Tempt (Take It Off) (6 page)

Oh my God, it was the single most devastating experience of my life. He was truly delicious. He tasted like chocolate and salt. His body was hard and lean. Our toes twirled around together in the sand, t
he grittiness teasing my skin as his tongue tantalized my mouth.

“Open for me,” he murmured
against my lips.

I obeyed without thinking and his tongue swept inside my mouth, caressing over my teeth and fondling the roof of my mouth. He sucked my lower lip into his mouth and moved against me
. I cried out because the sensation of his body and his mouth at the same time was almost more than I could bear.

There was a gnawing hunger inside me, and it wasn’t for food. It was for something else, something I didn’t quite understand. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff about to tumble over and there was no parachute or net to catch me.

His jean-clad leg pushed between mine and he brought it up, the firmness of his knee right at my core. I moaned again, his body affecting mine in ways I truly didn’t know was possible.

He tore
his mouth from mine but kept kissing, down my neck and across my collarbone, where he nipped at the bones and made me shiver. He lifted his head, dark curls falling near his heavy-lidded eyes, and his tongue jutted out between two swollen lips, licking at the remains of our kiss.

“You taste good.”

My thighs involuntarily tightened around his knee. I watched as his eyes darkened to a deep leafy green.

He brought his hands up and brushed
away my hair. Some of the hair was stuck in dried blood and pulled, making me wince.

He frowned. “I should have cleaned you up.”

“I’ll do it.”

He stood swiftly, the sea breeze brushing over m
y passion-fevered skin and making me wince. He reached down and grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet. I stumbled a little, feeling dizzy, and I knew it was because of that kiss.

He kept hold of my hand and retrieved the Coke that started it all and handed it to me. “Drink.”

I reached up to take it, but he shook his head and held the can to my lips. I watched him as he tilted it up and the warm soda traveled across my tongue. I drank. Then I drank some more. He was rather pushy about it, but I didn’t argue. I was still drunk from that kiss.

My goodness, was he going to kiss me like that every day? If he did
, I would never want to leave.

After a couple minute
s, he relented, pulling the can up to his mouth. I watched his lips wrap around the aluminum as he drank. He drained the rest in seconds flat. And then we were walking back to the plane—our makeshift camp.

When we made it to the door, I glanced back over my shoulder, not remembering a single thing about the walk here.

Oh crap.

I was in trouble.

Inside, I went right for my suitcase, pulling out another pair of shorts and T-shirt. Instead of panties and a bra, I opted for my bikini to wear beneath my clothes. Then I fished out my little kit containing my shampoo and soap. I bundled all the items into my arms and turned.

Nash was standing in the entrance of the cockpit
, watching me. In his hand he gripped a small duffle bag.

“What’s that?”

“A bag that I usually keep on the plane. It has a spare change of clothes and some toiletries.”

I felt my brow wrinkle. “Did you stay in Miami?”

“Not this trip, but sometimes I make stops or have layovers and it’s nice to have some stuff in case I need it.”

“I’m glad you found it.”

He nodded. “Ready?”

We went back toward the beach
. Bathing in salty ocean water wasn’t the most ideal situation, but it was better than being coated in dried blood and sweat.

I stopped at the shore, looking around for a little bit of privacy. There really wasn’t much. “You stay here
. I’ll go a little farther down,” he offered.

I laid my stuff on the sand, getting out the soap and shampoo I needed as he walked away. I waited until he was still visible but far enough down and unpacking his own stuff
before I started removing my clothes. I stayed in my bra and panties and waded into the water to my knees. I washed as best as I could with the lavender-scented soap while trying not to use too much. Even though it was the ocean, it still felt good to be clean. Once I felt fresher, I returned the soap to shore and grabbed up my T-shirt, which was stained with blood, and the shampoo.

I couldn’t get the top of my h
ead wet because of the stitches so I just dunked the ends of my hair and the back of my head in the water and then lathered up the bottom portion with suds. While that soaked in, I used my T-shirt as a washcloth and gingerly cleaned my face, trying to get all the dried blood and grime off my skin.

Once I was finished
, I waded in a little farther and took off my panties, using a little of the shampoo to wash them in the water.

I couldn’t help but be distracted by the way the water felt brushing between my legs. It was like that part of me was extra sensitive and every caress of the water made my muscles quiver with desire.

I glanced back down the beach toward Nash. He was coming up out of the ocean, water raining from his sun-kissed skin. It slid over his body like a lover, and I watched it travel down over his hips…

He was naked.

Stark ass naked.

The water brushed against me again and I groaned, the sensation making me squirm. Without thinking
, I reached between my thighs, almost like my touch could stop my body from wanting something. My fingers met with moisture. Moisture that was not ocean water. This moisture was silkier and a little thicker.

I yanked my hand away.

What was wrong with me?

I couldn’t possibly be wanting him. Not
that way
. After all, my body didn’t work the way other women’s bodies did.

I glanced back at him again, catching the side of his bare backside
. Okay, so I looked longer than just a glance. But then I looked away (because he bent to pick up some clothes) and finished washing.

When he was almost dressed
, I hurried out of the water, using my shirt as sort of a wrap, and dashed to my clothes. I realized I hadn’t thought things through because my shirt would have made a really good towel—only now it was wet.

I pulled on my bathing suit, thankful it would dry quickly
, and then I used the jean shorts I’d been wearing and hastily dried off most of my body. I used my hands to ring out what I could of my hair and then threw the wet shirt and shorts onto the sand. I would rinse those out in a minute.

Noting that Nash was getting closer
, I pulled on the black linen shorts with a drawstring waistband and tied them loosely around my hips. I wasn’t ready to put on my shirt yet because I wanted to let my hair dry a bit first.

Scooping up my comb
, I got to work, tugging the tangles out of my thick blond hair. Here in this climate, I was likely a frizz ball waiting to happen. It certainly wasn’t going to be straight like I usually styled it.

Nash arrived and I slid a glance at him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt
either. He was well defined and not quite as thin as I was expecting. He was definitely lean, but there was some bulk there too, mostly from muscle. His skin was bronzed and darkly tanned, smooth and hairless… except for a little trail of dark curly hair that started just below his navel and traveled into the tan cargo shorts that hung loosely on his hips.

It made me think of the yellow brick road
—
follow the yellow brick road
—except this wasn’t yellow. It was dark and led somewhere naughty and delightfully sinful.

I shivered.

“Are you cold?” Nash asked, concern lacing his tone.

“Me?” I said dumbly.

“Well… since there’s no one else here,” he said like it was obvious.

“No, I’m fine
.” I averted my gaze, embarrassed. I returned to combing my hair, thinking it was a good distraction from his body.

“Here, let me,” he said, his voice suddenly much closer than just seconds ago. And then the heat that radiated off his skin touched me, wrapped around me, drew me
closer. He took the comb from my slack fingers and started combing my hair.

How much of an onslaught was my body was supposed to take before I literally melted and slid into the sea?

Did he not know the effect he had over me? First he covered me with his body like he was a bodyguard and I was some royal princess, he held me all night after a nightmare, and then he kissed me… he freaking devoured half my soul with a single kiss… and now this. Now he was sliding his fingertips through my hair and massaging the base of my neck with a powerful hand.

“
Bella
,” he murmured. He spoke so low and with such an accent I didn’t understand what he said.

“What?” I asked
, turning my head slightly toward him.

He leaned up into my ear
and repeated the word again. “
Bella.
It means I think you’re beautiful.”

He thinks I’m beautiful.

I shivered again.

The comb paused. “I will build a fire.”

“A fire?”

“
Si,
for warmth.”

I let him think I was cold. Telling him I was about to jump his bones was beyond my vocabulary at the moment. Not to mention the fact I was literally stunned that I actually
did
want to jump his bones.

And all this time I thought my vagina was broken.

‘Course maybe it still was. Just because I felt the stirrings of desire didn’t necessarily mean my vagina was ready for a full-on sex romp.

Sex romp?
What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t even know what a sex romp was.
I bet he does.

I jumped at the unexpected thought.

“Ava?” he murmured, his voice and body still entirely too close. I skittered away like a nervous filly.

“Thank you,” I said, pulling my hair over my shoulder and quickly braiding the length of it. When I got to the end of the braid
, I realized I didn’t have anything to tie it with. I went to release it and he stopped me.

“Wait
.” He tore a strip off of the worn gray T-shirt he’d been wearing. He came close again, wrapping the scrap around the ends of my hair and tying it tightly into a bow. Then he stepped back to admire his craftiness.

“Thank you
,” I said, reaching for my T-shirt, feeling way underdressed. I couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered over my bare skin and on the triangles of my black bikini top.

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to go look around for wood for the bonfire.”

“I’ll help.” I moved our belongings farther up, closer to the plane, and then started looking around for wood. I wasn’t very successful, but I did manage to find a few things I thought would burn. Then I figured I would be more useful creating an area to actually burn the fire so I began to clear out a space in the pristine, white sand.

By the time I was finished
, the sun was beginning to slip behind the horizon and I was covered in sand. I felt gross all over again. I dared a glance around me, noting that Nash was still nowhere in sight.

Leaving the bonfire site and the meager offerings I found to burn
, I went down to the water, discarding my shorts and shirt. The water was cooler now than earlier because the sun wasn’t as hot, but it was still refreshing and felt great against my overheated skin.

A fish swam by my leg and I lunged at it, thinking I would capture it and make it dinner. Of course
, all I ended up with was a mouthful of salt water.

I heard a yell and looked over my shoulder at Nash
. He had his hands full of wood, and as I watched him, he dumped it onto the sand and jogged forward. I stood, wondering what the alarm was about, and then he stopped and put his hands on his hips.

I made my way out of the surf and walked up the sand to where he was standing. “What’s the matter?”

“I thought you had fallen,” he said, his gaze sweeping over my body. My nipples hardened and I fought the urge to cross my hands over my chest.

“I was trying to catch us a fish.”

He laughed. “With your bare hands?”

“At least I tried
,” I snapped.

He patted me on the top of the head. “Thank you.”

I growled.

“Here,” he said
, grinning, pulling his ratty gray T-shirt out of the back pocket of his shorts. “You can use it to dry off.”

“Thanks
,” I said, accepting it and toweling off my arms. It smelled just like him. I wondered if my skin would bear his scent after I finished drying.

“You did good clearing a space,” he said and then got to work on the fire. He had the wood stacked in no time
, and then I watched in fascination as he adeptly used two sticks to create a flame, which he then used some of the stuff (mostly foliage) as kindling and started what would be a very decent-sized fire.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” I asked.

“My abuelo taught me,” he replied, staring at the flames. “My grandfather,” he corrected. “He thought it would be good to teach me basic survival since I was going to be flying a plane.”

“Looks like it came in handy.”

Once the fire was in full swing, he disappeared toward the plane and I put my clothes back on. He returned with one of the plane chairs and sat it in the sand near the fire. Then he went back and got another one, sitting it right beside the first one.

It was
like having a couch outside on the beach. I snickered.

“Beats getting eaten by sand fleas.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You’re right.”

We sat down as the smoke from the bonfire wafted up into the twilight sky and created a heady
, thick smell in the air around us.

We sat there for a long time, watching what was left of the sunset
, while I realized that our second day on this island passed without a single trace of anyone else. Not one airplane, not one boat, nothing.

It made me wonder what our chances of being found really were.

In truth, we didn’t even know where we were. We had no idea how close or far civilization could be. Suddenly, the theme song for
Gilligan’s Island
was playing through my head.

“Marianne or Ginger?” I asked him.

“What?”

“You ever see reruns of
Gilligan’s Island
?”

He laughed. “A couple.”
He turned thoughtful. “I’m partial to blondes.”

Oh. Well.

Thank goodness it was getting dark because I knew I was blushing.

“What about you
?” he asked after a minute.

“You want to know who I prefer?” I laughed.

He shook his head, the fire casting an orange glow over his features. “What kind of guys do you prefer?”

“I actually haven’t dated in a while.”

“What’s a while?”

“A couple years.”

He made a sound of disbelief.

“It’s true
,” I said, shrugging. It really didn’t matter if he believed me or not.

“I don’t get it,” he said, sitting forward and leaning his elbows on his knees. “A girl like you
—”

“What’s a girl like me?”

“Tall, blond hair, blue eyes, legs that go on for miles…” he said, glancing at me. “And you know you seem pretty cool too.”