Stranded
Amberly Woodruff
Copyright
Amberly Woodruff 2013
Photography Bertknot & Lies Thru A Lens
First Published by Penny Dreadfuls 2013
Chapter 1
‘Omigod!’ Tamsin choked as another wave slapped her in the face, spray drenching her already chilled arms and legs, soaking her hair and thin summer top. One of her sandals had gone over the side of the boat ages ago, when the wind first got up and the waves began to behave like towering breakers instead of the calm sea she’d set out on. Her jeans were so sodden they were like a clinging second skin that rubbed her inner thighs every time she moved. Hard to imagine that what had started as a quest for a bit of peace and quiet had turned into this nightmare.
An expert sailor she wasn’t. But then she hadn’t intended to do more than row out to the rocks at the edge of the harbour and think about the dilemma she found herself in. But the rocks were inhabited by a colony of seagulls, whose raucous complaints made thinking impossible. So she’d ventured just a bit further, shipping the oars and letting the boat drift, lying on her back on the bench with her jacket as a pillow, lulled by the warmth of the sun on her face and the gentle rocking of the water. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep - in fact, she’d been sure her restless mind would have kept her alert. But she hadn’t factored in the effect of several sleepless nights, the long, rushed drive down here, the nagging anxiety that had slowly but surely drained her energy over the last few weeks.
Not that she was underrating Damien’s significance in her life, but her current circumstances had kind of put things in perspective, and right now the issues between them seemed a lot less important than what was rapidly turning into a fight for her life. She wasn’t even sure why his marriage proposal had flung her into such a panic, or why that panic had caused her to take flight rather than sitting down, talking and working things out. Except that Damien wasn’t very good at listening - which was one of the reasons she was concerned about tying herself to him for life: that and his general controlling behaviour. But Damien seemed a million miles away right now.
She had no idea where she was. The world was a tossing maelstrom of heaving waves, howling wind and near darkness. Even if her watch had survived the constant soaking, she daren’t let go of the side of the boat for long enough to glance at it for fear of being pitched into the sea. Her mobile, buried in her bag in the bottom of the boat, swilling back and forth in six inches of salt water, was equally unlikely to still be functioning. This was Cornwall in late April, for heaven’s sake, not the middle of the Atlantic in winter, so why was it so cold and wild?
It had seemed like a good idea, taking the dingy from its mooring in the inlet that bordered the perimeter of her aunt’s property. The same as it had seemed like a good idea coming down to stay in the cottage on the spur of the moment, not telling anyone, so intent was she on escape. Now nobody would have a clue that she was missing, - especially as Damien had, bit by bit, isolated her from the people close to her - let alone that she had ventured out to sea in an ancient, badly maintained boat that was never meant for anything more than negotiating the waters of the creek when the tide was in.
The pitching of the boat had woken her: as it happened, out of a surprisingly erotic dream where unseen hands had caressed her skin, whispering over her nipples and questing her secret folds, a faint sense of husky male scent and the rasp of lips on her skin rousing her to tingling awareness that brought her to the edge of orgasm. A month without sex had obviously taken its toll if her mind was running riot like that. Though her awakening was sudden and complete, dousing her with all the effectiveness of a cold shower. Gone were the rocks and the coastline beyond them, with its little cluster of cottages tumbling down the cliff to the harbour. All she could see was an endless vista of ocean and clouds, where the horizon was invisible and there was no land in sight. She wasn’t stupid; she knew her chances of survival were not good, would be even less if she was thrown into the freezing sea; every year people drowned off the coast of Cornwall in far kinder weather than this. She’d never been more frightened in her life, shuddering, icy, teeth chatteringly frightened.
Why hadn’t she stayed with Damien, why, instead of panicking and running away? Surely she could have made him listen to her, bought some time before she made up her mind what to do. But Damien was going to New York to take up an unmissable job offer. He’d made it clear that if she wouldn’t marry him and go with him, their relationship was over. Never one to compromise, (which had made him seem excitingly strong and male to her at one time), he fully expected her to give way to him, leave her family and friends and start a life she would never have chosen for herself. Did she love him enough? Should anyone make that kind of demand from someone else? Had she ever loved him in the way that would have made the sacrifice worth it? Yes, she’d enjoyed his almost cruel, blond good looks; his thrusting maleness when they made love; the way he filled her up, sliding in and out of her faster and faster till she was wild with wanting; the way his hands had manipulated her so confidently to the edge of abandon, his imperious tongue and eager mouth sucking and licking and prodding till she was almost delirious with the need for consummation. But was that love or fascination, affection or obsession? And, if she was honest, didn’t it all leave her feeling empty, longing for something more?
Their very first meeting seemed to have set the tone for what was to come. She’d been out clubbing with friends and he’d cut in ahead of her at the bar, doing a double take, backtracking and apologising, taking over and collecting her drinks order along with his own in a confident, managing way that had left her feeling breathless and rather in awe of his spectacular good looks. He’d obviously liked what he saw as well, eyes moving up and down her body, clocking her green eyes, cloud of amber hair, perilously short red velvet dress and the five inch killer heels that made her feel so tall and slender and sexy. He’d smiled a slow, lazy smile, commandeered her for the rest of the evening, ignoring the friends she’d arrived with, and, five vodkas later, taken her back to his place in a taxi, ravishing her mouth with his in between issuing orders to the driver about how to get there and where to drop them.
Half expecting a slick, clichéd city bachelor apartment, she’d none-the-less still been impressed with the small terraced house with its comfy furniture and crisply white walls, stripped pine boards stretching away to the foot of the stairs towards which he now pulled her, not really giving her a chance to take in much more. Then they were in the first of the upstairs rooms, the dim lighting revealing a king size bed with a wrought iron head.
He turned her to him, sucking on her lower lip, roaming his mouth down her throat and along her collarbone, fumbling at the tiny buttons that fastened her dress over her breasts, thumbs pausing to circle her nipples before releasing each button slowly, tantalisingly. She gasped, feeling the heat rush to her groin, making her wet and ready for him. She was suddenly aware that her breasts were free of their confines, the whisper of lace that was her bra pulled down, and then his lips were busy again, tongue flicking at her left nipple, then her right; almost painfully rough. Flames of pleasure engulfed her, flooding her with a sensuous, drugging passion, making her blind with desire. An echo of a warning told her that she didn’t do one night stands, and she didn’t know him, but it was lost in the sheer, drunken lust that blazed through her as she felt his erection nudge at her belly through the thin fabric of her dress. She found her own hands questing, scrabbling at the button on his jeans, sliding her hand inside to grasp his smooth, pulsing length. He groaned and flung her back on the bed, tugging up her dress, pulling it over her head, yanking off her knickers (their flimsy black lace now soaked). Impatiently he paused to drag off his own clothes, though she w
as left wearing stockings and her pulled down bra. He spread her legs, running his hands up her thigh, parting her folds, bending to take her labia in his mouth, sucking and pulling on her clitoris till she was shrieking with heady pleasure. She sat half up, pushed him down beside her, took him into her mouth and ran her tongue up and down his shaft, her hand cupping his balls, then licking the head of his penis in slow, tantalising strokes. But he wasn’t going to let her take control for long. His mouth returned to her core, tongue thrusting inside her and then coming back to her clitoris again and again, licking, probing till she was moaning with frustration, waves of approaching bliss building up and receding. Each time she approached the crest of ecstasy, he pulled back. Then, when she thought she could bear it no more and would explode with desire, he was plunging into her, thrusting deeper, pulling her legs up onto his shoulders so that pain and delight mingled. He set a rapid pace, but she matched him thrust for thrust until she felt her orgasm explode inside her. Then he was pulling out of her, furiously working his erection with his hand, face intent and fierce, spraying her breasts as he peaked, to collapse moments later, panting into her neck. Tamsin had lain there, shocked and excited to her very core.
So that was Damien, controlling and domineering from their very first encounter, taking over her life, dictating the pace in and out of bed, pressuring her to move in with him within a month of that first encounter, gradually cutting out her friends, discouraging her from seeing family, first flattering and then beginning to criticise her so that she was never sure if she was in the right, but, in between, being overwhelmingly affectionate, making her feel wanted like no one else had ever done, mastering her, gradually eroding her freedom, making her feel cherished and imprisoned at the same time, being overbearing and then touchingly vulnerable in his need for her. No wonder she had bolted when he wanted her to agree to the ultimate loss of liberty and choice.
Yet look at the predicament she had landed herself in by running. If she’d agreed to his ultimatum, at least she’d have a life. Her chances of life out here were diminishing with each wave that hit her, each dousing of her chilled, numb body. The wind redoubled its fury, the sea heaved and roiled, flung the boat up, brought it crashing down, the darkness intensifying, swirling around her till she could barely see four feet in front of her.
Suddenly a wall of denser darkness was rushing towards her, towering maybe twenty feet above her. There was a deafening crack, her hands were torn loose from their grip on the sides of the boat, and she was catapulted into the air, flying through clouds of spray. She felt a blinding pain in her head, and then blackness sprinkled with stars engulfed her.
Chapter 2
A flickering on her eyelids woke her. That and the warmth bathing her, seeping into her cold bones. Then the memories all rushed back: the wild storm, the monstrous wall of solid dark that had seemed to rush towards her, the crack of impact and a splintering sound, almost drowned by the crashing of the waves. There were some other impressions, but she wasn’t sure if they had been real or a dream: a man’s voice shouting, a light, strong masculine arms pulling her from the water. After that, nothing, till now.
She began to open her eyes, but it was all such an effort. She tried again and winced as golden, dancing light struck across her face. Her head hurt, a dull, throbbing pain that pulsed and receded in time to her heart beat. A tentative exploration with her fingers found a lump the size of a walnut above her left ear, and her hair seemed stiff and sticky just there. She opened her eyes again, fully this time, blinking while they adjusted to the brightness, then looked around her. Rough-hewn stone walls surrounded a space about twelve feet square, There was a desk against one side on which was an open laptop, with shelves of books and scientific looking instruments behind it. The wall opposite was hung with various tools and implements: an axe, ropes, a shovel. There were a large window and a plank door. She could see it was daylight outside, but the sky was still grey and brooding, clouds racing across it in ragged streaks. The dancing light was coming from a blazing log fire, and she was lying on what she now saw was a wide bed or couch, covered in blankets.
Tamsin pushed the blankets to one side and sat up, wincing as various aches and tender spots made their presence felt. Her head was thumping worse than ever and she felt sick. She was wearing her cotton top and her bra and pants, but her jeans appeared to have been removed while she was unconscious, and now she was able to see just how badly bumped and battered she was. A huge bruise spread up the inside of her left thigh, her knee that side was scraped too, though not too badly, and her forearm was livid red and purple. Any kind of movement made her nauseous and faint, yet she had to get up, had to see where she was: so, tentatively levering herself more upright, she began to swing her legs towards the floor.
That was when the door opened, startling Tamsin so that she jumped, dizziness overtaking her and making her lean back against the wall. Then her eyes widened as she took in the man negotiating the doorway, a steaming mug in each hand. Wow! A cliché had just arrived: six foot or so of utterly gorgeous male hunk: lean, stubbled jawline; broad shoulders; slim frame; tousled black curls that tumbled shaggily almost to his shoulders; intense dark eyes - even in her current state, she was strongly aware of how he looked. So her memories were correct, there had been a male rescuer, and one who looked like a rock star or a movie hero at that!
‘Ah, you’re properly awake then,’ he said solicitously, pushing the laptop to the back of the desk to set one mug down, handing her the other. ‘How do you feel? You surfaced a couple of times last night, and you were making waking up noises just now, so I made you some hot soup. I don’t know how long you were adrift in the storm, but you need to get some food inside you.’ He reached towards her as he spoke, steadying her hand as she raised the mug shakily to her lips, teeth chattering against the rim as a wave of shock swept over her, coming out of nowhere.
‘I’m lucky to be alive, aren’t I?’ she said in a small voice, following on with ‘Where am I? This isn’t Polgorrow, is it?’ She felt tears welling up and began to shiver.
He sat on the side of the bed, took the mug from her and put a supportive arm round her shoulders. ‘It’s ok, it’s ok, you’re safe now.’ His hand rubbed her arm comfortingly. ‘You set out from Polgorrow? I’m afraid you’re a long way from there. I don’t know how you managed to land up here?’
‘So where am I? What happened?’ She put a hand up to her aching head.
‘This is Fulmar Island, about halfway between Lands End and the Scillies.’
Her eyes widened. Halfway to the Scilly Isles? She must have drifted, or more probably been driven by wind and waves, fifteen miles or more out to sea. She began to shake again, harder this time, and, seeing, he pulled her against him, putting the mug to her lips.
‘Try not to think about it now. Drink your soup,’ he said, voice light but gruff, one arm supporting her, his hand holding the mug, pulling it away when she’d attempted a few hesitant gulps.
‘Tomato,’ she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Gosh, that feels better. You were right, I needed to eat.’ Her voice sounded strange to her, and she seemed to be spouting inanities, but, really, everything seemed obscured by a surreal fog that left her thoughts disconnected and vague. She supposed that was due to shock.
He offered the mug again, and this time she took it herself, draining it then leaning back against him, strength flooding into her body. At the back of her mind she was aware of his maleness, the scent of his skin sweet and musky, but she was still too shaken and drained to take much notice.
‘What happened to me? What about my boat?’ she asked, after a few silent minutes, in which she felt the shock recede a little and warmth spread through her comfortingly.
‘Look, I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s not much left of your boat; it’s pretty obvious it wasn’t meant for the open sea. You hit the rocks at the entrance to the cove; otherwise you might still be out there. You may be concussed - no way to
be sure, and nothing we can do anyway, but you’re going to have to take it easy for a day or two. I have no idea where you intended to end up, but I can’t believe it was here.’
‘No,’ she replied, ‘I just wanted a bit of peace to think, so I rowed out just beyond the rocks by the entrance to Polgorrow harbour. Then I sort of fell asleep.’
‘You really have been lucky! Never trust the weather off Cornwall, I know it’s nearly summer but storms can blow up out of nowhere, and that boat of yours was never meant for the open sea.’
Then it began to sink in fully that she was miles from anywhere familiar and she stared at him in horror. ‘Oh my God, how am I going to get back to the mainland?’
‘Ah…’ He stood up and crossed the room to put her mug on the desk. ‘The thing is, I’m really sorry, but you’re sort of stuck for a while, I’m afraid. Until the helicopter arrives with my next lot of supplies anyway. And that won’t be for another week. And, before you ask, no, I can’t radio for help like they do in the movies because, like in the movies, my radio is dead. It was pretty ancient and, well, it stopped working a couple of weeks ago. Not a problem usually. I don’t need anything unless there’s an emergency, and nobody is expecting to hear from me. And I know people in Cornwall sometimes get French mobile phone signals, but there’s no reception here, absolutely none. We’re miles from a mast and the hills are pretty effective at blocking reception. We’re not even on a shipping route: you couldn’t have landed in a more remote place if you’d tried!’
Tamsin gaped at him, unable to take it in properly. She couldn’t be stuck here, out of contact with her life, she just couldn’t. She knew she’d wanted space to think, but this was ridiculous: this was total overkill. If she didn’t go home soon, Damien would assume she wasn’t coming back at all and would leave without her - and she still didn’t know if that was what she wanted.
Stranded Page 1
