly. The term “sexual athlete” had been coined for him.

Fascinated, she watched the steady rise and fall of his powerful, muscled chest. Awake he seemed invincible. In sleep, he looked younger, less tough, even a little vulnerable. She ached to know him better, discover the man behind the emotional armor he wore.

He’d enjoyed the sex as much as she had. She’d swear to that. But did he feel in any way as happy and fulfilled as she did? As swept by the feeling that they had shared something very, very special?

And if he did, would she ever know about it?

His words reverberated through her head:
I’m not the settling-down type.

She might be starting to think about love but that didn’t mean he was.

He shifted a little and she held herself very still until she was sure he was asleep. Then she gave herself over again to the luxury of admiring him.

What did she like most about his face? It was impossible to single out a feature. Together they combined to form a face she found beyond handsome. And already—she caught her breath in realization—dangerously dear.

She longed to trace the contours of his forehead, his cheekbones, his dark eyebrows, down his nose and to his mouth. His top lip was a little uneven, giving it a devastating sensuality.

She trembled at the memory of how his mouth felt on her body. Right now she’d like to trail her finger along his lips, inviting him to nip it with his teeth and draw it into his mouth, to suck it and play with it with his tongue.

But she didn’t want to risk waking him up. It was too delicious to simply watch him in this utterly private moment when there was no one else in this world but her and him.

A shaft of early morning sun filtered through the cobweb-cornered window and fell across his body, putting reddish glints in his dark hair. What would it be like to wake every morning to his face so close to hers? To sleep every night with his body and hers entwined?

It was an appealing thought and she found herself longing for it to be true. Impossible when he’d made it so clear he wasn’t looking for commitment. She willed herself to remember his features, to save up every detail against the time they would leave this island and go their separate ways.

They’d known each other for less than two days; she found it amazing that his face could be already imprinted on her dreams. And his scent. She breathed in the familiar sandalwood, blended now with the musk of their lovemaking.

Then jumped, aghast, as he slowly murmured, “I’m awake, you know.”

His eyes were still shut, his dark lashes a fan against his cheek. How long had he known she was scrutinizing him?

He opened his eyes. “A dreadful thundering sound woke me up,” he said, very seriously.

She looked anxiously up toward the window. “Another storm?”

“No.” Taking her by surprise, he sat up, pushed her back down on the floor and laid his head against her stomach. He kissed her navel, the growth of his beard scratchy on her skin. “It was coming from here.”

“Oh!”

Unused to such intimacy she didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or to take offence. Mortified, she held herself rigid. “I’m so sorry.”

Matt kissed her tummy again, sat up and laughed. “No need to be. You’re obviously as hungry as I am.”

She sat up too but she couldn’t look him in the eye.

He tilted her chin up so she had to meet his gaze. His eyes were warm with laughter. “Hey, I’m only teasing you.”

“Again.” Her voice came out a little shaky.

“You’re not used to being teased, are you?”

“Not true. I grew up with two brothers, remember.”

“I mean by a man. A lover.”

She shook her head and was glad that the hair fell across her face. “I… I guess not.”

The kind of men she’d dated weren’t the kind of men who’d make jokes about rumbling tummies. And she wouldn’t let them get close enough to dare.

He pushed the hair away from her face. “I tell you what. You can tease me if I snore. Deal?”

She blinked and stared at him.

“You snore?”

“Yeah. I snore. If I’ve got a cold or I’ve been drinking red wine.”

Was he for real? She wasn’t sure how to take such a personal admission. His grin made him look like a little boy trying very hard to make amends for being naughty.

She couldn’t help but smile in response. “Deal. But I guess there won’t be any problem here as there’s no red wine. Not even any grapes to squish.”

She didn’t want to think ahead to other times, other places, where red wine would be available but she might not be there to hear Matt snore.

“I wish you hadn’t made me think about red wine. I can’t face any more coconut milk,” he said.

“Me neither. Or chocolate. What wouldn’t I give for scrambled eggs and toast, dripping with butter.”

“Bacon and eggs for me with fried tomatoes on the side.”

“And coffee.”

“Don’t torture me.”

She sighed. “I guess we’ll have to make do with frog-free water.”

“And mangoes.”

She remembered what their mango breakfast had led to the day before and shivered with remembered pleasure.

Matt dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. “Maybe we’ll do better for lunch.”

She started. “What do you mean? D’you think we’ll be rescued today?”

He shrugged. “Could be. I wouldn’t count on it. The emergency beacon should work with the boat submerged, but it could have been damaged when
Wayfarer
smashed against the rocks.”

Cristy wasn’t counting on rescue at all. Despite her hunger, lack of clothes and proximity to prehistoric reptiles, she felt the longer she could stay here on the island with him the better.

Matt got up. “We’ll have to light a big fire as a beacon to help the emergency services find us. It’s clearer around the other side of the island. We’ll search out some dry wood and set up a fire there.”

Cristy nodded, masking her disappointment that he so obviously didn’t share her hope of prolonging their time together on the island. She nearly asked did they have to build that fire but thought better of it. She didn’t want to look as though she were throwing herself at him. That would be way too humiliating.

She swallowed as she felt her stomach threatening to rumble again. “So what did you mean about lunch?”

“We’ll catch something for lunch.”

“Catch? You mean, like hunt?”

He nodded.

“And… and kill?”

“That’s the idea.”

“What… uh… what did you have in mind?”

“There are lizards. Or snakes.”

She shuddered. “No thanks.”

“Or a wild bird.”

“Not one of Seth’s parrots! You couldn’t.”

“I thought you might say that.” Matt laughed and she knew he was teasing her again. “I thought more along the lines of a fish.”

She nodded. “Yes. Fish would be good. I’d be happy with fish.”

M
att watched Cristy as she washed mango juice from her face with water from the ancient faucet over the enamel basin. Then she started to comb out the tangles in her hair with her fingers so her hair fell in a glorious tumble around her shoulders.

That newly-thawed part of his heart hurt at the beauty of her. Was she getting the message of how he felt about her? Was letting his body do the talking working out?

He’d never before experienced lovemaking like they’d shared. Surely she must be aware of how rare that level of sexual connection was between a man and a woman the first time.

“Let me do that,” he said, closing the distance between them.

He stood behind her and picked up the soft mass of her hair. Her fragrance filled his nostrils—roses and the heady scent of a sexually active woman.

Slowly he wove his fingers through her hair, across her scalp and then through its length before sliding his hands down her bare shoulders. He did it again, and then again more slowly. He felt her tremble at his touch. Was she ready for more body talk?

She twisted around to face him. Her eyes were wide and incredibly blue in the morning light that filtered through into the hut. Her mouth was swollen from last night’s countless kisses. “I… I should find a piece of string or something and tie it back.”

“Don’t,” he said, brushing her mouth with his. “I like your hair just the way it is.”

Cristy took in a deep breath and her breasts rose above the top of the sheet she’d tied around her. At any moment her nipples would be in view.
His
body was ready for more talk.

“I’ll leave it loose, then,” she murmured.

“Good,” he said. He ran his hand over the dark growth on his chin. “I just wish I could shave.”

“I like it. It’s sexy.” She reached out and stroked along his jaw. “I’ll keep my hair loose if you keep the beard.”

He captured her hand and kissed it. “So I don’t need to go out and search for a sharp shell to use as a razor?”

“Please don’t. Designer stubble suits you.”

“It doesn’t hurt you?”

“Hurt me?”

“I mean beard rash.”

“No. I like the roughness of your beard against my skin. It… it feels good.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. Matt found it charming the way she blushed so readily. Though she was as passionate and responsive as he could hope for, there was something about the way she hesitated sometimes that made him doubt she’d had a lot of experience. He was surprised at how much he liked the thought that he was awakening her to a new world of sexual pleasure.

He nuzzled against the delectable smoothness of her neck. “You mean like this?”