The Castaway Bride (17 page)

She gasped. “Yes.”

He kissed his way towards her breast. “Like this?”

“Mmm.”

Intending to tickle her nipples with his tongue, he tugged at where she’d tucked in the sheet across her breasts; it fell open and fell toward the dusty floor. She grabbed at it and snatched it to her. “Careful! I’m going to wear that today.”

The moment was lost. The body dialogue ceased in concern over what she was to wear. He sucked in a deep breath. Typical female. But that was okay. Sex was important, very important, but he didn’t want her to think his only interest in her was physical.

Matt looked across to where her wedding dress—or what remained of it—hung on a hook behind the door. “You’re not wearing that?”

“It’s not really very comfortable if we’re going hunting.”

Matt looked down at the sheet. “I can’t imagine this is, either. So why wear anything at all?”

Her eyes widened. “You mean—?”

“I mean go naked.”

“Naked?” Her voice rose to a little squeak.

“Nude, bare, in the buff.”

“Air clad?”

“All that.”

“I… I’m not so sure.”

Matt laughed at her timidity. “You ain’t got nuthin’ I haven’t already seen.”

She blushed even pinker. “That… that’s true.”

“And there’s absolutely no one else around.”

He stepped out of the black undershorts he’d donned for their mango breakfast. “I’m game if you are,” he said. “I often go naked on the boat. There’s nothing like the feeling.”

“I’ve never… I’ve never even sunbathed topless.”

Good. He didn’t want the eyes of the world—of other men—on her luscious body. That sight was for him and him alone.

But would she ever be truly naked while her finger still bore that damn diamond ring?

T
he sight of Matt wearing nothing but flip-flops and the panic bag slung around his middle should have made Cristy laugh. But it didn’t. The black belt just emphasized the leanness of his hips, the perfection of his butt, the sheer virility of him.

As she walked beside him along the beach she couldn’t stop herself from taking sideways glances to admire him. His body was perfect enough for him to star in an underpants advertisement above Times Square.

But no photograph could do him justice. Because his appeal wasn’t just to do with his chiseled face or the size of his muscles. He was Matt and unique—unlike any man she’d ever met before.

She felt overwhelmed by the knowledge that this magnificent male was her lover, no matter how temporarily. Her mother was very into fate and karma. What lucky fate had led her into being shipwrecked with Matt?

But there was one problem. Did Matt being naked mean she’d spend the entire day in a state of arousal? Although she was developing deeper feelings for him she still felt overwhelmed with lust with a capital L every time she looked at him.

Lost in admiring the play of his muscles under that eagle tattoo, and noting that, even though he said he skippered his boat in the nude, his butt wasn’t as tanned as the rest of him, she bumped into him when he stopped. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. “Well, what do you think?”

She looked around her. Another perfect day in paradise with the sea gleaming turquoise, the coral sand an almost blinding white. “What can I say? It’s too beautiful for words.”

“I meant, going naked.”

He was so at ease in his own skin. So confident. While she still had to resist the urge to cover her important bits with her hands when he looked at her. “I… well… the jury is still out. As I told you, I’m not used to strutting my stuff with no clothes on.”

His voice was rich with suggestion. “But you like it?”

Did she like walking around naked in broad daylight with a gorgeous man, also in the nude? Her job, her relationship with Howard, her life away from the commune had been ruled by convention. A convention she’d wanted—or thought she’d wanted until now.

She thought out loud. “I can see the appeal. I like the feel of the breeze on my skin, the freedom of walking without skirts or pants to hinder me. Yes, I like it.” She certainly liked being without that butt-floss thong.

Matt’s eyes narrowed in appreciation both, she thought, of her and of his surroundings. “Well here’s certainly the place to enjoy that freedom.”

“I sure as heck couldn’t do it working twenty-four/seven in a corporate office.”

“I can see you setting out for that office wearing only high-heeled shoes and a briefcase. With no one else to admire you but me.”

“Shame that couldn’t happen in the real world,” she teased.

“Huh, the real world,” said Matt disparagingly. He waved an arm around him to the wild beauty of the island. “This is the real world. The way it was meant to be. Untouched.”

“So we’re like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden?”

Matt’s eyes darkened. “You could say that. Only we’ve already given in to temptation.”

And Adam and Eve were in love, Cristy thought, but couldn’t say out loud.

He pulled her to him. “There’s just one problem with this going naked thing. Every time I look at you I want to make love to you.”

“And that’s a problem?” she asked, provocatively sliding her arms around him. “If so, I’m afraid I’ve got the same one.”

“So what do you suggest we do about it?” He nuzzled into her neck and she gasped, her nipples tingling with awareness.

“Well… we could go back and get our clothes…”

“Not a good idea.”

“Or we could give into temptation again.”

He kissed her then pulled back. “But then we won’t get anything else done. No fish. No fire.”

“Well, fire of a different kind.”

He growled. “You are a sexy woman.”

She liked it when he told her she was sexy. “Just call me Eve,” she murmured, pressing herself against him and feeling the proof of his arousal. But as she did her tummy rumbled loudly. “Oh no! Not again,” she cried, overcome with embarrassment.

Matt threw back his head and laughed. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Cristy should have felt annoyed but she didn’t; after a minute she could see the humor too. “Out of my control, I’m afraid. Maybe that’s why Eve couldn’t resist the apple. She was starved.”

Still laughing, Matt took her hand. “Come on, let’s go fishing. I’m not very good at resisting temptation where you’re concerned.”

M
att knew Cristy was sexy, he knew she was smart and—in her own way—courageous. What he hadn’t expected was that she would be such good fun.

He had taken her to the estuary where the mouth of the fresh-water river joined the sea. She made collecting driftwood for the bonfire into a game. She dared him to find the best pieces, gave silly awards for finding the piece that most resembled a vegetable or an animal or a human body part. Then she raced him to the edge of the water to cool off.

And as she played she lost her self-consciousness about being naked. She was as delightful as she was beautiful. As he fell more and more under her spell, he found himself wondering if there could be a future for them.

He carried a handful of kindling-size twigs over to where they’d built the fire.

“That’s the finishing touch,” he said, as he stood back to admire the carefully constructed pyre. He went over to where he’d placed the panic bag and took out a box of matches, unwrapping them from their waterproof casing.

“I’ll give you the honor of lighting it,” he said to Cristy.

The laughter died from her eyes and she didn’t take the matchbox from him. She looked down at the sand. “I… I almost don’t want to light it. Don’t… don’t want to be rescued.”

Matt swallowed. Hard. This was his chance to say something. To tell her that he, too, didn’t want to leave the island. Leave her. But that he would be irresponsible if he didn’t make some attempt to contact the emergency services.

But, dammit, he couldn’t say the words. He just couldn’t. His own fears and emotional inhibitions gagged him. Instead he cleared his throat. Spoke more brusquely than he intended. “Yeah, well, we have to. Have to let people know where we are.”

Disappointment dimmed her eyes. Then she masked it with a stiff smile.

He cursed himself. Where was that damn white charger when he needed it? He could do with some knightly encouragement on the right thing to say to say to win the fair lady.

Abruptly he opened the matchbox. Fumbled with the matches. Tried to strike one. Then another. Damn. What was the matter with him?

“Here, let me try,” she said, taking the box from him with hands that were not quite steady either.

She struck a match and lit the base of the fire. It took immediately, little flames licking at the kindling and then whooshing bigger until all the wood was being consumed.

“A darn good fire, even if I do say so myself,” she said. But he knew it took an effort for her to make her voice sound normal.

“We had to light it, Cristy. Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to… to cook the fish I’m going to catch.”

Damn! That wasn’t at all what he’d wanted to say.

“Sure. Of course. And people might be worried where we are. After all, I left a whole wedding party behind and you, well, Jake will be missing you. Can’t leave a dog for too long.”

Her voice was light-hearted but she didn’t meet his eyes as she spoke. She went to put the matches back in the panic bag and a packet of condoms fell out.

She laughed a short, nervous laugh. “You know I visited a condom factory once. In Alabama. When I was working from the New York office. I hadn’t been in the job long and the guys must have thought it a joke to send me there on one of my first assignments. To check out the company for our investors. The factory’s closed now. Most of the world’s condoms are made in Sri Lanka. Or Malaysia. Near to the latex sources.”

He’d noticed before how she tended to chatter on when she was nervous. He was nervous too, dammit. The white charger thing was all in his mind. The reality was that he became so tongue-tied when it came to emotion he just couldn’t get the words out. But he was going to try again.

He took the condoms and put them back into the bag. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Your job sounds interesting.”

“It is,” she said, still not meeting his gaze. “I’ve got the inside news on quite a few of the big companies.”

Silence fell between them. A long, uncomfortable silence.

He tilted her chin up so she had to face him. “Cristy… I’m sorry.”

She met his gaze squarely. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Matt. I know we’re not talking tomorrows here. Just right now for as long as it lasts.”

He could address a boardroom of cutthroat executives with ease, negotiate with unions and come out looking the good guy. But finding the words to explain his feelings to this special woman was a no go. “Cristy, that’s not what I—”

She kissed him into silence, a quick perfunctory kiss that was totally without passion. “You don’t have to explain a thing,” she said. She stood back from him and put her hands on her hips. “So where’s this fish you keep promising me?”

C
risty sat under the shade of a tree as Matt waded through the water, hunting for their lunch. She wanted to stay out of the sun as she didn’t fancy the prospect of sitting on a sunburned backside. Especially on gritty coral sand. Going naked was fun but in practical terms she was discovering it was limiting.

She looked around her in appreciation. The estuary was nearly as beautiful a place as the waterfall, the rainforest growing down to the banks of the river. The best place for fishing without a rod or a net, he’d said.

They’d built the beacon fire on the broad expanse of beach on the other side of the river, well away from the danger of bushfire. High tide would put it out. In the meantime, its spiral of white smoke was surely an effective signal that someone was on the island. Not that she’d noticed any planes flying overhead or boats on the horizon.

She sighed heavily, knowing that Matt wouldn’t be able to hear.

What an idiot she’d been to have stammered on about not lighting the fire, not wanting to be rescued. It had been like a stab to the heart when he’d responded by making it clear he didn’t want to remain here with her. Even worse when he’d tried to soothe her hurt feelings by attempting to explain.

She sighed again. This falling in love business wasn’t easy. Maybe it wasn’t love at all that she was feeling for him. Maybe she was still confused about lust. Still didn’t know enough about it to tell the difference.

Like right now. This was undeniably a lust moment. Look at him. The water up to his buttocks, wading through the water stalking his prey like a primitive hunter. With his woman sitting naked on the shore waiting for him. Amazing how quickly as castaways they’d reverted to traditional male-female roles.

She found it a real turn on. This broad-shouldered hunk of hunks was actually hunting food for her. Real caveman stuff. What woman wouldn’t respond? She felt weak with desire just looking at him, his body sleek with water, the dark hair lying flat to his body. This was temptation big time.

“Hey!” the caveman shouted, and she jumped up and ran to the edge of the water.

“Cristy! I’ve caught us a crab! And it’s a beauty.”

“Well done,” she called.

He waded to shore, brandishing at arms’ length a large crab. He held it well away from him while he picked up his Swiss Army knife from the rock where he’d left it.

Cristy shuddered at the sight. She turned away. “I can’t look.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just my vegetarian upbringing. I’m squeamish.”

“I’m not throwing it back. It was damn hard to catch.”

“Just let me know when it’s… it’s over. Then I can tell my conscience it came from the supermarket.”

“Humph,” he muttered in a voice that rang with wounded pride.

“You don’t know my conscience. It has the voice of my mother, the lentil-burger queen of the vegans.”

There was silence and all she could hear was the pounding of the surf on the beach and the by now familiar birds.

“Is it done yet?” she asked, without turning around.

“It’s done,” he said.