by MJ Fredrick
“I always said you should be a SEAL.”
“I already mastered the water.” He grinned, treading water. “Had to master the sky.”
That grin was so intimate, so familiar, the smile of the man she’d loved. Hiding her vulnerability to it, she slipped into the water. Nat’s gaze traveled over her body, lingering on her breasts. Her feet barely touched the gravelly bottom so she kept close to the edge. Then she couldn’t hold her curiosity back any longer. “So why did you leave? You loved teaching pilots.”
His grin faded and he put his feet down. “It wasn’t the same anymore.”
“Why not?”
“You left, then Mike got out—”
“Mike got out?” His best friend since childhood, Mike had been more Air Force than Nat, and she hadn’t believed that possible. “I thought he’d die in the service.”
“Yeah, well, he almost did.” Nat stretched out to swim a few strokes toward the waterfall.
A chill ran through her. Mike had been another embodiment of the job Tess hated, but he’d been Nat’s best friend. She pushed away from the rock to follow. “What happened?”
His mouth was tight, lips downturned, all the good humor since they’d found the stream gone. That expression she’d known very well. “Ditched his plane, broke his back coming down.”
“Nat!” God, that had been her worst nightmare for her pilot husband, every time she heard the jets take off over their little house on base. She’d understood his joy in flying but her fear had strangled the pride she felt.
“He couldn’t be a pilot anymore, and he didn’t love the teaching assignment they gave him. So he got out.”
“And Janie?” Janie’s pride had been stronger than her fear. How was she handling a disabled husband?
“By his side.”
The words weren’t an accusation, but she felt one anyway. “Good. I mean…” What did she mean? That woman had stood by her man through a tragedy far worse than a man who loved his job more than his wife. The comparison in her own head made her feel foolish and weak. She dipped her head under water to cool off, surfaced and slicked her hair back from her face. “So you quit and started your own charter service?”
“I’m my own man.”
Which he’d been when she’d fallen in love with him, before he became the Air Force’s man.
“That’s why you got the tattoo?” She let herself look at it now, a rich Celtic design winding around his biceps.
“No.” He didn’t say more.
His lack of disclosure frustrated her. Had a woman played a part in the tattoo? A drunken night? What was its significance? But she didn’t want to show her curiosity. Instead, she asked, “And you’re happy?”
“Usually.” He leveled his gaze at her. “You? You’re a far cry from the girl who dyed her hair pink to shock my superiors.”
She’d done that a lot, pushed boundaries, not to shock his superiors as much as to get his attention. “No, they frown on that in corporate America, too.”
“And your art? You don’t do that anymore?”
“Just graphic art. All on the computer.”
He made a face.
“It takes skill,” she said defensively.
“No doubt. But you had real talent, Tess. Shame to see that go to waste.”
“I don’t have time for it anymore.” Or desire. All of that had left her when she walked away from her marriage.
“Your job?”
“More demanding than I expected.”
“You don’t look happy.”
“It’s—stressful. Which is why I was looking forward to the retreat.”
To avoid more questions, she dove beneath the water. She wasn’t as strong a swimmer as he, but this way she evaded his scrutiny for a moment. She surfaced close to the waterfall and wiped the water from her eyes.
To see him way too close.
Instinct, memory, something, had her taking a step toward him. She slipped on a mossy rock and floundered. He clasped his hands around her upper arms but instead of helping her gain her feet, he drew her closer so she braced her hands against his chest. Her fingers flexed briefly in the hard muscle beneath the crisp chest hair and every womanly sense in her came alive, everything she’d forgotten, everything she’d pushed aside. His breathing changed, but she didn’t look into his eyes, couldn’t look past his lips. Her nipples hardened against his chest, his cock grew rigid against her belly. She rolled against it, her body acting without her permission, before she found the strength to push away.
“Thanks.”
“Tess.”
She made the mistake of looking into his eyes then, and saw his intention. She didn’t back away when he curved his hand over her cheek and kissed her, soft and sweet, lips parted over hers, tongue grazing her lips, his other palm gliding down her arm. A shiver ran through her. She should push away. She should run away. He’d hurt her, but her hormones had other memories, delicious ones of his hands on her body, his mouth on her body, his cock stroking inside her.
He moved closer, drawing her against him, his tongue sliding deeper into her mouth, and she broke the kiss, turning away.
“That would be a mistake.” She didn’t look at him, couldn’t, and swam across the pool to the other side. She hauled herself out and dressed quickly, aware he was watching. Too aware of his silence.
“We should go get situated before it gets dark,” he said finally, pulling himself out of the pool beside her.
She jumped. She hadn’t even heard him cross the water. She jammed her feet in her sandals—ruined now—and wished she could run far and fast from the feelings he’d brought to the surface.
Feelings she’d never wanted to acknowledge again.
Chapter Four
“You’re kidding.” Tess resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself as she looked at the narrow hammock he’d made for them, a single sleeping bag unzipped and hung by its corners from two trees and two upright branches he’d buried in the sand.
“Best I can do.”
“Can’t I sleep in the plane?”
“Any movement might knock the plane off the rock, and screw up the wing. It’s not safe.”
Not safe was sleeping that close to her ex-husband, who her hormones didn’t recognize as off-limits. And in that contraption, they’d have to sleep very, very close together.
He crouched beside the bed and passed his hand over his hair, looking up at her. “Do you have something in your magic suitcase we could use?”
She mentally took inventory of her bag and shook her head.
He straightened. “All right then. We don’t have a choice. Let’s be grown-ups about this.”
Like they’d been back at the pool? She turned toward the plane.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“I can’t sleep in these clothes.”
She half expected him to encourage her to sleep naked, but he didn’t. In the light from the fire he’d also built—though she’d collected the rocks and wood—she rummaged in her suitcase, shoving aside the vibrator. She’d better not even think about sex if she was going to sleep that close to sex personified. She pulled out her knit shorts and a short silky robe. If she couldn’t have any other protection from the elements, the robe would have to do.
“Are you hungry, or don’t you eat anymore?” he called to her from near the fire.
“Don’t tease me if you don’t really have food,” she said over her shoulder.
“Not much. Some snack bars and beef jerky. At least we have plenty of water.”
She’d seen the two twenty-four packs in the back of the plane and wondered about them, but was grateful for the emergency supplies now. She did not want to risk drinking water from the pool, as clear as it was. Her stomach rumbled as she stepped out of her linen shorts and into the knit ones, then returned to the fire.
“Maybe tomorrow, if Brandon hasn’t shown up, I can try to fish,” he said as he handed her a granola bar.
She usu
ally hated granola bars, but tore into this one. She hadn’t eaten anything but an apple all day. Maybe her reaction to Nat in the pool had been because she was lightheaded with hunger. “What are you going to fish with?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
She sat gingerly on the edge of the hammock, testing. It held her weight, but would it hold both of them?
“What’s with the robe?” he asked.
“I don’t sleep well without a sheet.” She looked toward the ocean. “Not that I think I’ll sleep well in any case.”
“Hey, people pay good money to listen to the ocean while they sleep. Don’t knock it.” He rose and crossed to the other side of the hammock, the right side, where he’d always slept. Funny how they took their marriage positions without discussing it.
They looked across at each other a long moment, then by unspoken agreement, laid back together, shoulder to shoulder, Tess staring at the orange bottom of the life raft that was their roof and trying not to acknowledge Nat’s heat or listen to his breathing. So many nights she’d fallen asleep to the even rhythm, but tonight, well, he seemed as tense as she was.
“This isn’t going to work.”
Thank God. She started to sit up. “I’ll go sleep in the plane.”
He looped his arm over her waist and pulled her back against his chest. “I already told you, not an option. Look, the old way’s the best. Just relax, Tess.”
“Your penis has forgotten we’re divorced,” she muttered.
“My penis always had a thing for you,” he said.
The way the words rumbled in his chest, vibrated against her back, shouldn’t have turned her on, but her body remembered him, too, the fit of him, the slide of him, the way he fit, just right. Better than the damn vibrator, which didn’t include his weight over her, his hands on her body, his mouth on her breasts.
Idiot. She shouldn’t let those thoughts in her head, not when his body folded around hers, admittedly more comfortable, his scent surrounding her, so familiar. She reached down to flick the end of the robe over her legs as she tried to block the memories.
“Gorgeous night.” His deep voice sent vibrations along the hammock, his hand closing on her wrist, thumb stroking the inside of her arm. She wasn’t sure if it was conscious, and pulling away would just draw his attention to the caress, so she let it continue, refusing to allow her thoughts to center on it, her body to react to it. Her nipples hardened despite her efforts. “Just pretend we’re in a little hut with the window open, looking out onto the ocean.”
He’d always had the best voice. She focused on the moonlight dancing on the waves, on the rhythmic stroking of his thumb, and was asleep in moments.
She woke the next morning with Nat’s erection wedged against her ass, his hand curved around her thigh. Her head was beneath his chin and from the evenness of his breathing, she knew he was still asleep. Memories swept through her, of waking up in his arms for years—until he started getting up before the crack of dawn.
The good memories returned under the weight of his arm, and not only of the time before the Air Force. She’d loved their little house on base, especially on weekends, when he was home and they’d barbecue and work in the yard, then relax in lawn chairs with cold beer.
She remembered the first time he’d come home in his flight suit. God, even now the memory gave her a kick. Wearing the suit had put a swagger in his step, and the grin he’d given her—she’d barely gotten him in the door before she’d been on her knees before him, taking him in her mouth as he leaned against the wall, his hands in her hair. He’d promised to wear the flight suit home every day. He had, for months afterwards, and the sex had never been better.
Then his best friend, Mike, deployed, and Nat started working longer hours, sometimes not coming home until she was in bed. Nothing had been the same after that.
She needed to get away, because right now all her hormones were awake and ready to party, especially with his hand so high on her thigh. She wanted to shift toward his touch, relive those memories. Her breasts ached, wanting his mouth. What would he think if he woke up and found her turned on? Okay, if the kiss yesterday and his erection were any indication, he’d be perfectly fine with it. Happy, even.
Stranded on a deserted island with her ex-husband and horny as hell. How sad was that?
Might be sadder if she didn’t know how good the sex could be.
Gingerly she removed his hand from her thigh and slowly, carefully, swung her legs off the hammock, trying to sway it as little as possible. She stood, legs shaking, and dragged her hands over her breasts to ease the pressure. Maybe if she took the edge off, she would stop thinking about sex with Nat and start thinking about how to get home.
He barely stirred when she got out of the hammock, just settled back, looking ridiculous with her white silk robe tangled about his knees. Keeping an eye on him, she crept to the edge of the jungle for privacy. She wished they were closer to the pool—she would love a quick bath. But she could go in the ocean once she reminded her body it didn’t need Nat.
She went as far as she dared and found a clearing with a strong looking tree. She leaned against it and closed her eyes, wanting Nat so bad, remembering how he filled her, how he fit against her. They’d made love standing up a few times and she’d come so hard, he’d had to hold her up to finish, pinning her to the wall. Just thinking about it made her ache, and she slid her hand down her body.
A sound drew her attention. She snapped her eyes open to see Nat standing not six feet away, watching her.
“Nat. Jesus.” Mortified, she removed her hand from her waistband, but he took three steps toward her. He captured her wrists and pinned them to the tree before covering her mouth with his.
This was no gentle kiss, but one filled with hunger long denied, lips crushing, tongue sliding deep, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. Then he broke the kiss, leaving her breathless. Holding her gaze, he guided her hand to his mouth, his lips wrapping around one finger at a time, drawing along the length, leaving her no doubt what was on his mind. The thrill that ran through her wasn’t entirely sexual. She should break away, leave, but instead she parted her legs to invite him closer. He stepped back.
Disappointment shot through her, followed by a faint trail of relief. Bad idea. Bad idea. At least he recognized the danger here.
She started to push away from the tree, to pull herself together, but he held out a hand, effectively pinning her. Still looking into her eyes, he knelt before her, pulling her shorts down, tugging them at her ankles until she got the message and stepped out of them. Every nerve in her body raced to her sex, naked at his eye level. Another pulse of wetness flowed in anticipation of his cock filling her.
“Christ, Tess, you’re bare.”
She couldn’t stop the sob of pleasure. She certainly hadn’t thought she’d be explaining this, especially to him. She’d never done anything like this before, but Kate had posed the idea, and they’d gone to the salon together. “I planned on wearing a lot of bathing suits this week, and it’s neater.”
“Christ.”
“Do you like it?” she wanted to know. Needed to know.
“It’s—different.”
He leaned forward and grazed a light kiss across her skin, and she bumped her hips forward. He scraped the soft stubble of his cheek against her flesh and she shivered.
“I can get used to this,” he murmured.
From the moment she saw him come out of the hanger, she’d wondered what he would think if he knew, though she never actually thought he’d see her, or touch her.
He caressed her soft skin again and she moaned his name. He huffed out a laugh, his hot breath caressing her. God, she was too far gone for good sense. She needed him now, the past be damned. She spread her legs wider, inviting.
Finally, he took the hint. He lifted her leg over his shoulder and covered her with his mouth, sliding his tongue along her cleft, but not stroking the way she wanted him to. Instead,
he flicked his tongue against the sensitive flesh before dipping inside her, just enough to make her crazy. She pushed toward him, wanting to hold his head, to guide him, at the same time wanting to go where he took her. He’d always taken her such lovely places.
He shifted his caress, his rhythm off. What the…? Her nerves ragged, she realized he was doing it on purpose, taking her higher with the unexpected tempo. She curled her fingers in his hair, holding him to her, holding back the pleading words that wanted to tumble from her lips.
He drew back, despite her grip on the back of his head, and looked up, eyes dark but glinting. So familiar, that mix of desire and humor. The mix that had disappeared from her life before their marriage was over.
“I want to be inside you.”
“Condoms,” she managed. “I’m not on the pill anymore.”
“Covered.” He reached into his pocket and held two in his palm.
Relief made her legs tremble. She needed him in her, wanted to feel him stretching, stroking, wanted to feel the press of his body against her, his mouth on her skin. She sank to her knees before him and held her breath as he rolled the condom on. But instead of pulling her onto his lap, he reached for her blouse and opened it with shaking hands. His breathing rushed, hot and moist, against the skin he bared. He pushed down the lace cups of her bra and curved his hand under her breast, lifting it. She curled her fingers around the back of his head and pulled his head to her.
For a moment, he resisted, then sucked her breast into his mouth, tongue rubbing over her nipple until it was so hard it hurt. Then he closed his teeth over it, lightly, and she cried out, grip tightening in his hair. He obliged her silent command and bit harder. Tiny sizzles, precursors to one hell of an orgasm, spiraled through her blood.
“Now, Nat, God, please.”
He chuckled against her skin, then eased back to look at her. His gaze on hers, he hooked his hands around the insides of her knees and dragged her forward, onto his lap, his erection tapping against her mound. She rose up and in one fluid movement he was inside her, his hands on her hips, fully seated, so deep. So right.
