Me Tarzan, You Jewel

by Titania Ladley

  And he realized without surprise that this wasn’t the exotic genie who’d put him here on this island in this odd, mixed-up dream.

  His brows suddenly dipped. Why this strange woman had ended up here on the same beach as him at the same moment was a damned mystery. But he intended to find out after he got a good look at the face and breasts that went with the legs.

  “Um…hello?” He dropped down on one knee and reached a hesitant hand out to her arm where her sleeve hung ripped at the shoulder seam. He caught the brief sensation of soft, moist skin just before she startled and shrugged his hand away. She remained leaning facedown, dry-retching.

  “No—don’t.” She coughed again, slapping her hand on the packed sand. “I…I can’t breathe.”

  Without warning, a protective surge welled up inside him. There was no rhyme or reason for it, but he gripped her shoulders and drew her up so that they kneeled in front of one another. Yanking her torso up against him, he immediately pressed her face into his bare shoulder and pounded on her back. Never mind the curves that molded to his hardened body, never mind the scents—had he smelled that fragrance somewhere before?—that wafted to his nostrils. He refused to watch a woman choke to death before his very eyes!

  “There, there.” He rapped hard and awkwardly against the long curve of her back, praying for her to quit coughing, to breathe. “Better now?”

  With each whack, she jolted. Her head lolled and rolled until he heard her shriek with indignation as her body stiffened against him. A clear sign, he thought with relief, that he wouldn’t be needing to perform CPR.

  “Get your hands off me!” She shoved until they both fell back onto their rear ends.

  And he could swear at that moment the whole universe shifted seasons and vaulted out of whack.

  Something nagged at him. It proved vaguely annoying, as if a mosquito kept buzzing back in his brain for more blood, absently reminding him of its tiny, inconsequential life, its irritating existence.

  Did he know this woman? He studied the wet ropes of hair plastered against the high-boned cheeks. Parted down the middle, the locks of wetted gold hair tumbled mid-length around her shoulders framing the heart-shaped face with layered wisps. She wasn’t strikingly pretty at first glance, but the longer he examined her, the more interesting she became. The face, plain and void of a single drop of makeup, troubled him. Something flashed and wavered in his mind. It teetered on the tip of his memory, but it was no use. The memory fogged over, ebbed and tumbled back into his subconscious. Instead of going with the frustration of it, he continued to scrutinize her. Eyes of pale emerald stared back at him doe-like through thick, dark-rimmed glasses that slid down a faintly crooked little nose.

  The small but pouty pink mouth sucked in a ragged breath when her gaze fell upon his face. He heard her mutter to herself in a husky, cough-roughened voice, “No. Please, no.”

  Ignoring the sudden pale wash of her face, his gaze slid lower, and briefly, he wondered why she wore a nightgown on a beach in broad daylight. He dismissed the thought and moved his perusal down past the high neck of the garment. The white, sheer fabric clung to a very voluptuous, soft body—Marilyn Monroe-like, he thought with puzzlement at his obvious interest. He normally went for the model-trim type…except for that one relationship long ago. His brows drew together as he recalled the confusion of that breakup. He’d never been attracted to someone quite the way he had been to her, all tall and cushy and borderline overweight. Despite those traits that some men balked at, there had been something about her, something so appealing that he’d forced himself to pursue women of the opposite body type ever since. When she’d walked out of his life, he’d sworn off her type, determined to fend off anything that might remind him of her.

  He groaned. Shake it, Vince. Forget her. Take a look at what’s right before your very eyes. Now, this…this might do. Not nearly as heavy as…she had been, but still, there was something that grabbed his very soul and twisted in challenge. He took in the gown again, and though wet and revealing every curve and plane of her, he determined it definitely screamed dowdy from neck to ankle. Her style of clothing would obviously work much better for his grandmother, but garments could easily be remedied. Or removed.

  Oh, and he could see quite clearly what she’d look like without the gown. Erect, brown nipples tipped full, melon-sized breasts. The tight knots strained against the thin cotton, calling to him, taking his breath away, while his mouth watered with a yen to sample them. A stirring warmed his cock, full-force and undeniable. She still knelt, so he couldn’t see the legs anymore beneath the garment, but an image of their long, solid length still blazed in his brain. He shifted his stance, uncomfortable with this odd fascination for a woman who was far from the type he’d become accustomed to over the last four years. For Christ’s sake, he thought with a chuckle of disgust, she wore a granny gown! And her face didn’t even come close to the perfection of the models, strippers and actresses who frequented his bed of late.

  So why then, did he feel a jolt of fire singe his loins when she seemed to be the epitome of some prim, plain, almost plump schoolmarm? You’re losing it, buddy, he thought as he shook his head and looked away toward the deep sea. Distractedly, he watched as a dolphin broke the surface of the white-tipped waves. The scent of ocean life blew in coupled with the high-pitched song and dance of the dolphin. Yes, you’re losing your ever-loving mind if you take a risk and let something like that turn you on again.

  Unable to resist, he flicked his gaze back to her. Slowly, as if stunned to speechlessness, her eyes narrowed behind the lenses. Looking down at the nakedness of her own body beneath the cloth, she gasped and crossed her arms over her breasts.

  “Who…are you?” He had to ask. The suspense was too much to bear. “And why have you ended up on this island with me?”

  At his inquiries, her breath caught in her throat on an indrawn, sharp little squeal. And he could swear he saw a tear form in the corner of one eye. The sight of it took him aback, and an urge to yank her into his arms overwhelmed him.

  But before he could react, she leapt to her feet. Spinning about, one bare heel grinding into the sand, she stalked off in a flurry of damp cloth and tossed tendrils. He watched intently, unable to ignore the seductive sway of her round rear. Shaking his head with deliberate slowness, he sighed as that mosquito nagged at him once again, annoying, relentless, determined.

  Who the hell was she, anyway?

  And why did his heart go out to this stranger who hadn’t spoken hardly two words directly to him?

  * * * * *

  Jewel shoved the pain down deep and let the rage boil over.

  The ass!

  “Oh, how I’d love to slap that handsome face of his,” she hissed to herself as she marched up the beach.

  Swiping angrily at the tears, she searched for a place to go, to escape the leering, arrogant gaze of the man she loved—who didn’t even remember her! Sure, she’d unintentionally lost a ton of weight, and she’d had to undergo slight facial reconstructive surgery after the accident. And yes, she’d changed her too-long, black-dyed hair back to its normal dark blonde shade and then had promptly whacked it off. She now wore glasses instead of contacts, and the normal mask of makeup she used to wear had been peeled away and tossed in the garbage when she’d fled from his apartment with raccoon eyes and a snotty nose. But still, if he’d loved her, he should have recognized her on sight. Even if it has been more than four years since he’d last laid that smoldering, dark gaze on her.

  Jewel shivered at the thought of those eyes devouring her once full-figured frame. Glancing down at her soaked gown, she could see her curvy but firm body shape clearly—as had he, the cad! Due to all the changes, he obviously thought her someone else. Which equated to jerk in her book, because in his mind, it wasn’t her, and he lusted quite openly for “another” woman. Not that she’d expected him to be celibate as she had all this time, but shoot, if she could have, she would have lopped off his…privates
to keep any other woman from having him after she’d dumped him.

  She groaned. Oh, the humiliation, the shame, the pain. All those years of pining after him, remembering what she thought they’d had before the breakup, of trying to put him behind her, yet subconsciously watching for him in every man she saw. And at the very same time, convincing herself she’d forgotten him. It had been the reason she’d finally packed up after the big blowup, and subsequently her horrible accident, and moved from Denver, all the way out to the serene woods of Vermont. She’d holed herself up in a convent, for crying out loud, and had sworn to become a nun, simply to burn him from her memory, from her flesh and from her entire life.

  And he didn’t even remember her.

  Well, she thought as she rounded a bend in the shoreline, she’d show him. She’d make him pay for forgetting her, for not even instinctually recognizing her on sight. How, she didn’t know just yet, but it would come to her, Jewel thought with rabid satisfaction. If she had to spend one more minute with the son of a…well, she’d think of something.

  She could still smell him on her. Her eyes had been shut—she hadn’t even realized it was him when he’d nearly beaten her to death while she choked. But her olfactory nerves had soon kicked in, sensing that unique aroma that could only be Vince Santiago’s. Her hearing had perked up, betraying her determination to remain immune to him, protesting yet soaking in every note of that deep, reverent voice of his. Heat washed over her face at the memory of being in his arms again. Her nipples had hardened instantaneously, and with mortification, she’d realized her panty briefs were becoming soaked with her own juices, adding irritatingly to the already soggy fabric. That spot between her legs, still throbbing relentlessly at the assault of his nearness, had awakened with a vengeance. That’s when she’d shoved him away. The indignation of it, just the thought of her body taking on a life of its own, so very traitorous where that man was concerned, set her panties all in a wad.

  She’d thought he’d have recognized her as soon as she’d broken out of that rough attempt at lifesaving or awkward comforting, or whatever he’d been trying to do to her. As soon as his gaze had fallen on her, she’d been certain he’d be suddenly demanding to know why all the changes, and why she was here in this strange place with him. Had she really changed that much that the man who’d known her inside and out didn’t even recognize her anymore?

  No, she thought, her teeth grinding together. The arrogant jerk had simply forgotten her, discarded all memories and references to her right out the window of his ritzy, high-rise condo.

  The pad of footsteps behind her had her whirling around. And there he stood, that wide, sculpted, bare chest puffing and falling with excitement, as if he were her hunter and she his prey. His boxer shorts were drenched so that she could see every curve, every smooth line of his manhood outlined to huge perfection. Her breath quickened and she jerked her gaze back to his face. Quite the mistake given the fact it had the power to devastate her just as much as his sex did.

  She fidgeted under his sharp scrutiny, the chocolate eyes probing her with that infamous, sweet power—power to melt female guts in one single glance. The black slash of one brow rose while the other dipped, and he puffed out his cheeks on a sigh. She could well remember the feel of that stubbled jaw beneath her palms, the touch of her thumbs against his wide, wet mouth as she held his face in her hands right before the slam of a desperate kiss. He sniffed nonchalantly as she stared at him, the nostrils of his straight, perfect, manly nose flaring. Her gaze fell to the cleft in his chin…oh, how she longed to dip her tongue in it again, to kiss it, to explore it with her fingertips!

  “Are you all right?”

  Am I all right? she thought sarcastically. She snorted out loud, relieved that the tears were, even now as her heart lurched with agony, drying on her cheeks. “Quite.”

  Again, he didn’t make any indication of recognizing her. Sure, her voice didn’t sound nearly the same as it had years ago. It was now extremely raspy from all that choking and coughing. And she’d only spoken a handful of words so far, but still, it rankled her to no end that he could look at her, hear her, hold her and not know who she was.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure.”

  He sighed and raked a hand through his short-cropped, jet-black hair, just the way he always had. “Okay, so we’ve—or rather, I’ve—established that you’re going to live. So. What now?” He folded his arms over that A-plus, male model chest of his. A slow tumble of liquid heat rolled through her veins, making her tremble with the need to touch those pectorals. God, to experience the curved hardness of them in her palms once again! As if in taunting reply, the sun just then peeped from behind a cloud and bathed him in white rays, making him all the more appealing as his eyes twinkled with mockery.

  She wasn’t going to speak. She wasn’t. Stubbornly, she crossed her arms over her chest, too, though partially to hide his prying eyes from her double-crossing, rock-hard nipples.

  “Ah.” He pursed his lips and clucked his tongue. Angling his head, he glanced up at the fronds of a palm tree that began to dance as the wind picked up. “So you’re going to either communicate with me in one-word, guttural sentences, or not speak to me at all. Is that the way it’s going to be while we’re here, obviously stranded on this damn island together for who knows how long?”

  A sea gull cawed, taking flight out and across the waves. The water seemed to be gradually rising and tossing in a turbulent rush. The scent of coconut mingled with the manly aroma of him, swirled around her. All proof he spoke the truth. They were definitely on an island together, though that didn’t mean they were alone, and it certainly didn’t mean they were stranded.

  She fisted her hands where they remained entangled in her folded arms and finally croaked, “Yes.”

  The easy nod he gave her belied the annoyance and slight fury that suddenly blazed in his eyes. “You got a name?”

  A name? Oh, yeah, I got a name, and you damn well know what it is!

  When she only speared him with a loathing stare, he replied, “I’m Vince. Vince Santiago.” He stepped forward and thrust his hand toward her, daring her to take it in hers. “I’m a broker from Denver. Finance, real estate, that sort of thing.”

  Yes, she knew exactly what and who he was. Helplessly, she looked down at the familiar, large hand suspended too near to her abdomen. Memories assailed her of those long fingers expertly strumming her nipples and her clit, sinking inside her with devastating bliss. The mere thought of it nearly brought her to her knees, right to the brink of ecstasy. Her breasts tingled with insistent demand and that spot between her thighs pounded like the surf behind her. But, as always, she controlled her breathing and her facial expressions and glanced back up at his egotistical expression. He continued to hold the hand out, determined to get a pleased-to-meet-you-for-the-first-time handshake from her.

  Okay, she thought, get it over with. Then move on, go look for this Luke genie guy, then get back to the convent…and boredom.

  “Jew—uh, I…I’m Jane.” She finally released her hand from beneath her elbow and extended it to him.

  He sliced a look at her tight, balled fingers. “Um, you can open your fist now.”

  She obeyed, though she hadn’t a clue why. She supposed it was that persuasive, suave tone he’d perfected long ago. His hand slid into hers as soon as she uncurled her fingers. He gripped her with warmth and strength and a sexual squeeze that pumped her system with another wave of throbbing need. It traveled with lightning-quick speed from his hand, up her arm and straight down to her womb. Though she was a tall, big-boned woman herself, his hand dwarfed hers making her feel a femininity she hadn’t felt in years. Jewel inhaled, fighting the pleasant sensation of that long-awaited skin-to-skin contact.

  “You can open your eyes now.”

  Her eyelids flew open on a humiliated gasp. She yanked her hand from his and stumbled back. Lord, she hadn’t realized the sensation of simply holding his hand would
render her transfixed. It mortified her beyond acceptance that he had such effortless power over her.

  “I…I…I’m sorry.”

  He merely grinned a smug, satisfied grin that instantly doused her fire. “Not a problem. Not a problem at all.”

  Jewel couldn’t take it a moment longer. She had to get away from him. The torture, the conglomeration of both desire and irritation at his conceit were too much to bear. With her eyes glued to his, she backed several steps away. Then she tore her gaze from his and turned tail and ran.

  “Jane! Where the hell—Christ,” she heard him swear as she veered inland into the undergrowth of foliage. Despite the intermittent foot and shin pain of tripping over sharp saw palmetto fronds and fallen limbs, she trudged on. Her ankle suddenly burned, but she ignored the wetness—was it blood or sweat?—as it dribbled down over her foot. She had to get away, get far, far away from him. There was no other way about it. Unless she wanted to leave her heart wide open for him to take another stab at her. And that wasn’t happening again in her lifetime or his, not while she’s in charge of her own life.

  A sudden chilly breeze blew in stirring the thick Spanish moss strung overhead in the scattered trees. The scent of rain—or was it the aroma of winter?—clung to the air, filling her lungs with the omen of bad weather. The late-morning sky darkened as puffs of gray clouds moved in. She glanced around, frantic for somewhere to hide from the coming storm, from him. Moving clumsily through the halophytes of the mangrove, she skirted a cluster of pine flatwoods and a dense understory of gumbo-limbo. She wasn’t sure what tropical area she’d appeared in after that encounter with the wine bottle on her convent dresser, but Jewel knew her foliage well. Educated as a schoolteacher, she’d often taken her Science students deep into the textbook studies of the various species of plant and animal life worldwide. Jewel was very familiar with the colors and characteristics of the crab wood, pigeon plum and soldierwood, and she now knew them on sight as she weaved her way through the forest, escaping those eyes, those hands. The frenzied chirps of birds caught her attention and she halted her steps, planting her hand on the rough, jagged bark of a palm tree to catch her breath for a moment. Above, a colorful cluster of cockatoos and parakeets took flight as a frosty gust of wind whipped the treetops.