Romance: The Billionaires Collection (Watched By A Billionaire, Stranded With A Billionaire, Caught By A Billionaire, Billionaire Stepbrother) (14 page)

“
I asked someone,” he says. “I saw you at the back
of the plane and wanted to know who you were. I'm good with names.”

We lie looking at each other for a while, and I thank
God that in this mess at least he's here. If he wasn't, I'd probably
die or go mad. Get bitten by a snake, eaten by a shark, burn to death
from sunstroke, you name it.

Flint is my guardian angel, and he even saved me right
at the start, nursing me back to health under the palm trees.

“
How much do you remember?” I haven't asked him yet,
not wanting to relive the accident or let it back in. But still, I
haven't heard his side of the story. I don't know how I came to find
myself on the beach with only a cut on my head that's now almost
fully healed.

“
About the crash?”

I nod in the dim light, the two of us lying on our sides
looking at each other. Sharing stories like we're two kids out
camping in the woods.

“
Too much,” he says, his voice lowering. “I
remember when we hit. You could see the water, black and raging,
rushing up on us. The plane broke in two, I had no control.”

His eyes turn slightly vacant, as if he's watching it
all in his head again, recounting what he's seeing.

“
The screaming all ended abruptly,” he continues. “I
managed to reach a bit of the wreckage, a torn piece of metal with a
window pane...”

“
The one against the rocks?”

He nods.

“
The plane went down, and I couldn't see anyone...and
then I saw a body, floating in the water. It was you, Libby. I
managed to get you onto the raft, your head was bleeding, but I knew
you were alive.”

A deep silence seems to have engulfed the world as he
speaks, nothing but his voice sounding. No waves, no clicking
insects, no rustle of the palm leaves above us. Just his words,
painting a picture in my head.

“
I don't know how long we floated for, but I must have
passed out, because when I woke we were caught on the rocks here. I
carried you up the beach, found a first aid kit in the sand, and
patched you up.”

“
You saved me...”

“
I did what anyone would do.”

He takes no credit, the night once more coming alive in
his mind. But all I can think of is that without him, I'd never have
even got here. Without him, I'd have drowned in the ocean like
everyone else.

He turns over, shielding his face from me, and I watch
his back rising and falling.

“
I'm sorry,” I say. “For bringing it up.”

He doesn't answer, his mind lost to that night again. A
night he lived through more than me, a night he can recall with
greater clarity.

For me, it was horrifying, but my terror was brief,
limited by the arm rest that knocked me out. For Flint, it was
endless, all consuming, and will most likely haunt him forever.

When I wake the next morning, the sky dark and miserable
for once, I find Flint lying beside me, his body closer than when we
fell asleep. There's a mugginess in the air, a closeness that sets my
body sweating and begging for water.

I reach to the single water bottle we have, lying behind
Flint, and accidentally brush his back with my arm as I reach over
him. His eyes creak open at my touch, and a strange smile runs across
his face.

“
Morning,” he says, blinking and looking at me like
I'm the last person on earth.

I guess I am, in a way.

“
Morning,” I say back, as a natural smile arches
across my face.

I feel like I've just woken up with a guy after spending
the night with him, our eyes meeting, our lips both smiling in a
moment of attraction. We've already been through so much together,
and in an odd way I feel connected to him more than I have anyone
before.

With my arm still reaching over him, he leans up and
reaches my eyeline, our faces close. A desire to kiss him rushes
through me, despite everything, and I can't help but lower my eyes to
his lips, slightly ajar and so inviting.

But I don't and, feeling suddenly awkward, I lean back,
pull my arm back over him, and open the top to take a swig of water.
I down half of it before handing it to him to finish off.

Outside, the rain is just beginning to fall, so Flint
quickly goes out and positions the bottle in the sand. It fills
quickly as Flint stands for a moment under the deluge, his body
quickly soaking to the skin, his underwear growing wet and the shape
of his penis becoming visible beneath them.

He turns to me, leans down, and reaches in with his
hand.

“
You've got to get out here Libby, it's beautiful.”

I hesitate, wondering if he's gone mad as a smile grows
on his face, and take his hand. He pulls me up and out of the opening
and the cool rain quickly soaks into my tattered shirt, sticking it
to my chest.

Flint points out to sea, where dark clouds rumble and
rage in the distance, flashes of lighting zapping down from the
heavens as thunder shakes the island.

A huge thunderstorm swirls, the most powerful vision of
nature I've ever seen. We stand, side by side, feeling like the only
two people left on earth as the world seems to end around us. The
rain crushes down to the point where we're almost swimming on the
sand, our sun kissed skin being washed of grime and sand and dirt.

Flint lifts the bottle from the sand, which is already
full, and takes a long swig. He passes it to me, and I do the same,
drinking down the liquid from above, cool and refreshing and the most
natural tasting thing I've ever drunk.

He digs the bottle back into the beach, and it quickly
begins to refill.

Then he turns to me, takes my hand, and shouts over the
roaring storm.

“
Come on!”

He runs, pulling me with him toward the surf, and we
rush into the sea.

“
Isn't this dangerous?!” I shout.

He shakes his head, smiling bright.

“
No, the storms over there.”

He points to the monsoon tormenting the distant seas.

“
We're only catching the edge of it. We're fine.”

He dives under the water, and pulls me with him. Below
the surface he points up and I look to see a million drops dancing on
the surface of the water above me. Down here it's silent, calm, a
world away from the fury of Zeus above.

Fish calmly swim nearby, going about their normal
routines, their world unchanged by the alien land above the surface
of their domain.

We rise again, and watch the roaring storm unfold, the
wrath of nature seeming so much more powerful here. I feel Flint take
my hand again, and we watch with our fingers entwined, and I know
that if I have to be here, on this island, there are few people I'd
rather be with than him.

Gradually, the force of the tempest fades, moving away
from us further out to sea, nothing but the lingering droplets of
rain remaining in the air.

We return to the shelter, which remains standing to my
great relief, as the skies quickly change and everything begins to
calm. And, just like that, the world above starts to turn blue once
more, and the sun peeks through the dispersing clouds.

And I realize the capricious nature of the weather is
all powerful, unstoppable, ready to chew you up and spit you out
whenever it pleases. And that Flint and I are nothing but pawns in
this grand game of life and that, sooner of later, the world will
forget about us.

Chapter
Five

Over the next few days we constantly keep looking out
for passing boats and planes, and even begin to take it in turns to
keep watch at night in case one passes as we sleep.

During my turns, I spend as much time watching Flint as
I do the ocean and the sky. I watch as his eyes flicker and his limbs
flex and twist. I watch from the outside, knowing the turmoil he's
going through within.

I know it's probably the same with me. Most times I
wake, I do so with images of the crash in my head and a sheen of
sweat on my body. Sometimes I see Flint looking at me as my eyes
open, his expression sympathetic, knowing what I'm going through.

He seems nothing like the man I've read about in the
press and seen on the news. Nothing like the prima donna playboy he's
made out to be by some publications. He seems every bit the man for a
crisis, the rock that I need to help get me through this.

And in reply, I try to be a rock for him too, pushing
all fears and concerns to the back of my mind, refusing to think that
this island might be my home for a lot longer than originally
thought.

It's over a week in that we decide to build a fire pit
on the beach outside our camp. We dig a hole, fill the base with
rocks, and explore the jungle for all the dry wood we can find. We
pile it high, leaving as much wood as we can gather in reserve
nearby, and then spend the entire day trying to get it lit.

Flint tells me he knows exactly what he's doing, and
that he's even done it before. However, the odyssey he embarks on
reminds me of how easy it is in the real world to get anything you
want. It's all at your fingertips, there for the taking.

But not here. Something as simple as making fire is
proving difficult to master. There are no matches, lighters, no
magnifying glass to concentrate the energy of the sun.

All Flint has are his wits and his perseverance,
struggling for hours to create enough friction to generate a spark.
He has it all set up, rubbing small pieces of dried wood together for
an almost torturous amount of time before, eventually, a spark lights
up and he quickly sets it to the rough kindling in the base of the
bonfire.

Slowly, surely, the blaze begins to rise, and within a
few minutes we have a roaring bonfire on the beach.

“
Will it be visible?” I ask, praying that perhaps
the fire will act as a signal to a passing ship or plane.

He nods enthusiastically, but I suspect it's all for my
benefit.

“
Maybe, we have to hope so.”

But I realize that it's a long shot when I think about
how we're only just doing it now. Surely, if it was likely to flag
someone down, he'd have set about doing it earlier, when we first
arrived.

I ask him that, and he admits that it's unlikely that
anyone would see the fire unless they were passing close by. In any
case, he tells me that it's a good idea for us to load it with palm
leaves and other vegetation during the day so that it spills out
black smoke. If any signal's going to work, it will be that.

We keep the fire lit day and night, scouring the jungle
for as much wood as we can gather. Thankfully, the island's large
enough that we should never run out. Just about big enough to give us
everything we need and keep us alive.

At night, we continue to take watches, but let the fire
burn down to its embers. When morning comes, we build the blaze back
up again and cover it with leaves, creating the black smoke that we
hope will be our savior.

But the says continue to pass, and the horizon shows no
sign of a boat coming our way, the skies no sign of a plane.

Sometimes, I see lights dotted in the distance, but
Flint only tells me that they're cargo ships, most likely, and that
somewhere out there there's probably a shipping lane, miles and miles
in the far off distance.

We spend our days talking, keeping busy. I learn so much
about the man behind the mask, the real Flint Young beneath the media
profile the press have built around him.

He tells me he's not that guy, that playboy party
animal. Not really. That he enjoys having fun but it's massively
blown out of proportion. I think of Benjy, and we laugh when I tell
him about his so called 'Playboy Mansion' in Australia.

“
Just a normal mansion, I can assure you Lib. It's
really quite boring actually.”

Within a couple of weeks, we're calling each other Lib
and Flin, and I feel as comfortable around him as I have with anyone.
We build up the shack together, perfect our methods of picking and
opening coconuts, and even begin to fashion spears to try to hunt
fish.

The first time Flint makes a catch, we celebrate like
someone's arrived to take us off the island. It's only small, but we
cook it with relish over the fire and devour every last bit of it. I
can honestly say, I've never tasted anything so amazing.

With the taste of meat on our tongues, our need to keep
hunting grows, and gradually we spend all day improving our throwing
skills and, eventually, our success rates too. After several days of
trying, I manage to spear a decent sized tropical fish that neither
of know the name of.

And slowly, as the hours turn to days, and the days turn
to weeks, we stop looking out for boats. We stop watching the skies
for planes. And we begin to focus on each other, a caring and
attraction developing that neither of us can control.

And one night, when we're lying together in the shack
that's become our sanctuary, we find our lips touching in the
darkness, our hands caressing each other's skin, and our bodies
linking in an embrace that lasts until morning.