by Lori Wilde
A sudden, disturbing thought ran through his head and somehow he just knew that she’d seen him underneath the water. Immediately, his face was hot. He moistened his lips.
He heard a low buzzing sound, like a bee inside his brain. His mind clouded—confused, alarmed, ashamed, he turned away from her.
“Plane,” she said.
“What?” He blinked.
She pointed to the sky. “Overhead. It’s a plane.”
That’s where the buzzing was coming from.
Their eyes met.
“The radio!” they cried in unison. What was this tendency they had to say the same thing at the same time?
They raced back to her side of her plane and ran for the door. Their hands landed on the handle at the same time.
They both leaped back as if burned.
Simultaneously, they reached forward again and damn, if their hands didn’t collide once more.
“Stand back!” Sophia yelled.
Yes, ma’am. Although it went against his natural instinct, he stepped aside and allowed her to take the lead. This was her plane after all and her radio.
She yanked the door open, hopped inside, put on her headset and fiddled with the dials.
“Dammit,” she cried, trying to find the radio frequency of the aircraft that was passing overhead. “Why didn’t I have the radio on?”
Gibb blew out his breath, jammed fingers through his hair. Already, he could no longer hear the sound of the plane.
Sophia was speaking into the headset, but he could tell she hadn’t made contact, that she was just throwing the information out there, hoping against hope the plane would pick it up.
For several minutes, she repeated her call letters and a mayday message. Finally, in frustration, she yanked off the headset and stormed away from the plane. She stalked to the water’s edge and arms akimbo, stared out at the ocean.
“What happened?” he asked, coming up behind her.
“Something’s wrong with the radio. I could hear them, but apparently they couldn’t hear me. We just lost our only real way of getting off this island.”
* * *
“IT’S OKAY,” GIBB SAID.
Sophia shook her head. “It’s not okay. I promised I’d get you to Key West and I failed.”
“Look, it’s not your fault. You did the best you could. These things happen.”
She spun on her heels to face him. “It is my fault. I knew better than to try to fly you to Key West in El Diablo, but I let money and a sense of adventure convince me I could do it. Ego. It was pure ego. This is what happens when you get too big for your britches.”
Gibb cast a long appraising glance at her body. “You look just right for your britches to me.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better.”
“Why should I kick you when you’re down? You’re doing a good enough job of that.”
“I failed you. I should have turned back the minute I saw those cumulus clouds, but oh, no, I had to be a hotshot.”
“I’m the one who pressured you to keep going, remember?”
“I was the pilot.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I was the one who allowed you to pressure me.”
“Now I see your American side is coming out.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re being way too hard on yourself.”
“No,” she denied. “I’m not being hard enough.”
“How’s that?”
Sophia raised her chin. “Because there is another reason why I did not want to turn back.”
He arched a sexy eyebrow. “What reason?”
“You,” she admitted, knowing full well she was treading into dangerous territory.
A smile darted across his face and amusement danced in his gray eyes. He had such remarkable eyes. “Me?”
“I wanted to spend time with you.”
“Really?” He said it as if he didn’t believe her.
She nodded. “I wanted to be around you since the day I picked you up at the Libera airport. I knew you had a girlfriend, hey, I had a boyfriend, but I didn’t care. That’s how selfish I was. I wanted to be with you and last night, when you kissed me, I wanted more.”
He gulped visibly. “You did?”
“I did. I’m a terrible person, coveting a man I can’t have.”
“You’re not terrible. In fact, you’re the opposite of terrible. You’re smart and funny and sunny and honest.”
“Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.” But she noticed he did not deny that she could not have him.
“So what if I am? There’s nothing wrong with trying to make someone feel better and I am telling the truth.”
Sophia drew in a breath so deep it made her lungs shudder. “I’m just so frustrated about all this.”
“What?” he asked with a sly grin. “The plane problems or the way you feel about me.”
“Both.”
“Hey, look at it this way, you wanted to spend time with me, now you get to do a whole lot more of that than if we hadn’t crashed.”
Her face heated. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m supposed to be the laid-back, chilled one and you’re supposed to be the hard-driving, let’s-get-the-show-on-the-road one. Role reversal.”
“It’s because we make a good team,” he said. “One is up when the other is down and vice versa. We level each other out.”
Sophia liked the sound of that. It was true. She couldn’t help smiling. “So what do you suggest? Crack open a coconut and lay on the beach and wait for someone to notice we’re missing and send out a search party?”
“There is that. I wouldn’t have picked this for a vacation, but now that we’re stuck here, we might as well make the best of it.”
“I can’t believe you are saying this. This is such an about-face for you.”
“Hey, it’s my way of trying to control the fact that I can’t control what’s happening.”
That twisted logic did make sense. Sort of. “It might take Blondie a while to realize you’re not back. That black credit card of yours has no spending limit.”
“Ah, but your family will sound the alarm.”
She frowned, nibbled her bottom lip. “I hate to think how worried my family will be.”
“You filed a flight plan. Eventually, we’ll be found.”
“Yes, but because of the cumulus clouds, I veered off course. It might take quite some time.”
“I’m a man of influence. The search party will be aggressive. We will be found.” He wasn’t bragging, just stating a fact.
“But what about your friend that is marrying the wrong woman? You will not be there to bring him to his senses.”
Gibb shrugged. “Maybe it’s the universe’s way of telling me that I need to let my friend make his own mistakes.”
“Can you accept that?”
“What choice do I have?”
“When did you turn philosophical?”
“A day with you is already starting to rub off on me. Wanna go get that coconut?” He winked.
It was tempting. Relax and let nature take its course was the Costa Rican way, but it was a source of pride for Sophia that she would get Gibb to his destination.
“I can’t take a break,” she said. “I have to go see what happened to the radio. I can’t believe the bad luck of a broken rudder cable and a busted radio all because of a little water in the carburetor.”
“What’s your strategy?”
“Fix the radio first. It’s the way we’ll most likely get rescued. After I finish that, I’ll figure out a way to repair that rudder cable.”
“What if I wanted you to just hang out with me?”
“I wouldn’t believe you for a second. I know what you’re really like, Gibb Martin, and it’s taking everything you have in you not to tell me to get my fanny in that cabin and fix that radio.”
“All right,” he said. “I won�
��t stand in your way. But what am I supposed to do while you’re working on that?”
“Make yourself useful.”
“In what way?”
“Go fishing,” she said. “There’s only one wiener left, so you might as well use that for bait.”
“How do I catch fish without a fishing pole?”
“You’re the man who invented Zimdiggy, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Then use your imagination.” With that, she climbed into the plane and set to work examining what had gone wrong with the radio.
9
USE HIS IMAGINATION, huh? If Sophia only knew how fertile his imagination was, she would not suggest he use it.
Gibb could see her inside the plane, her head bent, her face covered by that jaunty pink hat and his body reacted. Fighting off his baser urges, he took a step forward. He hadn’t been fishing in years. About the same length of time it had been since he’d started a campfire.
He reached the door of the plane that she’d left open and peered around the corner. “Can I dig around in your emergency-supply bag?”
“Dig away,” she mumbled without looking up at him.
Gibb searched through the canvas bag. He found a bar of soap—wished he’d known that when he took his waterfall shower—matches in a watertight bag, flares, two flashlights and extra batteries, a bag of peanuts, four bottles of water, a Swiss Army knife, candles, a first aid kit and a sewing kit.
Ah ha. Perfect!
All he had to do was braid several strands of thread together to create a fishing line, light a candle, wax up the threads to strengthen the line, bend a sewing needle, tie the line to a stick and bait the hook with the leftover wiener.
An hour later, Gibb cast his makeshift line into the water, where he could already see fish skimming below the crystal-clear water. He lay back in the sand and got comfortable. If someone had told him two days ago he’d be leisurely fishing off a Caribbean island with sewing thread and a needle, he would have laughed. Now, he felt inordinately proud of himself.
A shadow fell over him and he looked to see Sophia standing there.
“What is it?”
“If you’re going to lie out here in the sun, you need the hat, not me.” She dropped her cowgirl hat down over his face.
The hatband smelled of her hair, sweet, floral, feminine. He pushed the hat up on his face with the tip of his thumb and watched her sashay away. You can put that swing in my backyard anytime.
He grinned, settled the hat back down over his face and felt his body relax. He was beginning to see why people took vacations. He must have dozed off, because he jerked awake some time later when the pole he held loosely in his hand gave a tug.
A bite! He had a bite.
Excited, he yanked on the line.
The string pulled tight against him. The fish was big. So big he feared it would break the threads. “Sophia! Sophia!”
She popped out of the plane. “What is it?”
“I caught a fish.” It had been so long since he’d been fishing, he forgot what to do.
“Well, pull it in.”
“I’m afraid it’ll get away.”
“Wade out and catch it. You’re fishing in shallow water.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t thought about that. He stuck the pole in the ground and bent to roll up the pant legs of his suit. His father would be appalled.
When he finished, he straightened and reached for the pole, only to discover that the fish had pulled it out of the sand and was dragging it out to sea.
“Hey, come back here!” Gibb splashed after the pole and managed to grab hold of it.
But the fish gave another jerk and Gibb fell face forward into the water.
He came up sputtering but still managed to keep his hands wrapped tightly around the pole. “You’re not getting away you...”
He and the fish played tug of war for a few minutes, but finally he managed to drag it ashore. It was a good ten-pounder. Feeling as pleased with himself as when he scored a big return on an investment, he slogged back to shore, the flopping fish held triumphantly in his hand.
“Woman!”
Sophia appeared. “You bellowed?”
“Your he-man returns with grub.” For effect, he grunted like a caveman.
Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. “You look all of twelve years old.”
“What a rush! It was amazing.” A pump of endorphins lit him up like the Las Vegas strip. The morning was warm, but he was wet. He shivered. From the damp or from something far more complicated? “What kind of fish is this?”
“Snook.”
“Is it edible?”
“Delicious.”
“Ha!”
“I like seeing you this way.” She canted her head and studied him with an expression that made his entire life up to this very moment worth living. The look was filled with so much more than sexual attraction. It was beyond friendship. It was bigger, richer, fuller, magnified, leaving him tongue-tied and speechless.
How incredibly beautiful she was with her glossy black hair shining in the sun. Her smile dug deep down inside him and for one moment Gibb felt a sudden urge to turn and run, but there was nowhere to go. Besides, he was filled with wonder and awe. And he might as well admit it, fear, because these kinds of thoughts did scare a guy, didn’t they? And Sophia stirred all kinds of crazy feelings inside him.
It wasn’t just that her dark brown eyes seemed to shine brighter. It wasn’t that her breasts were pert, poking through her bra and that devastating little crop top. It wasn’t even her flat, taut, caramel-colored belly that he tried not to pointedly stare at. The unbelievable part was that in the short time they’d been apart—her working on repairing the radio, he fishing—he missed her. Sophia seemed to have taken on a lustrous, incredible glow that he hadn’t noticed before. Who had changed? Him or her? Or maybe they both had?
“Sophia.” He breathed.
“Yes?”
“You look...” He couldn’t think of a word to fit her image, but he sure was staring.
She stood barefooted, sand covering her sexy little toes painted a pearly peach color and she put a hand to her cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”
He shook his head, opened his mouth to tell her she was the most gorgeous creature he had ever clamped eyes on, but no words came out. The craven urge to run overtook him again but even if he could have sprouted wings, he couldn’t fly. His feet were rooted to the spot, ground deep like a thousand-year-old sequoia.
And if the gasping fish hadn’t flopped against his leg, Gibb could have stared at her until the end of time.
“You’re sopping wet,” she said. “Strip off.”
“Wh-what?” he stammered.
“Out of those clothes.” She snapped her fingers. “Take them off. Now. You’ll catch your death of cold.”
He started to argue that being wet and cold didn’t cause illness, but why miss an opportunity like this? “Strip off everything?” He grinned slyly.
Her cheeks colored. “Um, keep your underwear on, of course. They will dry fast in this heat. I’ll spread your suit out on the airplane’s wing for the sun.”
“What do I do with this?” He held up the fish.
“Here, give me that.” She took the fish from him, holding it by the line. “Off with the clothes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He’d shrugged off his wet jacket.
She held out her free arm and he draped his jacket over her elbow. There was no mistaking the lusty look in her eyes. No doubt about it. This woman would be very responsive in bed, or on the ground for that matter.
His fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. “I feel so cheap,” he teased.
She snorted and turned her head, but a second later, he caught her eyeing him again.
He started humming, “The Stripper,” as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and whisked it off. When he stepped forward to drape the shirt over his jacket on her arm, he saw she was trembling.<
br />
Truth be told, so was he.
“What happened to your chest!” she exclaimed.
Gibb put a hand to the puckered puncture wounds in the center of his sternum. “Stingray.”
“My gosh. Like the Crocodile Hunter?”
“Exactly like the Crocodile Hunter,” he confirmed.
“When did it happen?”
“Ten years ago. My buddy and I were diving off the Great Barrier Reef.”
Sophia hissed through clenched teeth. Her concern touched him. “How did you manage to survive being barbed in the chest?”
“Through the quick thinking of my friend Scott.”
“The guy whose marriage you want to stop?”
“Yes.” Gibb rubbed the scar. It didn’t hurt anymore, but the memory of that intense pain still lingered. “If Scott hadn’t been there to stop me from pulling the barb out, I would have likely died. It’s a natural instinct to want to pull it out.”
“Scott saved your life.”
Gibb nodded. “Because of the medical training he’d received in the Coast Guard, he knew just what to do.”
“And now you believe it’s your turn to save him?”
“Well, despite what I said earlier, marriage isn’t quite life or death, still, I have to make sure he knows what he’s getting into.”
“You must have suffered a great deal.”
“No biggie.” He shrugged. Honestly, he didn’t really like talking about it. To derail the conversation, he unsnapped the fastener on his pants.
Her gaze drifted lower, following the movements of his hand.
Gibb eased the zipper down. Teasing her a bit, but it backfired. He was aroused and the minute he took his pants off she was going to know exactly how much he wanted her.
She seemed to catch on and quickly turned her back to him. “Hurry,” she said in a husky voice. “I don’t have all day.”
“Um, could you back up here so I can use your shoulder to help me balance while I strip my pants off. When they’re wet, they stick to skin.”
“So I’ve noticed,” she mumbled as she backed up toward him, her arms outstretched, fish held in one hand, his clothes in the other.
“You know,” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “This could be a sitcom episode.”
Her muscle twitched beneath his palm. “Gilligan’s Island.”
