The Stud (19 page)

"You're always hungry, " she said, but looking at his long, lean shape through his clothes, remembering the feel of his bare body in the dark, she doubted he carried an ounce of fat.

"Aren't you?" he asked.

"Not always. "

"Are you now?"

"A little. " Actually, she was more than a little. She was famished. She wondered if it had anything to do with the baby and prayed that it didn't Their supply of food was limited. Despite Spencer's claim of unlimited bananas and fish, she was going to have to watch what she ate. If she ate wisely and as balanced a diet as possible, the baby would be fine.

The return trip to the beach seemed shorter. The fact that it was downhill helped, as did the breeze, which gusted toward them more often as they neared the water, lessening the effect of the heat.

Spencer declared himself chef. Claiming that certain of the foods he'd brought would only keep a short time without refrigeration, he made two overstuffed ham-and-cheese sandwiches—on croissants from a Manhattan bakery, no less, Jenna mused. For dessert, he produced a chocolate cake from the cooler, which also held six-packs of beer and Evian water.

"Boy, " Jenna said, studying the cooler and its contents, "when you get marooned, you do it in style. " And in style, they did it. They ate on a large beach towel beneath the shade of a cluster of palm trees whose fronds rippled in the breeze. The sound was as peaceful as the gently rhythmic one of the sea rolling onto the shore. Closing her eyes and listening, Jenna could almost forget that she was stranded on an uninhabited island for the indefinite future.

Almost. But not quite. Each time she thought of it, she felt renewed unease. It would be one thing if she knew she was here for, say, three days or even a week. She could handle that. But indefinitely? That was a frightening thought.

Spencer apparently didn't share her fear. As soon as he had had his fill of lunch, he stretched out on his back with his shoulder touching her thigh, laced his hands on his middle, crossed his ankles and went to sleep. He looked perfectly calm, totally relaxed and eminently content.

While he slept, Jenna studied him, as she had never had quite the occasion to do before. She admired his feet, which were bare now. Her gaze climbed his long, hair-roughened legs to his shorts, which lay on his lean hips in such a way that his sex was pronounced. Her eyes lingered there for a long time, before she dragged them over his T-shirt, which broadened with his chest, to his neck, then his face. The beginnings of a dark shadow had appeared on his jaw. She wondered whether he would shave while they were there. She wondered whether he would bathe in the ocean. She wondered whether he would have her cut his hair when it grew shaggy and long.

But damn it, she wasn't a barber any more than she was a midwife. She had never been a Girl Scout She had never gone camping. When it came to outdoor things, she had enthusiasm but little experience. In that respect, the thought of what lay ahead in the next few days, perhaps weeks or months, was thoroughly daunting.

It galled her that Spencer didn't feel any of that He had simply eaten his lunch and gone to sleep as though he had nothing better to do. But he did! He could be working on the plane. He claimed he didn't have the parts to repair it, but maybe with enough tinkering, something would start He could
try,
at least.

And if he didn't want to work on the engine, he could be taking inventory of their supplies for the purpose of rationing. It was one thing to have huge sandwiches and chocolate cake on the first day they were marooned, if for no other reason than to boost their spirits. But if they continued to eat so freely, they might be very sorry two or three weeks down the road.

And if he didn't want to be taking inventory, he could be building a shelter. The plane might be fine for protection during a brief rainstorm, but they couldn't very well sleep there. They wouldn't be able to stretch out. For a prolonged period, they needed more room. She would go at it herself if she had any idea what to do, but she didn't. Roughing it was Spencer's specialty, not hers. But Spencer was sleeping as soundly as a child, and for the life of her she couldn't wake him.

So she brooded. She glared at his serene features and wondered how a man could so lackadaisically accept his fate. She shifted her gaze to the sea and scanned the horizon. Cruise ships passed by, he had said. Charters came for cookouts. But she didn't see anything that remotely resembled a boat, and as for airplanes passing overhead, the sky was clear blue and empty. It occurred to her that since they had landed nearly three hours before, she hadn't heard even a single drone of another airplane.

So much for airplanes flying overhead all the time!

And Spencer slept on.

Needing to do something, Jenna bounded up and started down the beach. She walked along the lip of the sand, just shy of the beach grass, where pieces of driftwood had gathered. She collected them until her arms were filled, then carried them back and formed a pile on the highest spot of sand near the airplane, where the tide wouldn't go. If a boat or a plane passed by at dawn, at dusk or during the night, they'd need a bonfire. Even a noncamper knew that. Spencer had matches. Now they had wood.

Sending intermittent scowls Spencer's way, she took strength from self-righteous efficiency. Back and forth she went until she had a sizable pile of wood, at which point the unfortunate realization hit that if it rained, the wood would get wet and be useless. So she transferred it, armload by armload, into a haphazard pile under the plane. By this time her shorts and shirt were dirty, she had chipped the polish off the tips of two fingernails, her hair was fast falling from its pins and she was sweaty. But at least
someone
had done something practical, she mused, then whirled around when Spencer's booming voice broke the island's peace.

"What are you
doing?"
He was bounding to his feet with a furious look on his face. "Just because the electrical system's bad doesn't mean the whole thing's no good. What in the hell will you accomplish by
burning
it?"

"I'm not burning it, " Jenna snapped, "though I should for all the good it's done us. I was gathering wood, and that seemed like the only place to store it where it won't get wet if it rains. If anything passes nearby, we'll need a signal fire. "

His anger faded instantly. He ran a hand over his face, as though belatedly waking up, then pushed that hand through his hair. "Good thinking. " He eyed her more closely and with a touch of a smile. "That really was good thinking. I'm proud of you, Jenna. "

She didn't like his smile. It suggested surprise that she had a head on her shoulders, and was as chauvinistic as anything she'd seen him do. "Well, someone has to think around here. " She tossed a hand toward the towel. "You eat until you're stuffed, then fall into a sleep so deep that it would take an army to wake you, and in the meantime, our rescuers would have come and gone. "

He let out a breath. "Uh-oh, you're worked up again?"

"Someone has to be, or we'll never get out of here. "

"What's your rush?"

She pointed in the direction she thought home might be, though in fact she couldn't have said where north was. "I have a life back there. I have things to do. I can't spend the next few years of my life eating fish and bananas on a tropical island. "

He let out a bored sigh. "It's not tropical. We're not even in the Caribbean. This is the Atlantic. "

She arched a brow. "Are people rescued from the Atlantic more often than from the Caribbean?"

"Come on, Jenna. "

"I want to be rescued, " she stated. "I'm not the hardened adventurer you are. I'm not used to being in precarious situations like you are. You love the mystery of it, the challenge, but not me. I like security. I like stability. I
like
knowing where I'll be a month from now. " She gave a short headshake. "I can't take things like this in stride the way you can. I can't just turn over and go to sleep and wait for fate to happen. I have to
do
something. "

He ducked his head until he was on eye level with her and said in an exasperated way, "But there isn't anything
to
do. "

"We can build a fire. "

"Not in broad daylight. Besides, I have a flare gun in the plane. A single shot'll do it if anything passes nearby. "

She was still for a minute. "You have a flare gun. I've spent half my afternoon gathering wood for a fire, and you have a flare gun. That's just great!" Whirling around, she stalked past the towel. "You could have told me. " She plopped down on the base of the palm.

He followed her. "You didn't ask. "

"How could I ask? You went to sleep. "

"Well, I was tired. You think you're the only one who feels tension? Maybe, just maybe that landing was hard on me, too. "

Jenna wasn't in the mood to feel sorry for him. "I don't buy that You thrive on danger. For the ten years I lost during that landing, you probably gained five. "

"If I did, you're taking them away real quick. For God's sake, Jenna, ease up, " he muttered, and started unbuttoning his shirt "This isn't the end of the world. "

Her eyes fell to his chest, which was fast appearing. "What are you doing?"

"Going swimming. In case you haven't noticed, it's hot here. "

"And you've been working so hard. "

"I don't work hard unless there's good reason to work hard, and there isn't Not here. Not now. " He pulled his arms from the sleeves and tossed the shirt aside. "We have supplies and shelter, and all the time in the world. " He undid his shorts. "If you want to scurry around seeing to all kinds of little domestic chores, be my guest. " He pushed down the shorts and his briefs and stepped out of them. "Just don't ask me to help. " Stark naked and totally unselfconscious, he cocked his hands on his hips. "I'll be the first one to fix a meal or set up a tarp or dig a latrine, but I refuse to go looking for other work. I don't need routine. I don't need chores to keep me happy. If I'm stuck here, I intend to make the most of it. I intend to have fun. "

Jenna swallowed and shifted in her seat. She was trying desperately to keep her eyes above his neck, but she was abundantly aware of what lay below. She had touched it. She knew the texture of the hair there, and the firmness of his flesh when he was aroused.

"Go ahead, " he goaded. "Look. I'm not shy. "

"That's obvious, " she said, but she kept her eyes on his. What she saw there was nearly as unsettling as what she was seeing below his waist. Those blue eyes gleamed. They were suddenly filled with a brand of mischief that had danger etched in silver, and they were coming closer. With smooth, deliberate movements, he approached, leaned over and propped his hands on either side of her hips.

His breath was gentle against her cheek. "I dare you, Jenna. I dare you to look at me. " He remained bent that way, letting his lips play by her ear.

Unable to resist, she looked down at his body. Her chest tightened at the sight of him. He was large and bold, suspended so beautifully that he might have been sculpted by a master—which indeed he had been, she mused. By way of resisting the urge to touch him, she pressed her hands to the palm trunk.

Slowly he straightened and took a step back. She kept looking at him, curious and fascinated, impressed, aroused.

"I dare you, Jenna" came his low voice. "Dare you to take off your clothes and swim with me. " Her eyes flew to his face, and everything she saw there reinforced the dare. "Dare you to let me see you naked. "

Her heart was beating soft and fast, a tiny animal caught between danger and desire. She swallowed again. Her eyes were wide on his.

Then he gave her the indolent blink of a tomcat, turned and set off toward the water, calling calmly over his shoulder, "You know where to find me. "

She sat there trembling, watching him go. She had seen him naked from behind before, but not with the sun glancing off his bronzed skin and not with the sparkle of the water setting his tall, tapering shape into stark relief. The sheer magnificence of him took her breath away.

In an attempt to restore it, she leaned forward and hugged her knees. From that position, she watched him enter the water. He waded until the waves reached his thighs, then dove shallowly and began a strong overarm stroke away from shore.

He was right, she knew. She hated to admit it, because her own success in life had come from analyzing a situation and taking action, but in this situation there wasn't much action to take. If Spencer felt that tinkering with the engine would get them anywhere, he would do
it
She did believe that he knew his plane forward and backward. If he said they were grounded until he got parts, it was true.

So what were they to do in the meantime? Not much. They could sit and fret over their situation, or make the most of it. Dragging her eyes from his dark head and the arms that stroked steadily through the water, she took stock of the setting. In its own way, the island was beautiful. Though it wasn't as lush as some of the islands she'd visited, it had a natural appeal. It was quiet and peaceful. Its sand was soft and white, its water a translucent turquoise. The air was clean, the breeze refreshing. If she had ever wanted a private setting in which to be with Spencer, she couldn't have asked for one more so.

The danger was there, the same danger that had been present since the day Spencer had announced he would father her child. Jenna had always been slightly in awe of him. From the first night they had come together, she had feared that the awe might grow into something deeper. And it had—so much so, that she who never lied had lied about not being pregnant so that she could have more time with him.

Should the lie go to waste? Should she fritter away her time with him worrying about getting back to civilization? Or should she give him her ultimate trust, take his word that they'd get back and have a good time with him here?

She could end up loving him more. That was the danger now. If it happened, her suffering would be even worse than it would already be when their time here was done and they went their own ways. Then again, if it happened, she would have memories to cherish, memories to someday pass on to her child about the atmosphere in which it had been made.