“I might want you to.” It was an invitation—a blatant invitation.
Still he made no move. “I won’t stop at a stroke of your stomach.” His voice was deep, his tone dangerous. “If I start to touch you, I won’t stop. I won’t be able to.” He took a step back. “So unless you want to be sharing your body with me for the next nine days, I suggest you don’t touch me again.”
Her hand had fallen to her side when he moved. She looked at his shoulders, his broad chest, the strong column of his neck. Then let her gaze drift further to his obvious erection. “You want me.”
He made a noise closer to a growl than a word. “Damn right I want you. But I’m not an animal. I can hold my impulses in check.”
“I’m not sure I can,” she whispered. She took a step forward and snaked an arm around his waist. “I’m having a hard time fighting my attraction to you. The way I see it, what happens on the island stays on the island.”
His fingertips stroked her neck.
She tilted her face up. Her hat tumbled from her head onto the sand. “That feels—”
“Stop talking.” His mouth lowered and claimed hers.
Her lips parted on a sigh. His tongue slid over hers, taking the moment from tender to passionate in a heartbeat. Heat bloomed in her stomach—snaking tendrils to her sensitive nipples that pressed against his chest—and down to between her legs. She wrapped her arms around his neck, speared her fingers through his hair, feeling it soft and springy under her fingertips. She wanted to get naked and fuck him on the sand.
After a few explosive moments, he pulled away. “We need to find water and food before the sun goes down.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “We would have had more time if you hadn’t made me make the damn shelter.”
“You’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
“Huh.” She felt as though she was burning up from the inside. He looked cool and relaxed, as though the hard bulge in his pants wasn’t affecting him at all. “I meant that you were right about our mission for this afternoon, not about the shelter.” She picked her hat up from the sand.
He reached for her hand. “Let’s check the interior and see if we can find a source of fresh water.”
*****
Sholto wanted to bury his face between Max’s legs, but right at this moment there were more important things to do than making her come.
Unfortunately his body didn’t seem to agree.
He let go of her hand to push back the thickening undergrowth and slash at the mass of vines hanging from a nearby tree. A desperate sadness twisted his insides. All it had taken to switch Max from reticent to willing was the sight of his body stripped. There had been lust in her eyes, just like when she turned them from his image on screen to him in the cinema.
She was just the same as every woman at Caro’s party. They should form a support group or something and call it seduced by Damon Fitz and his awesome eight-pack.
And this whole deal had come about because some client wanted arm candy for her school reunion. He was a commodity—bought and paid for. He mustn’t forget that.
His body and his looks had served him well, and he’d been acting his whole life. At nine, he’d washed and ironed his own school uniform and presented the illusion of a well-cared-for child at the tiny Scottish village school. He’d kept the house clean, and shopped and cooked to keep body and soul together for him and his mother. His acting was so good, his family had stayed off the radar of the social services for years until the one incident he couldn’t hide from the world.
He never invited friends home. But when he was sixteen, he’d made a mistake that would haunt him for the rest of his life. His teeth gritted at the memory.
There was a touch on his back. “Ants.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see Max pointing into the undergrowth.
“There must be a food source nearby.” She looked up into the trees. “Probably fruit.”
Sholto looked up. There were things a native of every corner of the world knew. They recognized birds, trees, flowers. They blended into their environment by understanding the culture, by knowing it. When his mother had been committed he’d been sent to live with her brother and his wife in Butterworth. Thrust into an alien environment, he’d spent hours walking in nature, soaking in his surroundings, noticing what was the same, and what was different, so he could adapt. His accent had altered without conscious effort.
The same was true when he moved to America—it was no accident that he tried for and won American roles on television and now in film. In preparation for this trip, he’d poured over pictures of Indonesian trees, animals and birds, informing and familiarizing himself.
He scanned the trunk of a huge tree, up into its wide, waxy leaves, to the oversized fruit suspended from its branches. He pointed. “Jackfruit.” He slashed through the undergrowth to the base of the tree. Half rotted carcasses of the giant fruit lay hidden in the scrub at the tree’s base. The fruits within reach were green, but higher up there were fruits gold and yellow.
“I’ll have to climb.” He stuck the machete into the back of his belt, and clambered up the rough, grey bark.
“I’m impressed by your athletic prowess.” Her tone was laced with teasing humor. “You’d make a great action hero.”
“Stop looking at my ass and reach up to take this.” He gripped a heavy fruit and slashed its stem with the machete, then twisted to look down at Max.
Her arms were raised high to clasp the fruit. From this angle, he could see right down the front of her shirt, to the shine of sweat glistening between her breasts.
“Stop looking down my shirt.” Her lips curved upwards.
“You started it.” With the fruit deposited in her waiting arms, he edged down the tree to the ground.
“How did you know I was looking at your ass?”
“Everyone looks at my ass.”
Her eyebrow rose. “Take this, will you?”
He took the jackfruit from her arms.
She swatted his arm. “You could be accused of being too arrogant for your own good, you know.”
“You’re denying it?” He leaned in, staring into her eyes.
Deep in the blue depths, awareness—attraction bloomed to life. “I’m not denying it. You have a beautiful body. It’s just a shame your head is out of proportion. I guess it’s always been. You were just the same at school.”
“You thought that?” He remembered it differently. “I was a kid totally out of my element. I guess I’ve been acting a long time.”
“Well from the sidelines, you look pretty popular.” She took the machete from him and started to slash deeper into the forest’s interior. “I envied the way you manage to fit in—I was in that school for years and never managed to captivate as you did.”
“You captivated me.”
She laughed.
“I’m serious. I remember sitting next to you in chemistry class, mixing up all sorts of weird concoctions in test tubes. You were witty, smart, and funny. I liked you a lot in school.”
“I liked you too.” She looked down at the ground. “That’s why I could never understand why you were so cruel—why you did what you did.”
He wanted to explain, but anything he said now she wouldn’t believe.
“We found it.” She pointed ahead with the machete. “Drop that jackfruit, superstar, and help me fill the water bottles.”
*****
The jungle opened out into a small clearing, through the middle of which ran a small stream. The ground close to the water was carpeted in soft moss, and emerald-green grass. Max trailed the tips of her fingers in the cool water—so clear she could see the pebble-strewn bottom. She tracked the stream back to an outcropping of rocks. A small waterfall tumbled over the rock, painting it black. She cupped her hand, and brought the water to underneath her nose and smelled it. Fresh. She tasted it. Clean.
“It’s drinkable.” She tasted more of the cool water. “We won�
�t die of thirst anyway.”
Sholto took the bottles from the bag, and filled them. Then he laid them on the grass, and unfastened his belt.
Washing in clean, salt-free water was much preferable to swimming in the sea. Their clothes would never dry properly once dowsed in saltwater.
She slipped Sholto’s shirt from her shoulders. Then she removed the tank beneath.
Sholto’s fingers stilled. His gaze was on her body. She debated leaving her underwear on for modesty, but decided against it. She wanted to be naked. Max breathed in, reached around her back, and unfastened her bra.
He was so still it was as though he was a part of the forest. She took off her boots. Undid the button at her waist, and peeled off her pants. Then she hooked her fingers into the side of her panties, and shimmied out of them. “Aren’t you coming for a swim?”
She stepped past him, into the clear water.
Her heart was racing. The stream wasn’t very deep, but the silky water lapped around her knees and as she ventured further in, it covered her bottom and flowed around her waist. She bent her knees, extended her arms, and dipped her chest and shoulders under the water. As her heated body cooled, she sighed, and glanced over her shoulder.
Sholto had discarded his boots, and shed his pants. Since he’d stripped off his shirt, she’d been distracted by his chest, his back, his strong arms. He was more lean and rangy than buff and built—his body was the sort of body an average guy could build with long hours at the gym or working a physical job. His muscle definition was honed, and his abs made him look as though he’d escaped from that movie about Sparta. But with his pants off, the grooves at his hips were visible. She’d seen him on screen wearing less, but this was different. He wasn’t a celluloid dream, but a man made of flesh and blood. A man she could touch.
Max swallowed. “Come on in, it’s lovely.” In the dappled light, he was so perfect she couldn’t draw her gaze away. Her breath hitched as he shed his underwear and stood before her, totally naked.
His cock jutted away from his body, fully hard.
Her nipples, chilled by the water and aroused by the sight of Sholto’s nakedness, pebbled. Desire twisted in her stomach, and her sex tingled and throbbed. When he stepped into the water and walked to her, she was breathing so fast her chest rose and fell rapidly.
He stopped. Close enough to touch. To taste.
His hand stroked over her naked shoulder then slid beneath the water’s surface to grasp her elbow. He tugged her up to standing. He didn’t need to tell her what was in his mind—his body had that covered.
And her body was listening.
It was impossible to tell who moved first, but somehow their bodies were in close contact, his hand was flat on the curve of her spine, and his cock pressed into her stomach. She tilted her face up, then his lips were on hers, hard and demanding.
His tongue was in her mouth.
Her hands traced his shoulders. Smoothed over the back of his head. Questing fingers spiked into his hair. The feel of his skin, the scent of his body, the taste of his mouth combined to a powerful assault on the senses that made her head spin. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, and feel his cock at her entrance. Wanted him to slip into her wet, waiting heat and pound her to oblivion.
His thumb flicked over her nipple, and she moaned into his mouth.
Warm, firm fingers gripped her ass. His mouth left hers, and his lips moved to her neck, He sucked the delicate skin into his mouth. She could feel the hard edge of his teeth—the love bite would leave a mark, a mark no-one but he would see. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
“We’re getting out of this damn river,” he growled. He took her hand and led her to the bank, and eased her down onto the soft grass. “You’re fucking beautiful.” His gaze examined every inch of her, raw, potent desire written clearly in his eyes. He took both of her arms and stretched them out wide. Then he trailed his fingertips over hers, and stroked inwards. Up over her palms. Her wrists, the soft, white inner skin of her forearms.
She smiled when his light touch stroked her inner elbows. Laughed when they brushed over the insides of her upper arms and into the dip of her underarms. And blew out an agonized, aroused breath when his hands covered her breasts and squeezed.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” His middle finger traced around her nipple, then out, in ever increasing circles. “I’m supposed to be surviving here, not having fun.”
Cold reason splashed over Max as effectively as if he’d thrown a bucket of water over her. His hands were on her, but his head… She angled her elbows onto the ground, and pushed up to sitting. “You want me.” The evidence was plain to see. “I want you. We’re alone.”
“I know.” He sat back and his hand fell away. “The easy thing to do would be to fuck day and night—give in to our desires.” He reached over and stroked the side of her face. “I want to.”
“But?” She waited.
“Shit, Max.” He frowned and spiked a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about that. This is a chance for me to prove I’m different, that I’m more.”
“More than a man who has to sleep with the only woman available?” Anger stirred in her gut. He was letting her down gently, as though she was a groupie, or something. “Get over yourself, Sholto.” She reached for her tank, unwilling to just lie there before him with her body and her heart open.
“Jasper will expect you to fuck me.”
It was true, but she sure didn’t want to hear him say it. “Because?”
“Because you’re a woman, and I’m a man.”
“Not just a man. Because you’re Sholto Kincaid. A man who would never reject a willing woman.” She got to her feet, and pulled on her panties. “Of course, he doesn’t know that’s not true, does he?”
“Max.” He stood and grabbed her arm. “I’m not saying this right—I’m fucking up, here…”
She put on her boots, shoved the water bottles into her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. “At least this time you don’t have a fucking friend filming it.”
Chapter Seven
He should have known she’d throw that back in his face. She’d said she was over it—Christ, she’d had fifteen goddamned years to get over it. Sholto dressed quickly, picked up the jackfruit, and strode after her.
“We’re talking about this.”
“No, we’re not.” She flicked back her braids. “We have to spend the next nine days together. I have no interest in spending them fighting with you.” She’d set the bag in an area of clear sand a little distance from the camp. “We should eat here, so as not to attract insects to our sleeping area.” She set about gathering dried sticks and forming a pile.
“I had nothing to do with the filming.”
She looked up—and the disbelief on her face cut him to his core. “I thought you would apologize. I didn’t expect you to deny it.” Her mouth twisted. “You were an asshole back then—looks like you’re still an asshole.”
He breathed in deep, and tried to keep hold of his temper. Beneath the disbelief lay hurt. She was attempting to hide it, but he saw it. “I’m telling the truth.” The memory of her back then filled his mind. Standing before him—in her ill-fitting homemade clothes, with the shy smile on her face, asking him to go to the school dance with her.
He’d laughed.
More from shock than anything. He’d thought they were friends. That she was the one person in the whole damn school who actually got him. The boys he hung with looked at him with admiration as he worked his way through the female population of his class—none of them would have been interested to get to know him, they all wanted to be him.
“I was a shit back then.” Able to get any girl just by smiling at them, he’d treated many girls badly. Every time one got too close, he shut them out in the easiest way he knew—by sleeping with someone else. “I cheated on girls. I broke a lot of hearts. I never meant to break yours.”
“You didn’t break mine.” She stood up, brus
hed her hands down her pants, and then put them on her hips. “You totally misread my intentions.”
“You wanted me to go to the dance with you. As your date. You wanted to sleep with me.”
“I fucking didn’t. I showed you some pity, and you threw it back in my face.”
Pity? What the fuck is she talking about?
“You were supposed to go to the dance with Susan. Remember?”
Susan. He vaguely remembered her.
“She found out you’d been two-timing her with her friend.” Max crossed her arms. “I heard her talking in the ladies room—I was in a cubicle. She was furious, and I don’t blame her. She was telling all the other girls what a total shit you were. Telling them to band together, to show solidarity by shunning you. It was a girl’s invitational, and all your invitations had been rescinded. You would have been humiliated. Excluded. I knew how much you wanted to fit in—how being excluded would have hurt you. So I…”
“So you invited me to save me from humiliation?” He remembered the look on her face. The look a friend would give another.
“You laughed in my face. In front of all your friends. You told me I wasn’t your type. That there was no way you would go to the dance with me.” Her eyes clouded with the pain of memory. “And if that wasn’t bad enough, your friend captured it on his video camera and showed everyone.”
He stepped forward and grasped her upper arms. Stared into her face. He had to make her understand. “I was stupid. I cared about what the other guys would think more than anything. I was high on just how fucking popular I was. I couldn’t give that up. So, yes. I laughed at you. Because I couldn’t believe you wanted me like that. I didn’t want you to want me like that—the way all the other girls did. You were my friend. My only fucking real friend. I said things that hurt you, and I’ve wanted for years to tell you how sorry I was for that. But I didn’t film you, and the minute I found out about the video—”
“You’re telling me you didn’t know?”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t approve.” He felt the tightness in his jaw as he clenched his teeth hard. “It took a lot of investigation, and I finally found the guy who’d filmed it. It was somebody I’d never even spoken to—one of the geeks from the camera club.”
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