The Trouble With Paradise (28 page)

The man had it going on.

Being a doctor wasn’t particularly physical, but being part of a sailing crew was, and he’d honed every single muscle on his body to hard, sinewy perfection. She could have looked her fill forever, watching him gliding the soap over his torso, up and down his arms and legs, and—

She should look away, to give him his privacy if nothing else. If someone had been watching her, she’d have been mortified, but she couldn’t move, she could only stand there, tongue hanging out.

When he caught a glimpse of her, he tossed the soap to the edge of the water and put his hands on his hips. She tried to turn away, she really did. But her gaze had a mind of its own, and took itself on a happy little tour down the front of him, past his soapy, glistening shoulders, past those six-pack abs . . . The man really did have a world-class bod, and asinine or not, she wanted him. She could tell herself it was simply a physical reaction, or even more understandably, an adrenaline rush because of all they’d been through, but it was so much more than that.

Without a word, he turned and dove into the water, just beneath the waterfall, and she let out a long, shaky breath, fanning her face.

Didn’t help.

Then he unexpectedly surged out of the water near her feet like a merman, making her squeak in surprise and fall backward to her butt into the shallow water.

“If you wanted to join me,” he said. “You only had to say so.”

Sputtering, the cold water seeping into her clothes, she shoved her hair from her eyes. The water was only a foot deep, but sitting in the soft sand beneath it like she now was, it lapped just beneath her breasts. “You scared me.”

“Really? Because you don’t look scared, you look turned on.” He glided in, only his head out of the water as he slid his hands up her legs, opening them so that he could swim between them, gaze level with her belly.

She opened her mouth to remind him that hey, they weren’t doing this, but he spoke. “Your head okay?”

“Better.”

“Where is everyone?” His shoulders held her legs open to him as his hands skimmed up to her waist, then up her ribs . . .

“Um—”

“Occupied?” Dipping his head, he used his jaw to nudge down the skinny strap of her top, while his hands slid beneath, warm against her drenched skin.

“Um . . . yes. Occupied.”

“Good.” His fingers fisted in the thin material of her tank, and then tugged.

Her breasts popped out. Palming them, he smiled, then gently scraped his beard-roughened jaw over a bared nipple.

He opened his mouth on her, his tongue hot, a sharp, sensual contrast to the cool water.

“Look at you,” he murmured, bending his head to take in his own long, tanned fingers on her pale, pale breasts. “So beautiful.”

As she’d noticed before, when angry or aroused, his French accent deepened, and she had to admit, his voice alone could make her weak in the knees. She was so weak in the knees now, she couldn’t have stood to save her life.

But apparently, standing wasn’t going to be necessary. Mouth still on her breasts, his hands slid down her legs, and then back up again, taking the material of her wet and clinging skirt with them.

“Christian.”

He didn’t answer. He was too busy scooting her back so that only her legs were in the water, then slipping his thumbs in the edging of her panties.

He tugged, then tossed her underwear aside, where they landed next to the soap.

He lifted his head and met her eyes. “Yes?”

At the look in his eyes, her toes—still in the water—curled in anticipation. “Um...”

Again he bent his head, kissing her inner thigh, her hip.

Low on her belly.

Then ground zero. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she gave herself up to the sensations of being taken . . . cool water, warm sun, hot tongue . . .

And when he’d drawn her right out of herself with shocking ease, she lay back on the bank of the lagoon, blinking up into the sky, blown away by what he did for her.

To her.

She rolled to her side and found him lying next to her on his back. Turning his head, he met her gaze, his own hot and hungry.

“I still have the condoms in my purse.” He was hard, jutting straight up into the sky she’d just been studying.
Oh my.
She’d done that to him. The knowledge, the power of it, surged through her.

“I’m really starting to love that purse.”

“I’ll get them, but first...” Smiling, she leaned over him.

He stared at her. “I like that expression.”

“Good.” Bold in a way she’d never ever been before in her life, she ran a finger down the chest and abs she’d wanted to nibble at. And then indulged herself, replacing her fingers with her mouth.

As in most things, she felt clumsy. A little uncertain. But bolstered by the way Christian’s chest rose and fell, as if he’d been running for miles, she thought maybe she was doing okay, so she kept going, spreading open-mouthed kisses from one hip to the other, and then . . .

In-between. She ran her tongue down his hot, silky length and then back up again, and with a low, rough groan, his hands embedded in her hair, he rocked his hips to her rhythm.

He liked it. Good to know. She decided to see what else he liked, and opened her mouth on him.

Another one of those low, rough groans escaped him, and again his hips lifted.

He liked that, too.

Maybe she was getting the hang of it after all . . .

“So much for not doing that again,” Dorie managed.

Christian’s response was a wordless groan.

They were both lying beneath the waterfall. He’d pulled on a pair of board shorts. She’d straightened her wet clothing. Her heart was finally slowing to its normal pace after a very aerobic workout that hadn’t involved exercising so much as more of that yummy, wild, island sex.

Which, she figured, was even better than a typical workout, because it’d left a stupid grin on her face. No gym ever did that.

Christian came up on his knees, then leaned over her.

“Again?” she asked breathlessly, her body tingling in shocked but hopeful anticipation.

He probed the bump on her head and checked her pupils.

“Oh,” she said, greatly disappointed. “That.”

Still kneeling over her, his hands holding her head, he looked into her eyes, his own amused. “Did I not satisfy you?”

“No,” she lied, then waited for him to rectify that.

He leaned in so that his lips were just brushing hers. “So were you faking it then?”

“Um...”

“Twice?”

“You counted?”

“You were wrapped around me like plastic wrap.” He grinned against her lips. “Panting my name.
Christian,
” he mimicked softly.
“Oh, Christian, don’t stop, please don’t stop, Christian...”

She felt her ears begin to heat up.

He sank his teeth into her lower lip and tugged lightly. “Sexy as hell.”

“You made noises, too,” she managed.

“Did I?”

“Uh-huh. But more of a rough groan...” Like he’d been in heaven and she’d put him there. Even thinking about the way he’d sounded made her thighs tighten.

She wanted to hear it again. But most of all, she didn’t want him to shift away from her, to go back to camp, to stop talking to her, smiling at her in that way he had that made her feel so special.

She was tempted to say it all out loud but didn’t want to scare him, this man who claimed not to be scared of anything. She knew, given the life he’d led and all the things he’d seen and done, he truly believed himself fearless.

But she also knew, on some core level, in a way he wasn’t ready to admit, she did scare him.

Big-time.

He had a three-day growth of beard on his tanned, rugged face, and she was fairly certain he hadn’t bothered to do much more than finger comb his hair in days. He wore those black board shorts and that was it. He looked very . . . island. Exotic.

Primal.

Maybe he’d deny being scared, but her? Terrified, especially given that she was the one who was going to get hurt in this deal. Because this thing they had going on, as wonderful, as incredible, as amazing as it was, couldn’t last.

She didn’t fit into his world, which wasn’t going to make it any easier when they were rescued. But when that day came, she’d lift her chin and smile, and watch him walk away. It would hurt, but hey, the pain would remind her that she was living life, right? “So how does a sailboat vanish anyway?” she asked, desperate to have a conversation rather than continue thinking too much.

“It couldn’t have sunk in the shallow water.”

“And it couldn’t have sailed away.”

“No.”

The silence filled up with their racing thoughts she’d hoped to avoid. “So. Guess we should ration the rest of the condoms. Or are we back to the no more sex thing, which if you’ve noticed, hasn’t worked so well this far.”

She hadn’t meant to ask, but she’d never been all that good at controlling herself.

He sighed.

At the sound, she got to her feet. “I should get back.”

He pushed to his feet. “Dorie—”

“No, really. They’ll worry about me.”

“I’ll walk you. I’ll feel better if you stay in sight.”

“Of you?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Because you strike me as the kind of man who craves his freedom.”

“I do value my freedom. Greatly, but—”

“I know you don’t need anyone in your life. You don’t have to worry. I knew that when we—” She looked at the spot where they’d made love. “I know.”

“My life isn’t suited for a relationship,” he said slowly. “I had another year on the
Sun Song
—”

“But that’s over now.”

“And because of it, I’m jobless. Homeless. I have no idea what will happen.”

“I know that, too.” She forced a smile. “It’s okay, Christian. I’m okay.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn’t say anything else.

She was still smiling, mostly because her muscles were stuck. Tired of it, and tired of herself, she reached for her sandals.

“Dorie?”

She shoved one foot into the shoe.

“Stick close.
Oui?
”

Damn, she wanted to say no, but close worked for her. Far too much.
“Oui.”

TWENTY-TWO

 

Dorie watched Ethan stab at the fire with a large stick. His mouth was carved into a tight grimace. “A chef without food to cook,” he muttered.

“Don’t forget a sailing crew without a sailboat.”

“That, too.” The afternoon sun was beating down, and his face was streaked with perspiration. His hair stood straight up in spots, and not so straight up in others.

Under normal circumstances, Dorie would think he was a man on the very edge of his sanity, but these weren’t normal circumstances, and she had the feeling that they all were looking a little crazy.

But which of them looked crazy enough to kill? She eyed each and every one of them, slowly and carefully. Cadence was sitting on a rock, a stack of coconuts in front of her. In her usual frenetic, unable-to-relax fashion, she was cracking them open and cutting out the meat.

Brandy sat on a rock as well, painting Andy’s toenails.

“You have polish remover, right?” he asked warily.

“Right. Want a flower on your big toes?”

“How about a baseball?”

Christian came into the clearing, shirtless, damp with perspiration, dragging a large log for the fire.

Denny was still stalking back and forth along the beach, every few feet stopping to stare in disbelief at the spot where his boat had been.

Dorie shook her head. She’d have figured they’d have discussed the boat vanishing in detail, and they damn well should have, but no one brought it up. “It didn’t just sail away.”

Everyone looked at her.

“Well, even I know that much,” she said.

“The boat’s lost,” Ethan said. “Story over.”

“Yeah, but how do you lose a sailboat?” Brandy countered.

Ethan laughed harshly and went back to poking the fire. “It’s Bobby’s ghost, haunting us.”

“Why?” Cadence asked softly. “Because someone did this to him?”

Finally. Maybe they’d all been in shock from what they’d been through, and things were just now sinking in. But it was time to deal with it. Past time.

“I think someone pushed him,” Cadence said. “One of us.” Her voice wobbled, and her eyes were wide. She was losing it.

Dorie moved to her side and took her hand. “Honey—”

“No, it’s true. I heard you and Brandy talking about it, about the blood in the boat, and now the boat’s gone so there’s no proof.” Cadence pointed at all of them. “I’ve been thinking about it, trying to be logical, and you know what logic says? That it could have been any one of us, because we each had motivation!”