He swiped tears from his eyes, he hadn’t laughed in a while. Perhaps it was exhaustion and hunger leaving him feeling giddy. “I don’t know, I guess I’m surprised you have so much concern over my penis.”
Her mouth dropped open then snapped shut. She lifted her chin. “Fine, then go commando, see if I care.” She folded her arms over her chest, an adorable pout forming on her face.
“Well, since you insist, angel.” He hopped to his feet and shoved his briefs down before kicking them off to the side. He placed his hands on his hips and smiled. “The sea breeze feels great on the privates. You should join me, Phoebe.”
Her face had gone from sun-kissed pink to scarlet in the span of a breath. She ogled him head to toe before her gaze shot down, and she stared at her lap. “Oh my God, that wasn’t necessary, Jonathon. Put your underwear back on.”
He reached down and moved the sea gull off the fire to let it cool a bit. “Nope, too late. I’m naked from this day forward.”
It seemed to add some levity to their awkward situation. A distraction from the seriousness of before.
“You’re crazy,” she snapped, still staring a hole through her lap.
“Only about you,” he returned. An easy flirtation, but when her gaze shot up to his he realized the truth of it—he was crazy about her. In two days’ time he’d developed a huge crush on his island mate.
She frowned and reached for the bird, tearing off a drumstick. She started on their meal as he sat down and reached for a wing. The meat was tough and dry, but nothing had ever tasted so savory and delicious. He devoured the wing, then the other while Phoebe finished the other drumstick. They split the breast and back parts. At home it wouldn’t have made much more than an appetizer, but here it felt like a feast.
“God, I hope we catch a couple of lobsters today,” he said, wiping his fingers in the sand after he’d finished his last bite.
Phoebe nodded, swallowing her final portion. “I’ll head out this afternoon and check them. We should look for clams and more crabs too. I’m thinking we might be able to smoke some clams and take them with us when we hike inland. We should be able to find native wild berries and sugar apples farther inland. And of course we’ll have coconuts.”
“Coconuts, of course.”
Usually his days consisted of finding entertainment and things to do to pass the time. Here, it seemed his world centered on finding food. He realized he didn’t object to being forced to worry about the basic needs of survival. Actually, it felt refreshing. Perhaps he might try roughing it again someplace else after his island adventure was over.
He leaned back on his hands and breathed the fresh air. Phoebe threw their bones in the fire and poked at the coals for a while before she walked down to the ocean. He decided to go for a swim. With the needed protein in his belly, he had a sudden surge of energy.
The water closed around him as he dove beneath the waves. A warm caress over his skin as he kicked out and surfaced. He took strong strokes, stretching his arms and shoulders. He turned, looking off toward the shore. He found Phoebe standing there, watching him.
Chapter 8
The next couple of days passed, and it was time to hike to their next drop spot. Days filled with Jonathon, his presence a madness Phoebe couldn’t shake. He’d finally donned his boxer briefs after the sun left his backside a frightening red. The silly, boyish act had earned him a night of sleeping on his stomach, flinching and growling in discomfort. Phoebe had done her best to hide her amusement, though she was sure Jonathon heard her giggles as she lay inside the shelter.
He’d taken to sleeping outside, leaving her alone in the hut. She was happy for the solitude, she told herself. She didn’t need him within touching distance while cloaked by the womb of nighttime. Darkness masked them, made it easier to give in to the yearning and the tight ache between her thighs. The temptation to call to him had made sleep difficult to come by. Her body tingled with the memories of his touch. A misery she had to endure until she fell into a fitful rest.
At least now they had work to do. Phoebe followed as Jonathon hacked a way through the undergrowth of ferns and vines. From time to time he grunted with the effort, a guttural sound which left her throat dry and her nipples hard. The last thing she needed was the crazy crush she’d developed on her island mate pretty much overnight. Overnight? No, she’d carried the crush since that fateful night in college.
She blew out a breath and shoved hair out of her face before tightening the bun she’d wound it into at the back of her head. The humidity left her sticky, and getting even a hint of a breeze was impossible in the jungle. The shoes she’d made had already brought up a couple of nasty blisters on the soles of her feet. Not that she should complain, chances were they’d fall apart before they arrived at their next stop. Already one of Jonathon’s had fallen apart. She’d done her best to rig it together, but the way it flopped on his foot left her doubtful it’d last much longer.
From time to time Jonathon glanced over his shoulder, his eyes a silver shimmer in the shadowy interior of the island. He’d throw her a sexy and reckless grin, chin dimple and all, and that cursed blush would creep into her cheeks. His dark tan coupled with the beard he’d grown in the past five days left him looking rugged. Phoebe wasn’t a fan of facial hair—at least not before now—but Jonathon’s made her reconsider.
Spoiled and rich, she told herself. While she’d grown up in a world that would’ve offered her anything, she’d learned early on riches didn’t fulfill her. As a child she’d thrown herself into her studies, later adding volunteer work to keep her busy while Cybil toured the world. Her mother had called often, almost daily when she could, and Phoebe knew some children were left behind with nannies and forgotten by famous parents.
Phoebe was grateful she hadn’t suffered such a fate, but still she couldn’t comprehend leaving her own daughter for months at a time. She missed how cranky Sarah was in the mornings, she missed hearing her singing in the shower—she’d inherited Cybil’s melodic voice. She even missed hearing that God-awful teenie bopper Sarah blasted from her radio nightly.
“I see it I think,” Jonathon said, interrupting her pining.
He stopped short, and she nearly plowed into him. She peeked around his arm and saw the bright neon green bag dangling from a tree. She frowned. Her bags were supposed to be bright pink.
Jonathon leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Why don’t you go check it out?” he said.
Phoebe walked by him and pulled the bag down from the tree limb, hoping inside was the flint Jonathon had requested. They’d need another fire by sundown and she didn’t care to struggle with a bow drill. An easy way to start a fire sounded better than all her coming Christmases combined at the moment. She reached inside the bag, but instead of the cool metal of a flint, she found a square box. Frowning, she withdrew the item, and gawked.
“What the hell?” She spun on Jonathon and hurled the box at him.
He caught it and his eyes widened.
“You’re an ass, you know that?” she spat. “I actually believed you thought you’d be alone on the island. You and the producers had this whole thing planned, didn’t you?”
“I-I swear I didn’t ask for this,” he stammered. “Phoebe, you have to believe me—”
“I’m such an idiot.” A sheen of tears left her blinded as she leveled the full force of her anger on him. The ugliness of his request for the second drop was almost too much to stomach. A huge slap in the face. Never before had she felt so stupid.
His mouth opened and closed as he looked from her to the box of condoms in his hand. She spun on her heel and marched into the undergrowth in no particular direction, her face burning in humiliation. She heard his footfalls as he caught up to her. He grabbed her shoulder, but she slapped his hand away.
“Phoebe, please.”
“Like hell you didn’t know a woman would be with you on this island.” She turned on him again, claws out, wanting to do
damage. “What the hell is this show anyway? A secret porno? Did you really think you’re so irresistible I’d be throwing myself at you?” Have I proved otherwise? She bared her teeth at the inner voice, sucking in ragged gulps of breath, trying to temper her rage before she slapped him.
Jonathon held his hands up. “I don’t know what the producers are up to,” he stated in an infuriatingly calm, level voice. “But I swear to you I didn’t ask for…for condoms. Jesus, I asked for a flint. I swear it, Phoebe.”
She wouldn’t believe him, couldn’t believe him. Not after what she’d found in his bag. I want to go home. I want to be with my daughter. The overwhelming need had her digging inside her bag. She pulled out the emergency cellphone.
“Phoebe, angel, no. Please don’t. I need you here. I can’t do this without you.”
Jonathon reached for her, but she stepped back. Of course he needed her there. What good would the condoms be otherwise?
“What the hell do you need the money for? You’re a freakin’ billionaire,” she shot back, hitting the power button on the phone. It lit up and she pulled up the emergency number already programmed into the speed dial.
“I don’t need it. I’m donating the money to feed poor families.”
That made her pause, and her thumb wavered over the send button.
“I donate to them every year, and this extra cash will open a couple more food banks.” His fingers brushed her upper arm before closing around it. He leaned down and looked into her eyes. “And more importantly bring awareness to their charity. Please, Phoebe, I want to stick this out but I can’t do it without you. You’re the backbone of Paradise. I don’t know why the producers pulled this on us, but I think they do know I’ll fail without you.”
I’ll pay off my debts, and I’ll be able to put more toward Sarah’s college fund. The mantra she’d chanted to herself since agreeing to do the stupid show passed through her mind. Jonathon seemed so sincere and his eyes held such honesty, she felt her anger withering. Warning bells cautioned her against being gullible, but she ground her teeth together, renewed determination setting her in motion.
Beyond his shoulder, she spotted neon pink hanging from a tree limb, and when she retrieved her bag, she found the flint they needed inside it. A small relief which barely touched on the discomfort. Her blisters had popped and the bottoms of her feet felt like they’d been rubbed raw. She didn’t have time to remove them, nor to relax. Jonathon got to work chopping down small trees to make the bones of their next shelter while she collected palm leaves to make their walls. Sand fleas had antagonized them on the beach, but the mosquitoes made up the hell of the island’s interior. The little pests waged constant battle with their swatting hands.
Once the shelter was completed, Jonathon went in search of food, while she got a fire started. Phoebe plopped down by the campfire, yanked off her sandals, and studied the soles of her feet. Without ointment, she’d have to suffer until they callused over. Left alone, her anger and distrust festered. She wanted so much to believe Jonathon and the producers weren’t in on some grand plan to make her look like a fool. And that’s what they’d done, made her a fool. After all, she’d already given in to temptation once. Actually twice, if she were to count long ago.
Jonathon appeared from the trees while she poked at the fire. She cringed when he held up his hand.
“Ran across this and thought it was as good of a meal as any,” he said, smiling proudly while holding up a dead nonpoisonous wolf snake.
Phoebe swallowed, fighting down revulsion. “Cleaning it is up to you,” she replied.
She wasn’t a fan of snakes, and had never eaten one. Though her stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her since the sea gull their meals had consisted of a few clams, crabs, coconuts, and one lobster. Barely enough to carry them forward on the two mile hike.
He was kind enough not to argue and took it out of sight to do the dirty work. She stared at the bag lying next to the fire. The bag that had held the condom box. Maybe the producers were playing games with them. After all, Jonathon Breck’s notoriety preceded him wherever he went. What better TV hook than showcasing their torrid affair on a reality series? Her, the awkward daughter of popstar fandom, and him, a rich bachelor.
Her anger turned in the show’s direction—most notably Shawna’s. She’d certainly give the seedy producer a piece of her mind when she got back home. And enjoy rubbing it in their faces that their master plan had failed them spectacularly. The most they’d get from Jonathon and her would be the hard efforts of survival, not a grope fest to splash all over the US. Phoebe snorted.
Jonathon took a seat opposite her, the snake meat dangling from sharpened stakes. He whistled a tune as he held them over the fire. She eyed the pale white meat, trying to picture it as strips of fish to keep down a queasy feeling. She’d eaten far worse in survival trials. Far, far worse. Bugs, scavenged meat from questionable deer carcasses…
Still, her stomach roiled, and when the smell of it cooking filled her nose, she nearly gagged. The meat crackled and hissed in the flames. Phoebe took deep breaths. Maybe she should forage for sugar apples?
“What’s your last name?” Jonathon asked.
She looked up, surprised at his question. He trapped her eyes.
“Why?” she returned, though not meaning it to sound so defensive.
He lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Seeing as how we’re stranded here together, it might be nice to at least know your last name.”
She toyed with the idea of telling him Smith, but she was being silly. So what if he recognized her famous surname? She blinked and wrenched her eyes away from his, staring up at the sky where white wispy clouds had collected together into a gray mass. Was the damn weather plotting against them like the producers? Another night cuddled against Jonathon for warmth seemed unbearable.
“Looks like more rain is headed in, but hopefully we won’t get a storm like last time,” she commented. Weather seemed a safer topic than another getting-to-know-you session.
“Is there a reason you’re avoiding the question?”
His smile had vanished, his face as dark as the collecting clouds. Sweat trickled between her breasts, and she swiped more off her brow. The sticky humidity grew denser until it felt like she was trying to breathe underwater. And as if on cue, a rumble of thunder filled her ears...far off, though her heart rate still spiked. She eyed their shelter of sticks and leaves, crossing her fingers it would keep them warm and dry.
“Heart,” she finally said, digging her fingers into the sandy soil. “Phoebe Heart.”
He looked her over. “Rings a bell. How do you spell it?”
“H-e-a-r-t.”
Jonathon remained silent, then blew out a breath. “Then that’s it,” he said low, more to himself than her. He met her gaze again. “Heart, like Cybil Heart. Are you her daughter?”
Phoebe nodded. He was still safely miles away from Sarah and questions about her, so she’d take the trade-off. “Yeah I am.”
God, his eyes… It didn’t seem fair they could have such a mystical hold on her. She waited for the questions about Cybil, about her childhood, the usual when people found out she had a famous parent.
“Dinner looks cooked,” Jonathon said instead, as he flaked a piece of meat off one of the sticks and tested it. “Could use some salt, but not bad.”
He extended the other spike to her. She reached out, determined to look brave despite the revolting meal. She pinched off a tiny bit of the flesh and sniffed it, finding it held the aroma of woody smoke from the campfire. Jonathon munched through his, and Phoebe tried again to imagine she was only eating fish. He watched her curiously, picking up on her hesitance. Phoebe took a deep breath and shoved a bite in her mouth, swallowing as quickly as she could. The dried out meat lodged in her throat, and she coughed while grabbing a bottle of water nearby. She guzzled it down.
Jonathon chuckled. “That’s usually the reaction I get with my cooking, so no hard feelings.” He winked.
Luckily, this time she didn’t feel a blush creep into her cheeks from his playful gesture. Not when facing a needed meal she’d have to choke down—literally.
“Do you have a problem with snakes?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. Yes! “No,” she lied.
She had a big problem with them. The creepy, slithering monsters could sneak into someone’s sleeping bag and that someone wouldn’t know until the damn thing had wrapped around their legs. She shuddered at the memory and decided to imagine the luckily harmless king snake that’d given her the phobia was the one Jonathon had roasted. Jonathon didn’t look like he entirely believed her as she stuffed bite after horrible, eye watering, stomach churning bite in her mouth until the last of their deplorable food was gone.
With protein in her belly she felt more optimistic as a heavy overcast sky settled over them. Fat raindrops plopped down, heralding the coming rainstorm. Phoebe sighed and crawled into the hut. Jonathon joined her and she scooted as far to her corner as possible. They watched in silence as the campfire fought a brave battle against the greater power of the storm. It finally sizzled and spat in defiance then drowned.
A chill settled over her, and goose pimples covered her skin as long hours stretched before them. She felt miserable again. Miserable with cold, miserable with waning anger over the condoms, miserable with missing her child, and miserable with the damned longing she felt for the man next to her.
“Can you sing like your mother?” Jonathon’s unsettling gaze eased some of the cold inside the shelter, and she did her best to ignore the warmth flushing her skin.
“God no.” How many times in her life had she been asked that? “I sound like one of the seagulls outside. My father was one of my mother’s backup singers and dancers, and still the gene skipped me.”
He laughed, a rich, throaty sound which hardened her nipples. She hugged her arms tighter around her middle.
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