by Kim Pritekel
“Ohhh,” Tiffany purred, I’m sure I can think of something.”
Hannah was taken slightly aback at the look in the redhead’s dark eyes. Desire. She swallowed, dropping her eyes from the accountant’s, sipping from her soda, feeling it burn all the way down her throat.
She’s nervous. Tiffany studied the beauty before her carefully, noting the subtleties of her body language. Only moments ago the brunette had been laughing, light and airy. At the first sign of serious, she closed up. Clearing her throat, Tiffany decided a change of subject was in order.
Getting to her feet, the accountant scurried back to her bedroom, then hurried back, a small bundle hidden behind her back. “Okay, I’m always giving you shit about being a nerdy researcher for computers, so I saw this the other day, and just had to get it for you.” With a huge grin, she brought the little guy out from behind her back, held under the arms between her hands.
“Ohhh!” Hannah cooed, looking at the adorable brown teddy bear, dressed in a white researcher’s jacket and big, wire glasses over black, glossy eyes. Tiffany had even written Hannah over the left breast pocket in magic marker. “He’s so cute! Thank you.”
Tiffany basked in the tight hug, feeling Hannah’s breasts pressed against her own, the warmth of her body, and smell of her perfume invading her every cell. “You smell so good,” she whispered into the brunette’s neck, surprised that she’s spoken it out loud.
Hannah felt a slight tremor in the contact, and softness of Tiffany’s words. Her eyes slid closed as the hug continued, soft hands making lazy circles on the brunette’s back. She shivered at the sigh that blew through the short hairs at her neck.
“Thank you,” she said unnecessarily in delayed response to the compliment.
Tiffany pulled back just enough to be able to see into Hannah’s eyes, which were filled with slight fear, and… something else. The accountant brought up a hand, gently brushing a few dark strands out of the equally dark eyes. This has been so hard on her. The redhead’s hand found its way to Hannah’s jaw, caressing the soft skin with her thumb.
Hannah felt her breath catch, her heart pounding in need and fear, yet her insides were being gripped by guilt. Before she could voice these thoughts, soft lips pressed against her own. Tiffany felt the brunette respond to what she had no intention of doing, but couldn’t resist. Hannah’s lips softened, her breathing shallow as the kiss began to deepen. When the redhead’s tongue caressed Hannah’s, the spell was broken.
The researcher pulled back with a gasp, her hand going to her mouth, lips feeling the very place where Tiffany’s had just been.
“I, I can’t do this, Tiffany,” she whispered, her eyes filled with hurt, almost feeling betrayed, though whether it was by Tiffany or herself, she wasn’t sure. She rose to her feet, almost knocking the redhead over in her haste to escape.
“Wait, Hannah …” Getting her bearings back, the redhead jumped off the couch, hurrying after Hannah, who had already reached the front door of her house. “I’m sorry.” She caught up to her, placing a hand on the brunette’s shoulder, turning her away from the door. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I swear, I’m sorry.”
Hannah nodded, unable to meet the dark gaze. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
Tiffany nodded, her stomach falling. Somehow she had the feeling she wouldn’t be hearing from the woman who had come to mean a great deal to her in the past month. “Okay,” she said, her voice quiet and defeated.
“Good night.” Hannah slipped out the door, still clutching the teddy bear in her arms.
PART 8
"GO LONG!" MICHAEL yelled, arm thrown back, ready to let the cocoanut fly. He chuckled as he watched his little buddy try and run down the sand, which was no easy feat, especially in Gucci loafers. "Dumb fairy," the Texan chuckled with affection.
Dean glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep Michael in sight as he ran, waiting for the mechanic to throw another one of his bombs. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, he chanted mentally as the big man let'r rip, the cocoanut flying through the air at a dizzying speed. The attorney's eyes followed it all the way into the surf, throwing himself into the incoming wave, almost drowning in his shock at actually catching the damn thing.
He broke through the surface, getting to his feet, half sputtering, half laughing as he raised the caught prize high overhead. He could hear Michael cheering from where he stood far down the beach. Dean was about the spike the "ball" when he stopped, hearing something. Dark brows creasing, he looked up into the sky, trying to figure out what he was hearing.
"Dean!" Denny whined, waiting for her turn, completing their little triangle.
"Wait," he said, still looking up into the sky, holding a hand up to forestall anything more. "A hum," he said softly to himself, "like, like," he concentrated, listening, listening. "Plane! It's engines!"
Denny and Michael ran over to him, almost running him over as they, too studied the skies, trying to figure out what the attorney was talking about.
"Don't you hear it?" Dean was beside himself. "Yes, yes, it's engines. Like a plane, but not quite ..."
Denny listened, straining, a vibration of sorts. Like, "A helicopter."
"Yes! That's what it is!" Dean was almost jumping up and down. "Light the fires! Light the fires!" he yelled, running toward the rebuilt signal logs.
"Wait, Dean, hold on now, buddy. Let's wait," Michael cautioned.
"For what?!"
"Until we see it." Michael was desperately scanning the sky, bright blue, not a cloud to be seen, nor a glint of metal. "Don't be wastin' the wood till we have something to signal."
"No! We need to light it," Dean muttered, his hands shaking in his excitement, cursing as he dropped the wood bow.
"Do you guys hear that?" Pam asked, running full speed out of the dense jungle, her eyes already pinned to the sky, Mia at her heels. "Do you?"
"Yeah," Denny said, turning in a circle, squinting against the glare in her light eyes. Oh, what she'd do for a pair of sunglasses!
"Are they coming for us?" Mia asked, her voice a whisper of awed hope.
"I don't know, darlin'," Michael said, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I just don't know."
Rachel looked up from her newest project, Christmas gifts in the making, eyes squinting against the intense blue of the sky. She set the third of the cocoanut shell that she'd been working with down, rising to her feet. She could hear it, a motor of some type, disturbing the still, afternoon air.
"What is that?" she whispered, walking over to her favorite spot, on the ledge near the waterfall, getting as close to the edge as she dare, the ocean waiting below. "Is that an airplane?" She craned her neck back as far as she could, searching, hoping, her heart pounding in anticipation.
"Come on, you bastard!" Dean yelled, dropping the bow again. Finally he managed to get all parts together, gasping with relief at the smoke that began to rise. "Light, you bastard. Light!" The wood caught fire, Dean smiling as the small flame flickered shadows across his face. Glancing up at the skies again, he jumped to his feet, running into the foliage, toward his hut.
"Where you going, Dean?" Denny asked, taking her eyes off the sky for only a moment.
"To pack! We have to be ready!"
"Dean, no," she shouted after him, returning her gaze to the heavens. The sound was getting softer, further away. "it's leaving," she finished, entire being slumping as disappointment gripped her hard and painful. Soon the sound was nothing but a brief memory of hope.
"Where is it? I'm ready," Dean said, panting from the exertion and excitement, his few meager belongs in his hands. Wide eyes looked everywhere, as though he expected a sea plane to be taxiing toward the beach.
"It's gone," Pam muttered, head hanging as she turned away from the sky, disgusted and disheartened. She walked over to the fire that was quickly spreading on the pyre, angrily kicking sand on it to douse the flames. "Fucking gone!"
"No," Dean murmured, running toward the wate
r's edge where he'd first heard the chopper. "No, it can't be gone." The desperation was beginning to fill him as he searched the sky, two cocoanuts clutched to his chest, along with the one extra sarong he owned. "No! Goddamn it, where did they go?"
No one said a word, each dealing with their own devastation. The attorney turned to face each one in turn.
"Where did it go?" he asked again, voice raising in pitch with his panic. Again, everyone remained silent. Frustrated and beyond upset, Dean kicked at the sand with a growl, throwing his worldly possessions into the sand and stalking off into the jungle.
"Well," Michael said at length. "That's that." He sighed heavily, reaching for the cocoanut they'd been using as a ball earlier. "Denny, it's your turn," he muttered, his heart not in it.
"Yeah." Denny easily caught the toss, fiddling with it in her hands, lost in her own disappointment. She wanted to cry, break down and scream at the sky and the fates, and everyone on the God forsaken island, but knew it would do no good. She needed to keep it together. After all, they had everything on the island they could want, right? Except their freedom.
Rachel felt the silent tears sliding down her cheeks, a hand absently brushing at them. With a final dejected sigh, she turned back to her project, starting another small fire.
* * *
Never had she seen such a quiet group of people in her life, nor had she seen the island so quiet, save for the first day she arrived, alone. Denny left everyone alone, knowing they needed to get through their disappointments their own way. If any of them were thinking like she was, then they were all remembering their lives back home, realizing how close they'd come, yet how dreadfully far they were, from going home.
The brunette walked along the beach on the backside of the island, feeling the chill start in as night fell. The waves crashed upon the rocky shore, unseen. Stopping, she noted a lone fire up on Rachel's ledge. Realizing she hadn't seen the blonde since early afternoon, she followed the beacon, climbing with calloused hands and feet. Times like that, she felt like Jungle Jane.
Rachel's golden head glowed orange and shadow in the small fire, her features painted in eerie pockets of dancing shadow. The blonde looked over at her, eyes turned a golden gray in the firelight.
"Hey," she said, her voice soft, eyes glancing back at her fire as an unfortunate bug flew into the flame, popping and fizzling.
"Hi. Is this okay?" Denny asked, indicating the author's ledge. At Rachel's nod, she sat down, eyeing what was before her. Six cocoanut shells, not quite half of a shell, were lined up, four of them filled with a strange material, that was hard to tell what color it was, with the lying fire light. "What is all this?"
"I'm making soap."
Denny's eyes widened, her spirits lifted immensely. "Soap!?"
"Shh," Rachel chuckled, finger to her lips. "Christmas gifts. The other night it hit me. I had to research it when I wrote Willing To Conquer, so I figured I'd give it a try. I just hope I remembered everything." Her grin was sheepish, Denny's joyous.
"Well, I think after today we all need something. This is a brilliant idea, Rachel. So these are the moulds?" she fingered one of the cocoanut shells. At the blonde's nod, she continued. "What's in it?"
Rachel raised a honey colored brow. "Oh come on, Denny. Don't hurt my feelings by telling me you didn't read the book..."
The coffee shop owner chuckled, nodding. "I did read it."
"Saponaria officinalis," Rachel said softly as she stuck her finger in a half cocoanut shell she held in her left hang, testing the texture. She glanced up with a playful smirk. "Better known as soapwart. Watch and learn." Rachel took a handful of already peeled roots and leaves, pouring a bit of water over her hand, then rubbing vigorously. Denny watched in wonder as a lather began to seep out from between the blonde's palms.
The brunette let out a long breath, eyes pinned to the sight, her skin and scalp itching at the sight. "Gimmie."
Rachel chuckled, offering her hands to the outstretched ones of the brunette. "It doesn't smell particularly wonderful, but it's something."
"Oh, yes," Denny breathed, looking down at the slightly prickly foam in her hands that may as well have been gold. She closed her eyes as she brought it up to her face, inhaling the natural, slightly bitter, scent. "This smell beats out Dean's sweat any day."
"That's no lie." Rachel poured water over Denny's hands, which she'd lathered the foam over, smiling at the contented sigh that received. "Did you hear it today?"
At first Denny was confused by the extreme change in Rachel's voice and demeanor. She looked into the small fire, tossing more petals and stems of the soapwart inside, her voice low and monotone.
"Yeah. We all did. I think Dean was the most devastated."
"I don't know about that." After a moment, Rachel gave the brunette a sad smile, her eyes quickly flickering away. "What will be the first thing you'd do, if we were all able to go home?"
Denny sat back, holding herself up on her hands and stared out into the darkness, a black wall seeming to close them in on three sides, the jungle and more rock to their backs. Grimacing as she ran a hand through her greasy hair, she sighed, thinking. She was surprised by the first thought, and what the first thought wasn't. "Sleep on a bed." She smiled at the thought.
"Oh, that sounds so good," Rachel purred, eyes half-hooded in pleasurable bliss. "Do you think they were looking for us today?"
"I doubt it. It's been a long, long time. No doubt everyone thinks we're dead by now. It kills me, putting Hannah through all this for nothing." Denny sighed heavily, allowing herself to fall back totally on the cool rock, hands tucked behind her head.
"I know." Rachel thought of her husband, whom she hadn't thought of in a long time. Was that wrong?
"Rachel?"
The softness of the brunette's voice got Rachel's attention. She met a lazy blue gaze, almost outside of the line of the small fire.
"How come you don't talk about your husband?"
Rachel thought about this for a moment. She knew why she didn't talk about Matt, but tried to decide if she wanted to let Denny in on the reasonings. Looking into those beautiful eyes, she knew that she could trust the brunette completely. Rachel was amazed, as she didn't even trust Reenie as much as she wanted to trust Denny. Finally she sighed, setting down the newest batch of 'soap' she'd mixed, letting it harden like the others.
When Rachel spoke, her voice was soft, almost a though she were telling her secrets to the night, itself. "The reason I was on that flight was because, yes, I was going to Italy to start researching my next book. But, the timing was because," she paused, though wasn't sure why. Her heart was pounding, the old pain coming back in a bright burst. She looked down at her hands, yet again feeling like a failure.
Denny saw the transformation instantly, and for a moment regretted asking, but then decided that maybe Rachel needed to talk about it. Nothing had been mentioned, and it must have been relatively recent to the blonde's boarding that plane. She scooted over closer to the author, giving her silent support.
"Four days before I got on that plane, I had gone out to meet with a local vendor about a book signing, and when I came home, I found Matt in bed with a woman named Diane. She lived down the street."
"Oh, Rachel." Denny's heart broke for her friend, pushing herself up into a sitting position, moving so she was sitting beside the blonde, though facing her, her right thigh touching Rachel's right thigh.
"I guess I should've known something was going on. All the signs were there, you know, coming home later and later, the sudden purchase of cologne." She shrugged, still unable to meet Denny's eyes. She knew if she saw the concern that she knew she'd find there, she'd lose it and start crying again, the betrayal still raw. "I called my best friend in New York, asked if I could visit for a few days. Reenie let me mope around her loft for awhile, though I think she was about to kill me." Rachel grinned, only then able to meet the brunette's gaze. "When I decided I'd taken up enough of her space, and definitely need
ed some of my own, I hopped a plane for Milan. The rest is tragic history."
"You've been keeping this inside all this time?" Denny asked, her voice soft and soothing. She saw a nod from the blonde, who looked away, presenting her with the back of her head. "Why?" she asked, bringing a hand up to run her fingers through shaggy, blonde hair.
"I'm okay." Rachel shrugged, though it was not believable in the least, and Denny wasn't falling for it.
"You're full of shit." Denny felt the vulnerability come off the blonde in waves. Glancing behind her, she saw the rock face, scooting back against it, reaching for the author. "Come'ere."
Rachel looked over at her companion, seeing what she had in mind, and nearly flew over to her. No, she didn't want to talk about it, but instinctively she knew she would feel better if she did. She needed to get it out, needed to try and understand. It would certainly make it easier when, if, the ever made it back. Scooting over to the brunette, Rachel found herself engulfed in a strong embrace, her body sideways against Denny's chest, side of her head resting just under the coffee shop owner's chin.
"Talk to me," Denny said, once the blonde was settled.
Rachel was quiet for a long time, so long that Denny wondered if maybe she'd fallen asleep. Tilting her head to see the author's face, she saw green eyes blinking several times, a little too moist. The brunette rested her head back against the wall, bringing up a hand, absently running it through Rachel's hair again. She loved her hair, the golden color, the softness. She could remember even before she knew Rachel, when she'd seen pictures in magazines, or the one interview she'd done on that talk show, being mesmerized by the color, wondering if it were real. She blushed, thinking about just exactly how she knew it was real. Modesty while being on a stranded island was not an option.
