Tempted

COLLECTION

July 2019

Tempted by the Single Doc

August 2019

Tempted by the Movie Star

September 2019

Tempted by the Rock Star

October 2019

Tempted by the Royal

March 2020

Tempted by the Bodyguard

April 2020

Tempted by the Hero

About the Authors

SUSAN CLIFF is a longtime romance reader, part-time writer and full-time California girl. She loves to daydream about exciting adventures in exotic locales. Her books feature heartfelt romance, gripping suspense, elite Navy SEAL heroes and unique heroines. Get swept away with San Diego’s finest from ‘Team Twelve’!

RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

USA Today bestselling author JULIE MILLER writes breathtaking romantic suspense. She has sold millions of copies of her books worldwide, and has earned a National Readers Choice Award, two Daphne du Maurier prizes and an RT BookReviews Career Achievement Award. She is a multiple finalist for the prestigious RITA® Award. For a complete list of her books and more, go to www.juliemiller.org

Tempted by the Hero

Stranded with the Navy SEAL

Susan Cliff

Guardian in Disguise

Rachel Lee

Protection Detail

Julie Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90702-0

TEMPTED BY THE HERO

Stranded with the Navy SEAL © 2017 Jill Sorenson Guardian in Disguise © 2012 Susan Civil Brown Protection Detail © 2017 Julie Miller

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Stranded with the Navy SEAL

Back Cover Text

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Guardian in Disguise

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Protection Detail

Back Cover Text

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Stranded with the Navy SEAL

Susan Cliff

For one navy SEAL, danger and passion are brewing in paradise

Working on a cruise ship was supposed to be the perfect distraction for chef Cady Crenshaw. Instead, it made her the perfect target. Abducted and thrown overboard into foreign waters, she has only one shot at survival...and it comes at the hands of an irresistible ally.

Navy SEAL Logan Starke’s protective instincts were locked and loaded the moment he met Cady at the ship’s bar. When a violent struggle to take down her captors leaves Logan and Cady stranded on a deserted island, he leaps into rescue mode. But the hot sand and the even hotter attraction between them can’t be denied...and temptation could be the deadliest threat yet.

Chapter 1

His gaze kept returning to the beauty at the bar.

Logan had noticed her as soon as he’d entered the nightclub. Sexy red dress, dark hair, rocking body. She’d have caught his attention in any situation. Tonight he did a triple take, because she resembled the woman he’d been hired to protect for the next three weeks on this Tahitian cruise.

Unfortunately, the bodyguard detail had fallen through, leaving him stranded on the high seas with nothing to do.

He took another pull of his fancy microbrew and scanned the rest of the room. It had been months since he’d been in a club. Longer still since he’d enjoyed the comforts of female company. He shifted his sore knee, blaming the injury for the drought he’d been experiencing. Never mind the real culprit.

Telskuf.

Instead of dwelling on a mission gone wrong, he focused on a woman made right. Slender, with smooth brown skin and a lot of curly hair. She sat poised on a bar stool, sipping a fruity cocktail. She looked fantastic in red. He’d read somewhere that men couldn’t resist the color. It triggered an uncontrollable response, like a biological urge to mate. He’d dismissed the notion as pseudoscientific foolishness then.

He believed it now.

It was an eye-catching shade, bright and hot, like fireworks. Most of her back was bare. The straps of her dress crossed prettily between her shoulder blades. He wondered how easy it would be to take off.

She glanced over her shoulder at him as if she could sense his attention. When her gaze connected with his, something strange happened. His breath caught in his throat, and every muscle in his body tightened with awareness. It was almost as if he knew her, but he didn’t know her. He’d have remembered meeting this woman. She was fashion-model beautiful. She didn’t smile or invite him over. Seeming flustered, she swiveled back toward the bar and picked up her drink.

He was captivated in an instant, and he couldn’t even tell if she was interested in him. She might be shy. She might be unavailable. Either way, he had to find out who she was, because all of his senses had come alive. The contrast between her demure demeanor and that sexy dress fascinated him.

Most of the women he hooked up with made it clear they were into him. They approached him first, and he liked that. He could get lucky in any of the San Diego bars that catered to military men. He was young, single and in top condition. He hadn’t become a Navy SEAL by sitting on the couch.

Lately, however, he’d lost his taste for one-night stands. He’d just turned thirty, and he was tired of going out. Tired of being single. It would be nice to have someone to come home to after a grueling assignment, but his work schedule didn’t leave much room for dating. He had to be ready to leave the country at the drop of a hat. He was overseas a lot, and long-distance relationships were hard to maintain.

He was kind of stuck. He didn’t have a steady girlfriend, but he needed companionship, even if it was only for a few hours. He needed a woman’s touch. That was why he’d wandered into this bar. He’d come in last night, too, and gone back to his room alone. Although there was no possibility of a meaningful connection here, he couldn’t leave the ship. He’d spent three days prowling around the decks, swimming in the lap pool and working out in the gym until sweat poured down his body.

He was bored. He was...keyed up.

He’d always been a type-A personality, restless and overactive. Since his surgery, he’d been incapable of relaxing. He hadn’t slept well. He’d been plagued by nightmares. Maybe a pretty face could help chase away the demons.

He left his table and approached the bar, bringing his bottle with him. The woman in the red dress was studying her phone. Not a good sign. He figured his chances of striking out with her were about fifty/fifty. She was drop-dead gorgeous. He was no slouch, but he might not be her type.

She glanced up as he leaned his forearm against the bar. Her expression was expectant, and a bit wary.

“Hey,” he said.

She smiled politely. “Hey.”

“I’m Logan.”

“Cadence.”

He definitely didn’t know her. He’d never heard the name before. She didn’t look that much like the former president’s daughter, upon closer inspection. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She lifted her tumbler, which was half-full. “One’s my limit.”

Damn. He wasn’t sure if she was rejecting him or just the drink offer. “Are you the designated driver?”

“I work here.”

“In this bar?”

“On the ship.”

He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by hanging around, but he also didn’t want to give up too soon. He waited a few seconds, hoping for some encouragement. She set her phone aside and gestured for him to sit down.

Score.

He tried not to get too excited about the courtesy, even though she was offering him the opportunity to advance. Maybe she was interested, just not easy. He could handle that. The idea of spending more time than usual, and working harder to win her over, appealed to him. He didn’t mind a challenge.

As he settled in the empty bar stool next to her, he found himself tongue-tied. She was hot, and his game was rusty. It took a few seconds before his brain started functioning again. “What do you do?”

“I’m a chef,” she said, sipping her drink. “At Fillet of Soul.”

He liked that. He liked food. He liked her mouth. Her lips were nicely shaped, closed around a thin black straw. The cocktail in her hand looked like a combination of fruit and mint. “I ate dinner there tonight. The halibut was delicious.”

“I prepared that.”

“I almost licked the plate.”

She laughed at the compliment. “What do you do?”

“I’m in the navy.”

“My dad was in the navy.”

He was glad to hear it. Navy girls were among his favorites. They were well traveled, well brought up and appreciative of military men. “What division?”

She told him about her dad’s service in Kuwait, before she was born. Logan had been to Kuwait, and plenty of other war-torn places. He lifted his beer in respect. She clinked her glass against his.

“Hooyah,” he said.

“Hooyah,” she repeated, smiling.

So far, so good. He was trying not to ogle her like a snack he wanted to gobble up, but it was difficult. The front of her dress was even sexier than the back. Her breasts plumped against the bodice. His eyes slid down and veered back up.

Too late. She caught him looking.

Focus, Starke. Focus on the conversation. “What does he do now?”

“He’s a police officer.”

Logan raised his bottle again.

She moved her straw around in a mix of ice cubes and crushed mint. “So you like ships?”

He shrugged, because he’d never been on a cruise ship before. After spending so much time in tight quarters on military barges, he wouldn’t have chosen this for a vacation. “I was supposed to be working.”

“Doing what?”

Logan couldn’t disclose the specific details. “Guarding someone.”

“A celebrity?”

He made a noncommittal sound. “My client canceled her trip at the last minute, and I was already onboard, all expenses paid.”

“So you decided to stay.”

“Yes.”

Logan had been a Navy SEAL for six years, five of them under President O’Brien. Now O’Brien was a UN dignitary. Secret Service usually provided security to former presidents and their children for a lifetime, so Logan wasn’t sure why SS wasn’t guarding Maya O’Brien. There was some speculation, behind closed doors, that the current POTUS hadn’t signed the protection order for O’Brien’s family.

Either way, Logan had been happy to step in. It was an opportunity to serve a man he respected, and to make a few extra bucks during his time off. Cruising to Tahiti was no hardship. He was still recovering from knee surgery. He’d completed his physical therapy sessions, but he couldn’t return to regular duty for another six weeks. Inactivity drove him crazy. He’d needed a change of scenery.

His current view was spectacular.

Cadence’s phone vibrated on the bar’s surface, indicating a new text. Logan could read the name of the sender: Andrew. She frowned in irritation and turned off the notifications. His protective instincts stirred.

“Someone bothering you?” he asked.

“No one important.”

“Your ex?”

It was a personal question, but she didn’t seem to mind. After a short hesitation, she showed him the conversation. The photo next to the text bubble showed an Asian guy in a pretentious-looking black uniform.

Him: You took a job on a cruise ship? That’s beneath you

Her: You’re beneath me

Him: I wish

Him: I miss you

“He’s a chef, too?” Logan asked.

“A celebrity chef,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Andrew Yu.”

Logan wasn’t impressed. “Sounds like he can’t let go.”

“Well, he’s going to have to, because he cheated. On TV. With his costar.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

He could tell she wasn’t giving Andrew any second chances. She wasn’t a pushover. He liked that. Maybe she was looking for a rebound, a diversion, or a little revenge sex. Logan was happy to be in the right place at the right time. “You should take a picture of us and tell him you’re already on top of someone else.”

She laughed at this suggestion, as if it really appealed to her. She had a sexy laugh, throaty and uninhibited. But she didn’t pose for a photo with him. She tucked her phone into a little black purse and finished her drink in silence.

He hoped he hadn’t blown his chances by being too aggressive. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit. When he wanted something, he went for it, and he wanted her. He didn’t see any reason to pretend otherwise.

The club’s reggae band launched into a popular Bob Marley song, interrupting the awkward moment. She perked up at the sound.

His knee told him not to, but his mouth said, “Want to dance?”

Chapter 2

She’d seen him at the restaurant.

And on the Lido deck. And in the pool, doing laps.

Every woman onboard had seen him. You couldn’t not see a man like that. He was built like a god, with a sculpted physique that made her mouth water. He had broad shoulders and powerful thighs. Abs from a fitness magazine. Even his face looked strong. The female employees already had a nickname for him: Adonis.

Cady had admired his form just this morning, during her workout. The gym’s treadmills overlooked the pool. He swam like a gold medalist. She’d watched his muscles ripple in the glistening water. When he climbed out, she’d studied every inch of his body, including the brace around his knee. The injury didn’t appear to slow him down.

Rumor had it that he’d been cruising the bar last night—and he’d left alone. She hadn’t come here with a specific plan to catch his attention, but she’d mentioned him to her best friend, Deborah, over the phone. Deb had insisted that she put on a sexy dress and try to “look available, but not thirsty.”

Too late. One glance at him and her throat went dry.

Apparently the dress was working its magic, because he’d been staring at her. She’d picked up her phone to play it cool. Which was the opposite of looking available, but she’d been nervous. Andrew’s annoying texts hadn’t helped.

Months after the fallout, his betrayal still stung.

It stung a little less now, in Logan’s company. She couldn’t even feel it, to be honest. She couldn’t feel anything except the heat of his gaze.

He wasn’t handsome like a movie star. Not quite. His nose appeared to have been broken a few times. His jaw was square, and his smile was charmingly off center. He had the outdoorsy look of a football player or a mountain climber. He was at least six feet tall. She marveled at his size as they faced each other on the dance floor. His shoulders took up a lot of space. He was very solid, and...not very graceful.

She smothered a giggle while he shuffled back and forth to the music. She didn’t mind his stiffness. She loved to dance, with or without a good partner. He was fine as hell, just standing there. The way he watched her, as if her simple moves were mesmerizing, made her want to rock with him all night long.

He was wearing tan pants and a white safari-style shirt. Nothing fancy, but his clothes fit well. He had close-cropped brown hair and a clean-cut, no-nonsense vibe. Underneath that tight control was a hint of raw sexuality.

He wasn’t shy.

When the band switched to a slow song, his hands went straight to her hips. She shivered at the contact. She could feel the warm press of his fingertips through the thin fabric of her dress. She could feel his boldness. Their gazes met and held. He had great eyes. Bedroom eyes that traveled up and down her body in a slow caress. They drifted from her mouth to her breasts, as if these were his two favorite places to look. She didn’t blame him for looking. She wanted him to do more than look.

He drew her closer, aligning their lower bodies. Although he was at least six inches taller than her, she was wearing heels, so it wasn’t a mismatch. She twined her arms around his neck. Her breasts met the hard wall of his chest. His hands flexed at her hips, and his arousal swelled against her belly.

Cady had been around this block before. There were always men who got too excited on the dance floor, or those who felt entitled to come up behind her and grind on her without asking. She’d shaken off her share of losers. It was tiresome. Never once had she encountered a stranger’s erection and become weak-kneed with lust.

Until now.

Logan wasn’t exactly a stranger, but they’d met ten minutes ago. They’d shared one conversation and two dances. They were also in public, on the cruise ship where she worked. None of that seemed to matter to her body, which all but melted in his arms. It didn’t matter to her mouth, which let out a soft moan. Her nipples tightened, and her skin tingled with awareness. A greedy pulse throbbed between her legs. She rocked her hips back and forth against him. He groaned in response.

He didn’t grind on her. He gripped her hips as if he wanted to slow her rhythm, or maybe move her up and down on him. But he didn’t actually move her. He continued to sway to the music, holding her close. She traced his shirt collar and felt the warm skin underneath. Then she threaded her fingers through his short hair. Putting her hands on him felt like heaven. She wanted to touch him all over.

Then the song ended.

People clapped.

The band started playing a lively dance hall tune, totally killing the vibe. She felt like she’d been doused with cold water. Logan narrowed his gaze at the stage, as if the musicians had broken some secret guy code.

Cady wasn’t sure what to do. She could either stay on the dance floor, sandwiched against him, or break apart and reveal his very obvious arousal. “Maybe I should turn around,” she said in his ear.

He let out a pained laugh. “I don’t think that will help.”

She did it anyway, twisting in his arms. There was a door nearby that led to the outside deck. He stayed close behind her as she walked toward it. His erection nudged her bottom with every step. It was an awkward exit, but seconds later they were gazing at the dark ocean, sucking in the cool night air.

Then they were both laughing. She collapsed against the rail, giggling. She laughed until her cheeks hurt and her eyes were wet with tears. When she regained control of herself, she hazarded a glance at him. He was staring at her like she was a starry sky, infinite with possibility. Her heart skipped a beat, and her breath hitched in her throat. She adjusted her bodice, which had slipped down an inch. He watched her movements with interest.

“It’s the dress, isn’t it?” she asked.

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “It’s not the dress. It’s what’s underneath the dress.”

“Very little,” she admitted.

He groaned, tearing his gaze away. “You’re killing me.”

She grasped the cool aluminum, feeling giddy. She might fly away from happiness and excitement.

Andrew who?

She gave Logan a minute to collect himself. She needed a minute, too. She stared at the moonlit sea, in awe of its immensity. This was her first cruise, her first trip to Tahiti. She’d lived along the coast for years and never seen this much ocean. After a few deep breaths, she turned to face him. He looked calm and in control.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“You want to go back in?”

He arched a brow. “The problem will surely arise again.”

She laughed at his wry expression. “We can avoid the slow dances.”

He glanced toward the bar. The music sounded too loud now, the lights too bright. Although he didn’t reply, she could read his thoughts. He didn’t want to dance. He wanted to take her to his room. She leaned against the railing, tempted.

“Do you do this a lot?” she asked.

“Do what? Get hard in public?”

She flushed at the blunt words. “Pick up women in bars.”

“I’ve done it before,” he admitted. “You?”

“No.” She wasn’t that kind of girl...or she hadn’t been in the past. But she’d never felt this kind of chemistry before, either. “My friends keep telling me to try new things. Live a little. I always play it safe.”

“Taking a job on a cruise ship isn’t playing it safe. Is it?”

“I guess not.” She didn’t tell him that she’d done it to run away from Andrew, not to embrace adventure.

“You don’t dance like someone who plays it safe.”

She smiled in agreement. Dancing was her escape. It was the only time she felt totally free and uninhibited. When he smiled back at her, her stomach fluttered with awareness. He was incredibly attractive, and clearly into her. His admiration was like a shining beacon, lighting her up from the inside out.

She was tempted to leave with him. Her gaze lowered to his hands, which were wrapped around the railing next to her. He had nice hands, with wide palms and long fingers. No ring. “Are you married?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “No,” he said. “Hell no.”

She flushed at his response, aware that her question revealed a distrust of men. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought up his Facebook page. It showed a picture of him in combat gear. Relationship status: single.

“You said you were in the navy.”

“That’s right.”

“Are you a sailor?”

“I’m a SEAL.”

It was her turn to gape at him. “You’re a Navy SEAL?”

He put his phone away, shrugging. “I’m on injury leave right now, but yeah.”

“How did you get injured?”

His eyes became shuttered. “I tore a ligament in my knee.”

She was curious about the details, but his expression told her not to press. He probably couldn’t share confidential information. He hadn’t told her who he was supposed to be guarding on this cruise. The fact that he was a Navy SEAL set off major warning bells for her. His job was the epitome of danger.

Cady was risk-averse, for good reason. She was the daughter of a police officer. Her grandfather had died in a tragic accident right before her eyes. She’d developed a strong sense of caution as a child, and it seemed to grow stronger every year. She liked to feel secure at all times. She never drank to excess. She always wore her seat belt.

Logan wasn’t the kind of man she would normally choose to date. He was too intense. He did terrifying things in the name of their country. Things she didn’t want to imagine. On the other hand, this wasn’t a date. This was a chance encounter. After the cruise was over, she’d never see him again. He might not be steady boyfriend material, but he was an excellent candidate for a night of pleasure.

“We don’t have to go anywhere,” he said. “If you want to stay and dance, I’m game.”

“No.”

His face fell. “No?”

“I don’t want to hurt your knee.”

“Screw my knee.”

She laughed at this, moving closer to him. Maybe she was drunk. Drunk off one smashed-peach mojito, a boatload of sexual chemistry and one devastatingly dirty dance. “What are my other options?”

His gaze darkened with interest. “Anything you like.”

“Let’s go.”

He grasped her hand and walked back through the bar. She picked up her purse on the way out. Despite his injury, she had to hurry to match his stride. Which was fine by her. Now that she’d decided to “live a little,” she couldn’t wait to get started.

His room was only two levels down, so they took the stairs. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her knees felt weak. His grip was strong and reassuring, his hands wonderfully large. When they reached the landing, her heel got caught on the carpet and she stumbled against him. His arms went around her waist to steady her. She felt secure and exhilarated at the same time. It was an intoxicating sensation.

“Thanks,” she said, breathless.

His gaze locked on hers. They were alone in a quiet hallway. She didn’t know where his room was, but she needed to touch him right here and now. His mouth descended, as if he’d read her signals and shared her impatience. She twined her fingers through his hair. Then they were kissing like crazy.

There was no tentative warm-up. No gentle brush of lips or soft, hesitant petting. He buried his tongue in her mouth and thrust his hands beneath her skirt—both hands! With a possessive grunt, he lifted her against him. He had her back to the wall and her legs around his waist in the blink of an eye.

Lord. It was glorious.

He was like a caveman. His mouth was hot and delicious, his tongue bold. She kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, squirming against him. His erection jutted at the apex of her thighs, and his big hands splayed over her bottom.

She whimpered into his mouth, already lost. She was on fire for him. If he ripped off her panties and took her right here against the wall, she wouldn’t protest. She’d sob his name and sing Glory, Glory Hallelujah.

He didn’t rip off her panties. He broke the kiss and removed his hands from under her skirt, glancing around to make sure they were still alone. Then he took a step back. “Sorry. I usually have more self-control.”

She touched her swollen lips. “So do I.”

“I’ll try to go slow.”

“Okay,” she said, swallowing hard.

After that was settled, they both rushed down the hallway toward his room. She burst out laughing at their lack of decorum. He laughed along with her. His hair was mussed, his collar askew. She’d never felt like this before, awash with joy and arousal. He pushed her up against the door and kissed her breath away. All of her senses were heightened. They were standing on the threshold of ecstasy.

But she didn’t get in.

There was a sudden flash of movement behind Logan. He was yanked backward and thrown into the opposite wall. She counted three figures in black masks, circling like sharks. She shrank against the door, but one of them grabbed her and clamped a hand over her mouth. Her scream was muffled by a leather-covered palm. She was shoved into the room next to Logan’s. It was dark. Thin curtains fluttered by the open balcony entrance. Her knees met the edge of the bed and she fell across it with her captor. She kicked her legs wildly and bit at the gloved hand. He didn’t let go.

Logan crashed into the room and got immediately wrapped up by two assailants. They wrestled him onto the balcony. He managed to jerk his arm free and throw a brutal punch, staggering one of the masked men.

Cady watched in horror as the second man swung a blunt object at Logan, hitting him in the temple. Logan dropped to his knees. Blood streamed down his forehead. Strangled sounds emerged from her throat. Logan fell onto his stomach and stayed there, motionless. The two men hauled him upright and pitched him over the railing.

And that was it. He was gone.

She stopped struggling. Tears blurred her vision, and her mind went blank. She didn’t understand what was happening, but resistance seemed futile. There were too many hands on her. One of the assailants gagged her and bound her wrists with rope. He tied her ankles, too. Some kind of bag went over her head. Then she was lifted and carried onto the balcony. Although she couldn’t see anything, she could feel her body being lowered over the railing. She sobbed into the gag, frozen with terror.

She went down and down and down. She didn’t hit the water. There was someone waiting for her on a raft below. The other assailants joined them. After they started moving it dawned on her.

She was being kidnapped.

Chapter 3

Logan hit the water like a ton of bricks.

He was still reeling from the blow to the head. The hard slap against the surface didn’t help him regain his senses. He plummeted into the dark abyss, blood streaming from his scalp. Although he was an expert swimmer, among the best in his BUD/S class, he faltered. He was disoriented. He couldn’t tell up from down.

Panic gripped him, and he let out a silent scream. Bubbles emerged from his mouth. Bubbles that led him toward the surface.

He swam hard and broke through, gasping for breath.

Good God. He’d almost drowned like a rookie. Worse, he’d been easily overpowered by a couple of lightweights—after almost banging a woman in the hallway outside his room. How embarrassing. He wasn’t even drunk. Extreme lust wasn’t an excuse. Neither was his injury. He’d let three unarmed men get the drop on him.

He was lucky to be alive.

He touched his brow, wincing. He felt nauseous. His vision sucked. He had a concussion, no doubt about it. He spent the next few minutes treading water, waiting for his thoughts to clear. He couldn’t seem to focus.

Damn. He might still drown yet.

While he struggled to stay alert, he became aware of a raft in the vicinity. It was dark, and he couldn’t see anything but vague shapes. The black expanse of the cruise ship hull loomed against the foamy breakwater. There was a figure sliding down a rope from the balcony of Logan’s cabin to the raft below.

The raft had a motor, but they didn’t engage it. Maybe it made too much noise for a stealthy getaway. Two men used paddles instead, cutting quickly through the chop. Logan counted four heads on the raft. One was lumpy, as if wearing a hood.

Cadence.

They’d taken her. She was the target of this raid, not him. He didn’t know why...and now he was faced with a tough decision. He could follow the raft and try to rescue her, or stay here and save himself.

SEALs were taught to put the team above themselves, but they were also taught that dead men couldn’t help anyone. Sometimes self-rescue had to be the top priority. Logan knew he couldn’t keep pace with the swift-moving cruise ship. There was no way to climb aboard. These vessels were built to discourage pirates, not give them a convenient ladder. The only way to get rescued was to shout for help and hope someone heard him.

But down here at sea level, no one would hear him. Except the kidnappers.

While he waited for the raft to move out of range, he considered his only other option. The mother ship would be nearby, probably less than a mile away. He could swim a mile in his sleep. If they didn’t fire up the engine, following them would be easy. Climbing aboard the mother ship and fighting off multiple assailants would not be easy, but screw it. If he was going to die anyway, he might as well choose the nobler cause.

So he started swimming.

His mind was fuzzy, but his body worked fine. He swam after the raft until it disappeared in the dark night. The sound of the motor made his spirits plummet. His chances of catching up to the raft narrowed. Even so, he kept swimming. He didn’t look back at the cruise ship, because it was too late to change course. He was committed.

It occurred to him that the kidnappers had mistaken Cadence for Maya O’Brien. They’d broken into the room adjacent to his, which had been reserved for Maya. The two women were about the same size. They had similar coloring.

Logan’s gut clenched with unease. If this was a targeted attack on a former president’s daughter, ransom might not be their endgame. Either way, Cadence was in extreme danger. Because she wouldn’t pass for Maya O’Brien up close, and as soon as they discovered their mistake, they’d kill her.

He swam harder, galvanized to action. It was one of the most grueling swims of his life. Top five for sure. He surged forward, his arms pumping. He’d done a six-mile in Santa Cruz during storm swells. He’d crossed the Persian Gulf in the dead of night. He’d made the trip from Coronado to the San Diego Bay in a flak jacket.

But he’d accomplished all of these feats as a team. He’d never been in the middle of the ocean alone, with a bum knee and a head injury. He had no support, no intel and no visuals. If he reached the ship, which seemed more unlikely now that he’d lost sight of it, he’d be outnumbered by at least three to one.

The stakes were high. The chances of survival were low.

On the plus side, he was making great time. He also had the element of surprise. The kidnappers shouldn’t have been so careless in disposing of his body. They clearly expected him to drown, not give chase.

He was Logan Nathaniel Starke. He didn’t quit. He didn’t sink. He didn’t die. He protected his assets, and he was going to make those bastards sorry they hadn’t finished him off before throwing him overboard.

His perseverance was rewarded by a dim light ahead. He’d found the mother ship, and by some miracle of fate, it wasn’t even moving. He closed the distance as quickly as possible, his muscles burning from exertion. They were pulling up the anchor. The raft had been stowed. He switched to a modified breaststroke on the last stretch, which kept everything from his nose down under the surface. He didn’t want to be spotted.

The ship was a forty-foot deep-sea cruiser with a protected wheelhouse in front. The galley and cabins were in the back. There was a transom door and a convenient swim step. It was an ideal setup for an ambush. He assumed Cadence would be inside a cabin. She’d be guarded by at least one man, although there was nowhere for her to go. The ocean was a death sentence, not an escape route.

As he reached the swim step, the engine turned on. He scrambled aboard and crouched by the transom door, water streaming down his body. His weak knee throbbed in protest, and his stomach roiled with nausea. He struggled to catch his breath. He’d made it here, against all odds, and now the real danger would begin. This was no time to surrender to exhaustion.

He waited for the cruiser to gain momentum. His scalp had stopped bleeding, and his vision was clearer. He counted two men in the wheelhouse. That was good. He didn’t see any blunt objects lying around. That was bad. He needed something to strike with, or this rescue operation would be short-lived.

The transom door was unlocked, so he slipped inside. The galley was empty. He grabbed the only weapon he could find—a mop handle. Unscrewing the top, he set it aside and crept down the steps to the cabin.

Again, he found an open doorway. These pirates were completely unprepared for a hostile takeover, which was kind of ironic, like thieves who left their loot in full view. Logan listened at the entrance for a few seconds. He heard two men arguing in French. Logan didn’t speak French, so he had no idea what they were saying.

One of the men walked out of the cabin, still muttering under his breath. Logan said hello with a sharp blow to the head. The man crumpled to the ground quietly. He was of European descent, midthirties, dressed in black. Logan stepped over him and entered the cabin. Cadence was sitting on the floor. Her wrists and ankles were tied. There was a gag in her mouth and mascara tracks on her face.

Logan didn’t dwell on these details. He had to focus on the guard, who appeared to be the muscle of the operation. Logan guessed he was Polynesian, from one of the local islands. When Logan swung the mop handle, the man blocked it easily. Then he brandished a wicked-looking knife and went on the offense. Logan leaped backward, avoiding a series of wide arcs. His back hit the wall, and he ducked down to avoid the blade. After it missed him, Logan jabbed the end of his stick against the man’s rib cage. The knife tumbled out of his hand. The man staggered sideways and bent to retrieve his weapon.

Logan couldn’t wait for a better opening. He leaped on his opponent’s back and held the mop handle across his throat, cutting off his airway. The man slammed Logan into the wall in an attempt to dislodge him, but Logan didn’t budge. They both went down to the floor. It took every ounce of Logan’s strength to maintain his grip on the stick.

The man struggled to break free. He reached for his knife, which was sitting right there on the ground. Cadence kicked it away.

That little bit of help made all the difference. The man finally passed out. Logan almost did the same. He let go of the mop handle and shoved his limp body aside. Black spots danced across his vision. His head felt like it might explode. Sweat trickled down his temple. Or maybe it was blood.

He couldn’t afford to rest, so he took a few deep breaths and pulled himself together. He rolled over, picked up the knife and cut the ropes that bound her. She untied the gag with trembling hands. Her mouth was raw, her eyes wary. She didn’t seem relieved by his rescue. She looked terrified.

Of him.

This wasn’t an unusual reaction to trauma, but it still unsettled him. He expected her to trust him, not shrink away in horror.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t say anything to put her mind at ease. He touched a finger to his lips in warning. Then he lifted her to her feet, giving her a cursory inspection. She appeared unharmed. Even if she wasn’t, they had to get off this boat immediately. He didn’t have the strength to overpower the rest of the crew. His energy was spent. He pulled her through the door, stepping over the bodies that were piling up. The guy outside was regaining consciousness. Logan hoped he’d lie there for a few more minutes.

They crept up the stairs, through the galley and out the transom door. The raft was hanging from a pulley system on the starboard side. He used the knife to cut it loose, praying they wouldn’t be seen by the men in the wheelhouse. As the raft fell against the railing, his European friend staggered into the galley.

Damn it.

Logan couldn’t let the man reach the wheelhouse and alert the others. He passed Cadence the rope that was still attached to the raft. “Hold this,” he said, because he wanted her to stay put. Then he barged through the galley to take his opponent down. His knee buckled on the first step, which threw off his attack. The European noted this weakness and seized the opportunity to launch his own assault. He tackled Logan around the waist and pushed him backward. They burst through the transom doors and fell right off the stern, into the dark sea.

The man didn’t let go underwater. He clung to Logan like a goddamned octopus. He was trying to drown Logan, and it was working. As soon as Logan broke through the surface, the European dunked him again. Logan’s movements were clumsy from fatigue, but his instincts were still sharp. So was the knife in his right hand. Making a strangled sound, he buried the blade in the man’s belly. Then he twisted it.

The arms around him loosened, and the weight fell away. Logan treaded water, gasping for breath. Cadence was there, in the raft. She’d managed to push it overboard and get inside. He swam toward her and handed her the knife before hauling himself out of the water. Once he was safely inside, he rested on his back for a moment, one hand over his thundering heart. He was nauseous and light-headed. As soon as his stomach settled, he straightened and searched the water for a body.

He didn’t see one.

The cabin cruiser continued on its journey, oblivious. Their escape would be noticed at some point, but now they had a chance. They had to put as much distance between the raft and the cruiser as possible.

The paddles weren’t inside the raft. They must have been left on the deck. He explored the motor with wet hands, looking for a pull cord. What he discovered made his blood run cold. There was a key ignition.

Without a motor or paddles, they were sitting ducks. The kidnappers would circle back and recapture them.

Or recapture her, rather. He had no value to them. If they knew she wasn’t Maya O’Brien, she was equally worthless. Logan didn’t doubt that these men had firearms at their disposal. They hadn’t used them on the cruise ship in the interest of stealth. There was no reason to be quiet now.

“Can you start it?” she asked.

“Not without a key.”

She stared at him in dismay.

“I might be able to hot-wire it at first light.”

“What do we do until then?”

“We wait,” he said grimly. “And hope they don’t come back for us.”

Chapter 4

One of the best nights of her life turned into the worst.

The absolute worst.

She survived it, somehow. So did Logan. They waited in silence for the boat to double back for them, but it never did. Logan said the kidnappers must not have realized they were gone right away. He also said the raft would be difficult to spot in the dark, like a needle in a haystack. The ocean was immense, and frightening. The raft rose and fell with every swell, traveling on a swift current.

What followed them wasn’t a boat. It was the body of the man Logan had killed. He floated on the surface, facedown, his white T-shirt bobbing. It was almost as if the corpse was swimming after them. She watched in horror as his body jerked suddenly. He flailed back and forth, reanimated. Tail fins thrashed on the surface as sharks tore him apart. First one, then two, then a half dozen.

Cady threw up over the side of the raft.

When she leaned too far out, Logan grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back. She wiped her mouth, shuddering.

The night dragged on, never ending. She was cold and miserable. Logan stripped off his wet clothes and wrapped his arms around her, but she didn’t stop shivering. Her mind replayed violent images. Black masks. Glinting knives. Sharks circling.

She couldn’t believe they were in this situation. She couldn’t believe they’d escaped. When Logan had entered the doorway, his face pale and his clothes wet, she’d screamed into her gag. She’d thought he was a ghost, for good reason. She’d seen him get knocked unconscious and thrown overboard. No normal person could survive that. He’d appeared out of nowhere and fought like a man possessed.

One minute, she’d been weeping silently, frozen with fear. The next, she was watching Jason Bourne attack his enemies.

She didn’t understand why she’d been targeted, or how Logan had arrived on the scene. The whole thing was surreal. And sinister. He’d incapacitated one of her captors and gutted another like a fish. She knew he was a Navy SEAL, trained to kill. She also knew he’d acted in self-defense, and he wasn’t a danger to her. Even so, her first reaction to his daring rescue wasn’t relief. It was terror.

The brutality of his actions, and the ease with which he’d executed them, still disturbed her. She hadn’t signed on for this. She wasn’t equipped for it. She was a chef on a cruise ship, sailing toward an uncertain future. She’d been in a slump, personally and professionally. Her idea of adventure was using new spices in a recipe. Leaving the bar with Logan was the wildest thing she’d ever done.

Now she was stranded on a raft in the middle of the ocean.

She shouldn’t have gone back to his cabin. She should have listened to her instincts, instead of her hormones. She couldn’t have predicted this outcome, of course, but she’d known what kind of man he was. He was an elite soldier. He had hero written all over him, along with heartbreaker and risk taker.

She’d only wanted a single night of excitement with a man whose gaze had warmed her from the inside out. Instead she got this stone-cold warrior who watched sharks feed on a corpse without flinching.

Her stomach lurched at the memory. She rolled over and dry-heaved quietly.

Logan kept his hand on her back like an anchor. His touch felt reassuring, despite the fraught circumstances. She didn’t want to be here, but she was glad she wasn’t alone. She was glad they were alive, and relatively unharmed. When her stomach settled, he pulled her into his arms and held her close. Little by little, her tremors subsided.

At dawn, he put on his damp clothes. She sat up and stared at the rising sun. Its reflection glinted across the ocean, illuminating their plight. There was no pirate boat on the horizon. There was nothing. No cruise ship, no commercial barges, no airplanes, no islands. No drinking water. It might as well have been the Sahara Desert.

Her gaze met his. His features were rough-hewn in the harsh daylight. There was a big lump on his temple, and dried blood clumped to his eyebrow.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

She didn’t think she was, but she felt numb. She slowly took stock of her condition. Her mouth was still sore from the gag. She rubbed her wrists, which bore rope burns. Other than those minor discomforts, she was fine. “I’m okay.”

“Did you understand what they were saying?”

Cady spoke a smattering of French. She hadn’t caught every word. “They thought I was someone else.”

“Maya O’Brien.”

“The president’s daughter?”

“I was supposed to be guarding her.”

Now it made sense. The kidnappers had made a mistake. They weren’t targeting her. Cadence Crenshaw was nobody. Maya O’Brien was America’s daughter, rich and famous. “Were they terrorists?”

“I don’t know,” he said, frowning. “French Polynesia isn’t a hot spot for terrorism. Their motivations might have been financial.”

“When will they start looking for us?”

“The kidnappers?”

“The rescuers.”

He studied the clear blue sky above them. “Today, with any luck. They’ll know something is wrong when you don’t show up to work. Employees will see the signs of a struggle in the cabin next to mine. Then they’ll launch a search party with air support.”

“Do you think they’ll find us?”

“Yes.”

She hoped he was telling the truth. His expression revealed nothing, and she didn’t know him well enough to judge. Maybe he was honest to a fault. Maybe he was a strategic liar. Maybe that head injury had rattled his brain. He’d already said that the raft would be difficult to spot on the open sea.

“I thought you were dead,” she said in a hushed voice. She still couldn’t quite believe he was real.

“Nah,” he said. “I don’t die that easy.” His smile was wan, belying the boast.

“What did you do?”

“I swam.”

She gaped at him in wonder. Her head had been covered during the kidnapping, so she’d been disoriented. She’d assumed the men had pulled him out of the water for some reason, or he’d grabbed a tow rope. “You swam from the cruise ship?”

He nodded.

“How?”

“It wasn’t that far.”

Her next question was more important. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you risk your life like that? You hardly know me.”

His gaze darkened. “I know you well enough,” he said, squinting at the horizon. “Even if I didn’t, I’d have done the same thing. There was nothing else to do. Staying near the cruise ship wasn’t an option. My chances of getting rescued there were very low.”

She studied his battered face, trying to gauge his sincerity. He might have had no other choice, but he was also downplaying an incredible act of heroism. He’d swum after a motorized raft and overpowered two men—after sustaining a concussion. It was an amazing feat, almost superhuman. Most people couldn’t save themselves, let alone others. They froze in the face of danger. Cady had experienced this phenomenon firsthand as a child. She’d watched her grandfather die and been paralyzed, unable to help him.

It was the most traumatic moment of her life. Until now.

Logan removed his cell phone from his pocket. He took it apart, piece by piece, and set the components out to dry. It didn’t take long; the sun was brutal. Light reflected off the ocean, magnifying the effect. Within an hour, everything was bone dry, including her throat.

He had no service, of course. He couldn’t even send a text. He turned off the phone and tucked it away. “I’ll try again later.”

Cady stayed quiet. She doubted they’d drift into a better service area anytime soon. They were several days’ travel from Tahiti by cruise ship. She didn’t know of any other islands between here and there. She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. Maybe they’d arrive on the shore of a private resort and sip fruity cocktails at noon.

She mixed a fantasy drink with her favorite ingredients. Crushed ice. Fresh fruit. Something really bougie, like a strawberry-basil bourbon spritzer.

Logan emptied his pockets to study the contents. In addition to his cell phone, he had a wallet with cash and credit cards. She had nothing but the dress on her back. Her purse had been lost in the melee. Her shoes had fallen off. So had his.

His next project was hot-wiring the engine. He used his knife to disable the ignition and open the casing. He spent the better part of the morning with his head down, cursing. It reminded her of her father doing auto repairs. He flinched when one of the live wires singed his fingertips. After some trial and error, he twisted two wires together and the engine turned over. He flashed her a victorious grin. Then he disconnected it, killing the motor.

Her spirits fell. “We’re not going anywhere?”

“I have to save fuel,” he said. “We can’t travel far on a gas tank this size.”

“Why did you hot-wire it?”

“Because being able to move a short distance will help us get rescued. If we see a ship in the distance, we can approach it. If a plane goes by, I can fire it up and do some circles to get their attention.”

She searched the horizon for signs of an airplane or a ship, with no luck. The glare of sunlight on the water burned her corneas, and constantly scanning the area exhausted her eye muscles. When she couldn’t continue, he took over. She curled up in a ball, her stomach roiling. She wondered how long it took to die from thirst. She didn’t ask Logan, because she was afraid the answer might be one day.

The afternoon sun was brutal. He removed his shirt and dipped it in the water. Then he wrapped the wet cloth around his head, turban-style. The hunting knife he’d taken from one of the kidnappers was tucked into his belt. He looked like a storybook pirate, with perfectly defined abs and a tantalizing strip of hair below his navel.

She remembered how his body had felt against hers on the dance floor, and how eager she’d been to touch him. Their brief, lust-drenched interlude didn’t seem real. She’d never experienced such a powerful rush of attraction before. Who meets someone at a bar and wants to tear their clothes off after ten minutes? In what alternate dimension do two mature, sober people fall into a sexual trance and make out in public? She might have been embarrassed if she wasn’t so worried about dying.

“You need protection from the sun,” he said, drawing his knife. He motioned for her to move closer.

“What are you doing?”

“Cutting off this extra fabric.”

She held still while he sliced through her tulle overskirt. The serrated blade was sharp, with a wicked point at the tip. She tried not to think about where else it had been. She couldn’t afford to throw up again.

When he was finished, she used the fabric like a veil, covering her head and shoulders. It was blisteringly hot. Her lips were dry. His were already cracked.

They didn’t speak, because it hurt to talk.

After what seemed like ten or twelve hours, clouds gathered in the sky. There was a sudden, intense downpour. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, desperate for moisture. The raindrops didn’t quench her thirst, but the cool water felt like heaven against her skin. When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her. She wondered if he was thinking about the kisses they’d shared. Was it a strange, distant memory for him, too? A moment of passion that had slipped between his fingers?

He pulled his gaze away, flushing. She doubted he felt any embarrassment or shame about his behavior. Men never did. Maybe he was just sunburned, or he couldn’t figure out why he’d been so enthralled with her. She probably looked like a bedraggled sea witch. Humidity wasn’t kind to her hair.

When puddles gathered on the bottom of the raft, they both drank their fill. With the sun behind the clouds, the temperature was pleasant. For a short time, she almost felt comfortable, and hopeful about getting rescued. Then the temperature dropped and darkness fell. They spent another night shivering, huddled for warmth.

In the dead of night, she was awoken by a bump against the side of the boat. She sprang upright, clutching Logan’s arm. He was alert beside her, his muscles tense. It was very dark. There was a sliver of moon, high in the sky.

The bump came again, on the opposite side. A fin skimmed the surface of the water.

Shark.

She let out a terrified scream.

He clamped his hand over her mouth, which only increased her panic. It reminded her of the kidnapping. She’d been silenced with a rough slap during the attack, and she still had a tender spot on her cheek. His fingertips pressed into it, adding to her discomfort. She pushed his hand away, incensed.

“Shh,” Logan warned. He studied the surface of the water intently. She crossed her arms over her chest, her throat tight. She supposed that screaming wasn’t helpful, but it was a normal reaction. There were freaking sharks circling!

“Can they puncture the raft?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

His answer chilled her to the bone. She scooted closer to him.

“They won’t do it as a strategy. But if they decide to take an exploratory bite...”

She gripped the crook of his arm. “What should we do?”

“Stay calm and quiet.”

Although she wasn’t calm by any stretch, she didn’t make a sound. Neither did he. After a few tense moments, his shoulders relaxed. The sharks didn’t bump the raft or flash fins again. Hopefully they’d lost interest.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t. One of the kidnappers did.”

His eyes glinted in the dark. “He hit you?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“The one you killed.”

He nodded, as if the man had gotten what he deserved. “Go back to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

She curled up in the raft and closed her eyes, but she didn’t sleep. She was cold and hungry and sick with fear. She’d applied for a job on a cruise ship because she’d wanted to get away from it all. Her longtime boyfriend had become enamored with another woman on reality TV. She’d watched every episode, just to torture herself. Their breakup had turned her entire life upside down. She’d left San Francisco and moved back home with her parents.

It was a low point, to say the least.

She’d needed an escape. Well, she got one. Now Andrew seemed like a blip of the radar, tiny and insignificant. She didn’t miss him.

She spent most of the night praying for day, and most of the next day praying for night. The heat was unbearable. The sun sucked the life out of her, beating down in relentless waves. There were no ships, no planes, no clouds, no rain.

Logan stripped down to his boxers and used his pants to shade different parts of his body. He gave her his shirt to wear. The fabric kept the sun off her back. She leaned over the side of the raft and trailed her fingers through the water. So much water. Clear, blue, deadly water. She made a cup with her hands.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said.

She splayed her fingers, letting the liquid fall out. She knew they couldn’t drink salt water. “Why can’t we swim?”

“With the sharks?”

“They only come at night.”

“Salt water robs moisture from your skin. You’ll dehydrate faster.”

“What about urine?”

“What about it?”

She’d watched him pee over the side of the raft this morning. “Should we...drink it?”

“Hell no.”

“Is it toxic?”

“Not as toxic as salt water, but it won’t help you rehydrate. It will just get your mouth wet and taste bad.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a SEAL. I’ve had extensive survival training.”

She dug her fingernails into her palms. “What if it doesn’t rain again?”

He took his pants off his head, scowling.

“What if we don’t see a plane, or a ship?”

“You want to drink pee, is that it?”

“No, that’s not it,” she said, raising her voice. “I’m just scared. I don’t want to die, okay? Maybe you can take all of this in stride and go thirty days without water and fly around the world like a superhero, but I can’t.”

He draped his pants across his broad shoulders. “We’re not going to die today, Cadence. Is that clear?”

“It’s Cady.”

“What?”

“No one calls me Cadence except my grandfather. And he’s dead now.”

His expression softened. “Was he a military man?”

“Army. Drill sergeant.”

He nodded his approval. “The most important element of survival isn’t strength or intelligence. It’s tenacity.”

She didn’t argue, because that sounded legit.

“People with quick minds and vivid imaginations can struggle in situations like this. Sometimes creative thinkers are their own worst enemies, believe it or not. It’s healthy to be afraid, but you can’t let your fear take over. What you need to do is focus on simple tasks. Keep your thoughts occupied.”

“How?”

“For now, you can be my lookout. If you put that extra fabric over your eyes, it will reduce the glare. Then you can scan the horizon and the sky in sections.”

She did what he suggested, for as long as she could. Even with the tulle shade, it was hard on her eyes, and there was nothing to see. While she kept watch, he used his knife to remove the lining from his wallet. He made something similar to a Zorro mask, with narrow eye slits, and tied it to his face with a piece of fabric from his pants pocket. Then he fooled around with the engine again. Birds circled overhead, waiting to feed.

On them.

When he told her to take a break, she tucked her body into a tiny bit of shade along the side of the raft and pulled his shirt over her head. The task had worked to blank her mind, but it had also exhausted her. Without food and water, she had no energy.

It didn’t rain that afternoon.

She slept.

The next thing she knew, it was full dark, and the raft pitched beneath her. Waves sprayed over the side and threatened to dump them into the sea. She bolted upright, sensing a large presence.

There was an island! That was the good news. The bad news was that it didn’t look hospitable. It looked like a giant cliff in the middle of the ocean. Instead of washing up on a breezy, white-sand beach, they were about to get dashed against some jagged rocks—and there was no way to avoid the impact.

Logan shouted over the din of the crashing waves. “Hold on!”

She gripped the rope on her side of the raft just in time. The raft flipped over, rolling in the breakwater like a surfboard after a spectacular wipeout. She didn’t let go of the rope, and that probably saved her. The raft buoyed upward. She broke the surface with it and managed to take a quick gasp of breath before the next wave hit. Then she was caught inside again, tumbling around in the giant saltwater washing machine.

She endured several more cycles of this before the real danger presented itself. There was an underwater fortress of razor-sharp rocks. The raft got shredded against it. So did her skin. Her legs scraped over a surface that felt like a cheese grater. She cried out in pain, struggling to swim. The raft was snagged on something. She had to let go of the rope, but she didn’t know if she could make it to the shore.

Luckily, Logan was right there. He grabbed her from behind and shoved his forearm under her chin, urging her into a reclined position. She didn’t fight him. With swift, sure strokes, he towed her to safety.

Well, relative safety. There was no safe space here, no easy escape from the wicked rocks and relentless waves. He deposited her at a granite outcropping near the base of the cliffs. She clung there, breathing hard.

Then he left her.

“I have to get the raft,” he shouted. As if the raft was the more useful item, between the two of them.

She managed to keep her head above water while she waited. It took him several tries to unsnag the raft. She looked around for a way to get out of the water. In the dark, she saw only pounding waves and vertical cliffs. They might have to circumnavigate the island in hopes of finding an access point.

But—at least they had hope. Out adrift, there was nothing. So she held on tight to the volcanic rock, grateful for its presence. Grateful for its gritty, porous surface. She’d been terrified that she’d never see land again, let alone touch it. She thought she’d never see anything but endless ocean and the inside of a raft.

As the waves kept rolling in, she rested her cheek against the rock and wept. Because they were here, and they were alive.

Chapter 5

Logan woke up on the beach at dawn.

He had sand all over his face. Lukewarm surf tickled his feet. His mouth was dry, his head pounding. With a low groan, he rolled onto his back and wiped his eyes. A tiny crab scuttled away from his ankle. He was lucky it hadn’t crawled up the leg of his pants.

Cady was lying next to him on top of the deflated raft. It was flat from the impact with the rocky shore. She had her hands tucked under her cheek. The extra material from her dress covered her head like a red wedding veil. Her skirt was twisted around her upper thighs. Her feet were bare and pretty, with unpainted toes.

The crab that had been investigating him touched the heel of her foot. She let out a startled shriek, kicking it away. Then she sat upright and pulled the veil off her face. She looked a little worse for the wear. Still beautiful, because her features were lovely. But dehydrated, with chapped lips and bloodshot eyes. Her hair was a natural style, not straightened. Now it was a wild tangle of curls.

They’d been forced to swim around the island last night after getting slammed into the rocks. She was a strong swimmer, thank God. He couldn’t have saved the raft and her. They’d slogged through at least a mile of rough water before this cove appeared. As soon as their feet had hit the sand, they’d dropped.

“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice sounded like crushed gravel.

“Thirsty,” she said.

“We have to find water.”

She glanced at the high cliffs behind them. “Up there?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t move.”

He knew she didn’t mean it. She didn’t want to move, but she could do it. She only needed a bit of encouragement. He spotted some coconut trees along the edge of the beach, and a couple of fresh green fruits sitting on the sand. A mature coconut rolled in the surf. He went to retrieve both kinds. The green ones had more juice, so he used his knife to chop off the end and bore a hole. Then he gave it to her. She took an experimental sip.

“Oh my God,” she said, gulping more.

“Good?”

“So good.”

He’d learned about coconuts in his survival class, but he’d never actually had a fresh one. When she passed it back, he drank his share. The flavor was mild, like vitamin water with a hint of sweetness. Although he wanted to down it all, he restrained himself and let her have the rest. His reward was watching her expression of pleasure as she finished it. She upended the coconut to get the last drops. Juice dribbled down her chin and her smooth brown throat. He imagined putting his mouth there and licking the moisture away.

To distract himself, he took his phone apart again and set it on a leaf to dry. Then he went to work on the older coconut. First he removed the dry husk, which wasn’t easy. The nut inside was impenetrable. He couldn’t cut it with his knife.

“Let me,” Cady said.

He handed it to her, curious. She picked up his knife and chopped one of the empty green coconuts in half, so it worked like a bowl. Then she held the brown nut over the bowl and hit it with the spine of his knife. She whacked it five or six times before it cracked. Milky fluid spilled between her fingers and into the green bowl. Another strike split the nut into two halves. The fruit inside was white as snow and smelled like heaven.

“Nicely done,” he said.

She gave him one of the halves and kept working. Apparently there were multiple steps to this process. She had to break the nut into smaller pieces before the fruit could be pried out of the shell. There was also an outer skin to peel away. When she freed the first chunk, she offered it to him. He popped the fruit into his mouth and groaned. Extreme hunger was one hell of an appetizer, because it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Pleasantly chewy with a mildly sweet, nutty flavor.

“Wow,” he said, eager for more.

She pried the rest of the fruit from the shell and used her teeth to remove the skin. They devoured every morsel. After the meat was gone, they shared the milk, which he didn’t love. It reminded him of warm goat milk, or camel milk. She laughed at the face he made.

The meal was labor-intensive—and ultimately unsatisfying. He needed more than half a coconut to fill his stomach. His main priority was finding fresh water. “We should get going.”

She followed his gaze up the cliffs. “Do you think this island is inhabited?”

He shrugged, evasive. There were thousands of islands like this in the South Pacific, and most of them were deserted, but why burst her bubble? “We won’t know until we hike to a higher vantage point. That’s next on my to-do list.”

She groaned, flopping onto her back. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re too industrious?”

He didn’t answer, because he was distracted by her short skirt. Getting rehydrated had enlivened his senses. On the raft, his desire for her had been squelched by thirst, hunger and a mild concussion. Now it came roaring back. It urged him to stare at her bare legs and imagine himself between them.

Her dress was wrinkled and torn, with a rip from the hem to the top of her thigh. She had various scrapes and bruises from getting dashed against the rocks. She looked like a scream queen from a horror movie. The one who survived, gore-splattered, after battling the bad guys. She was shell-shocked, but still sexy.

He turned his gaze toward the ocean, frowning at his thoughts. Since when had he found bloody knees and torn fabric attractive? He’d gone off the deep end. Maybe the primitive setting had turned him into an animal. Or maybe it was just her. Their chemistry at the bar had been explosive. It was like a punch in the gut, every time their eyes met.

But they weren’t in the bar anymore. They were on an island in the middle of nowhere. Their relationship had changed the moment she’d been attacked. She’d been targeted because she was with him. She’d been taken from him. Now she was his responsibility. He couldn’t ogle her the way he had on the dance floor. He had a professional obligation to protect her, just as he would have protected Maya O’Brien. He had to act like a proper bodyguard.

She was an asset. Not some piece of ass.

He rose to his feet, determined not to fail her. They needed food, water and shelter ASAP. He doubted they’d find people, based on the size and structure of this island. He had to make a fire or they’d get eaten alive by bugs tonight. He wasn’t sure if they’d return to this cove, so he pulled the raft as far away from the shoreline as possible. Then he collected some fire-making materials. The dry husk threads from the coconut were ideal. He dipped some of the longer threads in the gas tank and rolled them up in a palm leaf.

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“To help start a fire. Just in case.” He put his phone back together and offered her a hand. She winced as she stood up.

“Sore muscles?”

“Sore feet. From the rocks.”

He inspected the soles of her feet. She had several shallow cuts. He considered letting her stay on the beach, but that was against survival protocol, and carrying water back for her would be a hassle. What would she do if he got injured or delayed? He also wasn’t convinced the kidnappers had given up. Those men had a much better chance of pinpointing their location than the rescuers.

If there were rescuers. He wasn’t counting on that, either. They’d have no idea where to look. Only the pirates knew they’d stolen a raft. They knew this area, presumably. They could study the currents and wind conditions and estimate a landing zone. They might come back to tie up loose ends.

“I’ll make you some shoes,” he said.

She sat down in the shade again while he gathered several palm leaves. He folded them into squares and tied them to her feet with a narrow strip of the same material. The “shoes” wouldn’t be comfortable to walk in, but they’d protect her from further injury. He didn’t bother making a pair for himself. Even though he’d been off-duty for several weeks, his feet were tough and he preferred going bare.

The cliffs along the edge of the beach were slippery and steep, with no discernible path. He found the safest route and climbed behind Cady, giving her support and instructions when she needed it. She only lost her footing once, near the top. Although he was right there to catch her, his bad knee almost buckled under her weight. His heart pounded at the close call. A fall here would be disastrous. It would entail a swift death or prolonged suffering.

He’d seen a lot of dead bodies over the past six years. Most were men that had been killed by the enemy, or fought for the enemy. Women and children were harder to accept. There was a pregnant woman in Syria who would always haunt him.

He pushed the mental picture out of his mind, with some difficulty. He held on to Cady for an extra second to make sure she was steady. She glanced over her shoulder at him, letting out a ragged breath. Then they continued over the edge of the cliff. He didn’t relax until they were both on stable ground.

When they entered the rain forest, the lush vegetation became a fortress. He took the lead. It was slow going without a machete, but not impossible, and the leaves were pleasantly free of thorns. Unprotected vegetation indicated that there were no leaf-eating animals on the island. That usually meant no people.

She followed close behind him. He knew she was tired, because he was tired. His knee throbbed with every step and hunger gnawed at his belly. He had to stop to adjust his belt around his waist. He’d already lost weight. She watched with wary eyes, saying nothing. She had a dancer’s body, slender and compact. He liked her curves where they were. He needed to provide some sustenance before they both started wasting away.

If this island was deserted, they could be here awhile.

The day wore on, and finding water proved elusive. The rain forest was teeming with life, colorful birds and vibrant greenery. Everything was damp. It was humid as hell. He was soaked in sweat. But a convenient wellspring? Nah.

“I need a break,” Cady declared. “If I take another step, I’ll drop.”

He allowed a short rest, glancing around. He was impatient to reach the summit, wherever that was. He couldn’t see more than ten yards in any direction. While she sat with her back propped against a tree trunk, he noticed a liana vine hanging from the canopy above. Liana vines, like green coconuts, were a source of fresh water. He whacked it in half and let the end drip into his palm. The liquid ran clear, so he lifted it to his lips to taste. It was fine. He drank a few mouthfuls and passed the vine to her.

After two days at sea, they couldn’t get enough fresh water. He watched her throat work as she swallowed. When she returned the vine, he quenched his thirst in greedy gulps. They drank until there was nothing left.

Logan had been worried that they’d die of dehydration on the raft, despite his assurances to the contrary. He was still worried about it. He’d dismissed her idea to drink urine, but at one point he’d been tempted. Anything to get his mouth wet.

He lifted his gaze to the sun-dappled canopy overhead. He estimated it was early afternoon. They were burning daylight.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tree trunk. He couldn’t expect her to hike through the jungle all day without proper shoes, on a mostly empty stomach, after last night’s grueling swim. She didn’t have his training, his muscle mass, or his stamina. It was a miracle she’d come this far.

Instead of badgering her, he let her rest. He spent the next few minutes exploring their immediate surroundings. The island was a haven for birds and flying insects. Mosquitos were a constant threat. Ferns and elephant plant grew wild.

He stumbled upon a tree with bumpy green fruits, similar to avocados. The branches were too high to reach, but he picked one off the ground and tucked it into his pants pocket. Then he examined the other trees in the area. He didn’t see any more fruit. A crow-sized bird kept flitting about overhead, squawking in distress. After a cursory glance upward, he noticed what appeared to be a bird’s nest in a crook between two branches.

He climbed the tree and hit the jackpot. Three eggs. He secured them in his shirt pocket before he descended. When he returned, Cady was on her feet. She was hopping around, swatting at her neck and shoulders.

Ants.

That was the problem with taking a break in the jungle: ants. He helped brush the insects off her bare back, hiding a smile.

She bent over to shake out her curls. “I can still feel them in my hair.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t look sorry,” she grumbled.

“Only because I found some eggs.” He took the green fruit out of his pocket. “And a tree full of these.”

She snatched it from him. “This is a breadfruit.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a chef,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve studied the local produce.”

“Can we eat it raw?”

“It’s not good raw. You cook it like a yam or a potato.”

“I’d eat a potato raw.”

She handed the breadfruit back to him, shrugging. It was rock hard with a thick skin. He needed to make a fire anyway. It was safer to boil the eggs, if they could. His mouth watered at the thought of a hot meal. Any kind of meal.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“I guess.”

They continued uphill. His injured knee slowed him down considerably, so she kept up with him pretty well. The foliage thinned out as they ascended, which made the hike easier. He increased the pace, sensing they were near the summit. Soon they broke through the canopy and he could see the island’s high point.

A quarter of a mile later, they were there. She sat on a flat rock at the peak, trying to catch her breath. He stood and took in the panoramic view.

It was majestic.

Stark, remote, dizzying and majestic.

He couldn’t see any other islands nearby, just an endless stretch of calm blue water. They were all alone on a big rock in the middle of the ocean. The summit was at the south end, judging by the position of the sun. They’d landed on the west side, which boasted one small, protected cove. The rest of that coastline was sheer cliffs and crashing waves. It was extremely inhospitable, possibly unapproachable. Sharp points jutted up from the sea around the shore like protective daggers.

The eastern side of the island was less severe, with gentler slopes and softer edges. It had a sprawling white-sand beach, framed by dozens of coconut trees. Beyond that, a sparkling expanse of crystal-blue water, with tide pools and an extensive coral reef system.

It was a fisherman’s paradise—but largely inaccessible, even by boat. There was no convenient shoring area. The island was small, only about five miles long and two miles wide. Getting around on foot wouldn’t be a problem. He spotted a craggy rock formation to the north, with what appeared to be fresh water cascading down its edge.

Overall, Logan was pleased. This spot was like a private tropical getaway, untouched by human hands. People paid big money to vacation at secluded resorts and nature preserves. He could survive here a few weeks.

The company wasn’t bad, either.

He glanced down at Cady, gauging her reaction. She wasn’t admiring the view or counting the island’s resources. She was weeping. Tears rolled down her pretty face. She wiped them away, sniffling.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What’s wrong?” she repeated, incredulous. She gestured to the deserted island and the open ocean all around them. “There’s nothing here!”

His stomach clenched with regret. Of course she was disappointed; she’d been hoping for a rescue that wouldn’t come and inhabitants that didn’t exist. She didn’t care what the island had to offer, other than a way out. She only saw what it lacked: visitors, conveniences, transportation and neighboring islands.

Logan didn’t blame her for being upset. She hadn’t signed up for this. She’d been kidnapped, traumatized and lost at sea. Now they were on dry land, but still completely isolated. She didn’t want to stay here and battle the elements. She wanted to go home.

Instead of escaping her nightmare, she was stuck in it.

With him.

Chapter 6

What was wrong? Was he serious?

She couldn’t believe he’d asked that. He’d lost his damned mind. He was standing at the summit of this bug-infested hellhole like the lord of his domain. He wore a relaxed expression, as if the gut-wrenching view invigorated him.

“We’re stranded on a deserted island. You’re not disturbed by that?”

He raked a hand through his hair, scowling. He didn’t look tired, even though they’d hiked for miles. Sweat dampened his face and shirt, but he wasn’t winded. She felt like she might faint from overexertion. He seemed unaffected by the climb. “I’m trained to stay calm in emergency situations, and to follow a specific survival protocol. You see a deserted island, but I see lifesaving resources.”

“I see a jungle fortress surrounded by sharks.”

He nodded, as if this was a fair assessment. Then he pulled out his phone and checked for service. Yeah, right. Shaking his head, he put it away. “I’m sorry. I should have tried to manage your expectations better.”

“My expectations?”

“I assumed the island was uninhabited, but I didn’t want to demotivate you.”

“You didn’t want to demotivate me,” she repeated dully. She’d turned into a parrot. She was a jungle parrot sidekick in a shredded red dress, with leaves for shoes.

None of this seemed real.

Her stomach dropped as she remembered what he’d said about the possibility of a rescue. She’d been dubious about his claims, but she hadn’t pressed him on it. Now she studied him with new suspicion. He stared back at her, cool as ice. “Do you think they’re looking for us, or did you lie about that, too?”

He tore his gaze away. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you lied?”

“I don’t know if there’s a search effort underway,” he said in a clipped tone. “They send rescue teams to reported accidents, like plane crashes or shipwrecks. Kidnappings at sea, without a specific location...”

Her spirits plummeted. There was no rescue team. What would they look for, other than the pirates? A man or woman overboard had no chance of surviving in the open ocean. Cady and Logan would be presumed dead.

“Let’s focus on the positive,” he said.

She threw back her head and laughed.

“We’re alive.”

She stopped laughing, because she sounded deranged, and he had a point.

“Being on dry land is a vast improvement over the raft. Two or three more days at sea would’ve killed us.”

She let out a ragged breath, fighting tears again.

“As deserted islands go, this one is ideal.”

“How?”

“Most uninhabited islands are spits of sand with a few palm trees and no fresh water. They’re uninhabited for a reason. There’s no way to live off them. This place is different. It has everything we need to survive.”

She studied the green landscape with wet eyes.

He crouched down next to her and pointed at the shoreline. “Look there. Tide pools are easy to forage, and full of seafood. Are you allergic to shellfish?”

“No.”

“Do you like it?”

She nodded, because she did. She loved it, in fact. Shrimp, crab, fish, sushi...she even liked sea urchin.

“And over here, check it out,” he said, moving his finger. “That white line in the rock face is a waterfall.”

“It’s far away.”

“It’s close to the beach, which is where I’d build a shelter. I can make an SOS signal right there on the sand that would be visible from the air. There are coconut trees and palm trees. Maybe some more of that breadfruit.”

“I’ve seen taro plants.”

“Yeah? They have roots you can eat.”

“I know.”

He directed his finger at her. “There’s something special here, too.”

“What?” she asked warily.

“You. You’re a great resource. You’re a chef. You’ve studied the local plants. You can cook the hell out of a fish. You’re also in excellent shape. You’re a strong swimmer. I couldn’t ask for a better partner.”

“Now you’re going overboard.”

“I mean it.”

“You wouldn’t rather have another SEAL with you?”

He held her gaze. “There’s no one I’d rather have with me.”

She didn’t know how to feel about this proclamation. The intensity that had excited her at the bar—and terrified her in the aftermath of the kidnapping—was still there, glittering in his eyes. But his brutal actions were no longer at the forefront of her mind. He’d been kind to her. He’d shared his clothing and his body heat on the raft. He was a good man. Although he hadn’t been completely honest with her about their predicament, and she didn’t trust him not to bend the truth again, she felt safe with him. She also knew he wanted her. She tried not to be flattered by his desire, and failed.

He was incredibly charismatic. That was why all of the women on the cruise had been agog over him. It wasn’t just his face, though he had handsome features. It wasn’t just his body, though that was a perfect ten. He radiated strength and confidence. When he focused his attention on her, she turned into mush.

“I’m no survival expert,” she said, glancing away.

“Have you ever been camping?”

“In an RV, with my grandpa.”

“The drill sergeant?”

“Yes.”

“This won’t be like that.”

She laughed again, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “No kidding.”

“How are your feet?”

“Terrible.”

“I’ll rewrap them before we go.”

“Must we?”

“It’s all downhill from here.”

“Ha.”

She spotted an aloe vera plant, so she sent him to pick some for her. While she took care of the cuts on her feet, he applied the slick moisture to his chapped lips and sunburned cheeks. Heavy beard stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked a little rough around the edges, but ruggedly handsome. This environment suited him. It didn’t suit her. She felt sweaty and dirty. Her hair was all over the place. There were oily stains on her dress from the coconut milk. Rugged wasn’t a word used to describe women, so she tried to think of a similar term. Natural, maybe. She was at peak natural right now.

When she was finished with the aloe vera, he rewrapped her feet with new leaves. “We’ll see if we can make it to that beach before nightfall. Then I’ll start a fire. We’ll have a cookout, and sleep under the stars.”

She arched a brow at his fanciful phrasing.

“Too much?”

“Let’s bring it down a notch. You’re supposed to be managing my expectations, remember?”

“Right. Okay, here goes. Let’s try to get as far from the summit as possible before the afternoon rain hits and makes the terrain even more treacherous.”

Well, that wasn’t as upbeat, but she’d asked for it. She noted a few dark clouds on the edge of the horizon and figured this was the likelier scenario. With a low groan, she rose to a standing position. After a quick stretch, she followed him down the hillside. Her arms and legs ached from overuse. She felt like a wrung-out dishrag. Logan, on the other hand, appeared hale and hearty as hell. Damn his rugged ass. She stared at his broad shoulders, remembering how his muscles had bunched beneath her fingertips, and how easily he’d lifted her.

It started raining.

He kept going.

She tried to be strong and brave and a team player, but it was just beyond her. She was soaked from head to toe. Her energy was sapped. Hiking uphill while wearing leaves for shoes was difficult. Downhill, on wet ground...it was impossible. She slipped and fell hard, right on her butt. Although she had plenty of padding there, it didn’t feel sufficient. She felt like she’d gotten spanked by the island, big-time.

She didn’t get up. She rolled onto her side and cried.

He knelt next to her. His hand rested on her waist. Instead of asking questions, he waited for her to compose herself.

“I’m okay,” she said finally. “I just fell.”

“Where does it hurt?”

She gestured to the general vicinity. The back of her dress had ridden up, exposing her sore, muddy bottom. He swept his palm over her abused flesh, squeezing gently. Then he gave her a soft pat of sympathy.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” he said.

“Are you a medic, too?”

“No.”

She tugged her dress into place, suspecting he’d enjoyed that exam a little too much. He winced as he staggered upright, as if his knee was bothering him. The injury reminded her that he was a human being with real weaknesses. He wasn’t impervious to pain. He schooled his expression quickly and helped her to her feet.

“We need to find shelter for the night.”

Unfortunately, there were no convenient cabanas to duck into. There wasn’t even a dry rock to crawl under. She trudged along behind him, her head down. She was cold and wet and her butt hurt. The only pace she could manage was slow. The rain dissipated. The slope of the hillside became less severe, and the foliage grew thicker.

In the gathering dusk she imagined a lot of creepy crawlers that probably weren’t there. Spiders hanging from the trees. Centipedes scuttling through wet leaves on the ground. Poisonous frogs, pit vipers and tiny, flesh-eating parasites.

Then the mosquitos descended, and she wished for anything but them. She waved the buzzing nuisances away from her ears and wrapped the tulle around her head in an attempt to protect her face.

When a mosquito bit the tender flesh behind her knee, she shrieked in protest. “I’m getting eaten alive!”

“So am I,” Logan said, slapping his neck. “This sucks.”

“Literally!”

He dragged her toward a large rock formation that rose up in the gloom. Its mossy surface was covered in vines, hiding what appeared to be the mouth of a cave. He had to push aside the foliage to gain entry. It was pitch-black inside, and smelled bad. It was the least inviting shelter she could imagine, but she would’ve gone into Satan’s lair at this point. She held his hand in a tight grip as they ducked into the cave.

“I don’t know what’s in here,” he whispered.

“As long as it’s not more mosquitos.”

He stayed still for several moments, breathing hard in the dark quiet. “We can’t explore the interior.”

That was fine with her. She had no desire to explore. None whatsoever. Her eyes adjusted to the lack of light in slow increments. He sat down with his back against the cave wall. She wanted to curl up next to him, but she wasn’t sure which side of him was safer.

What if a wild animal wandered in?

What if one tried to get out?

“Here,” he said, splaying his legs. She settled between them, her back against his front. He put his arms around her. He was wet, but warm. His heartbeat pounded in a strong, steady rhythm. Fast, but not too fast, like hers. He was alert, rather than panicked. That was comforting. She could count on him to stay calm even when she was freaking out.

“What’s that smell?” she asked. “Rats?”

“Bats.”

Ugh. The hairs at her nape prickled at the thought of them flapping around her curls. Their nasty little teeth and leathery wings. At least the cave was free of mosquitos. She’d die of rabies, instead of malaria. “Can you make a fire?”

“Not without dry wood.”

She tried not to squirm around too much, but she was uncomfortable. The ground was hard against her sore bottom. She was hungry and thirsty.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“What do you want to know?”

“Where do you live?”

“I lived in San Francisco, until recently. I left a few months after I broke up with Andrew. It seemed better to make a fresh start. Right now I’m staying at my parents’ house in Long Beach.”

“I still live with my parents.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m overseas a lot, and they have a guest house. It works out.”

“Where is it?”

“Del Mar. It’s a suburb of San Diego.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Born and raised.”

Her grandparents lived in San Diego. She was stranded on a deserted island with a fellow Southern Californian. What were the odds?

“Did you grow up in Long Beach?” he asked.

“Close. Irvine. My parents moved because my mom got a job offer there. She’s a high school principal.”

“A principal and a cop for parents?”

“Sounds fun, right?”

“Were you a rebellious teenager?”

“Not really. Were you?”

“Nah. I was a mama’s boy. Still am.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty. You?”

“Twenty-seven.”

He grunted in response, shifting his injured knee.

“Am I hurting you?”

“You’re fine,” he said gruffly. “You should try to get some sleep.”

“What will we do tomorrow?”

“Find water. Make a fire. Build a shelter.”

She groaned at his overzealous to-do list.

“The beach isn’t far. Tomorrow will be an easier day.”

“I doubt there will be any easy days on this island.”

“Maybe not, but we’ll live.”

“You sound confident.”

“I am.”

“Have you ever failed at anything?”

He didn’t answer. When silence stretched between them, she realized this was a touchy subject. More painful than his busted knee, perhaps. She wondered if he’d failed to complete a mission, or failed to protect someone.

“I should have thanked you for saving me,” she said.

His arms tightened around her shoulders. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s a big deal,” she insisted. “You risked your life.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said. “You got kidnapped while you were with me. Because you were with me.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“I convinced you to leave the bar.”

She hadn’t needed much convincing. She flushed a little, remembering how uninhibited she’d been. How she’d devoured his mouth in the hallway. “I wouldn’t have done the same if our situations were reversed. I wouldn’t have started swimming after you.”

“I’m trained for combat and water rescue. You’re not.”

She didn’t think it was only a matter of training. He was a hero by nature. She wasn’t. She’d been frozen with fear during the attack, and for hours after. The same thing had happened when she’d witnessed her grandfather’s death. She’d been catatonic, unable to move or speak. Unable to help.

She wasn’t calm in emergency situations. She didn’t like taking risks, or stepping out of her comfort zone. Whenever she did, she regretted it. This situation was a prime example. Her first attempt at a one-night stand had resulted in her kidnapping. It couldn’t get any worse than that! She didn’t embrace danger, like Logan. As grateful as she was to be under his protection, his presence set off major emotional warning bells for her.

She had to be careful with him. She was still trying to move on from her last romantic disaster. He was clearly a no-strings type, and a magnet for adoring females. He’d caught the eye of every woman on the cruise. She couldn’t afford to get attached.

But keeping her distance wasn’t an option, so she pushed aside her misgivings and settled against him. He made a warm, steady wall behind her. She felt safe in his arms. Although the chemistry between them was still there, she wouldn’t act on it. They weren’t going to finish what they’d started on the dance floor.

That ship had sailed—literally.

Their almost-hookup had been a once-in-a-lifetime thing. A perfect storm of physical attraction and opportunity that couldn’t be re-created. Even if she’d wanted to take the risk, there was nothing remotely sexy about their current situation. They were in a bat-infested cave. She was covered in mud. So was he.

She closed her eyes, determined to ignore the exciting male contours of his body, and the dull throb of cuts and bruises on her own. She tried not to worry about what might befall them tomorrow. He’d advised her to focus on the present, and think positive. Tonight they were alive. She was exhausted, but unharmed.

Then a dark blanket of fatigue settled over her, and she drifted off.

Chapter 7

Logan woke in the same condition as the day before, with one exception.

He’d grown accustomed to the dry mouth and nagging headache that had plagued him every morning. He was sore from lying on the hard ground. His stomach ached from emptiness. The only new development was an uncomfortable erection. Maybe he hadn’t been hydrated enough to pitch a tent until now. He’d been weak and nauseous from the concussion. Today he was back in full form, so to speak.

Cady’s proximity probably had something to do with it. She was curled up on her side next to him with her bottom snuggled against his crotch. There was no denying that she had a world-class ass. It was soft and supple and beautifully shaped. He had a vivid recollection of how those lush curves felt in his hands.

Damn.

Speaking of hands, his right one was cupping her left breast. She was smaller on top, but no less perfect.

Damn.

He smothered a groan and rolled onto his back, chagrined. He hadn’t meant to grope her in his sleep. His stomach clenched with unease. He waited for her to jump up and slap him silly. She stayed motionless, her chest rising and falling with even breaths.

She didn’t stir. She hadn’t felt it.

Inching away from her, he studied the interior of the cave with bleary eyes. Last night he’d imagined a gaping cavern of snakes and pitfalls. In reality, it was a shallow, abandoned bat nest. The walls had crumbled, leaving a pile of guano-covered rocks less than five feet from the entrance. There could be an intricate network beyond that, but the path was blocked. That was why this cave was empty, with vines covering the mouth.

Also, it smelled bad.

He rose to his feet with a wince. His knee was stiff, among other things. He lumbered toward the cave’s entrance and shoved aside the foliage. Light flooded the interior. Cady sat up and blinked at him owlishly. She looked like a forest sprite. Her hair was a tangled halo of dark curls with leaves in it.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was...invading your space.”

She rubbed her eyes. “What?”

“Never mind,” he muttered, and went out to water the nearest tree. She followed a moment later. He already had his pants unzipped, so he turned his back to obstruct her view. His knee buckled as he sidestepped. Cursing, he regained his balance.

She walked into the jungle and crouched behind a bush to do her own thing. By the time she returned to the front of the cave, he had his body under control. He didn’t ask how she’d slept, because he already knew. They’d both been awake half the night. She had dark circles under her eyes. Getting a good rest on hard ground was difficult, even for him. He needed to build a shelter today.

“How are you?” he asked.

She touched her throat. “Thirsty.”

“Your feet okay?”

“No, they hurt.”

He nodded, unsurprised. All of the hiking they’d done would slow the healing process. He knew she wanted him to be honest with her about the challenges they faced, but he was more concerned about keeping her morale up. There wasn’t much he could do for her cuts. With his bad knee, he couldn’t carry her.

“Do you want to stay here and rest?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Rest, in that hideous cave? I don’t think so.”

He smiled at her honesty. “As soon as we get to the beach you can take it easy.”

“How far is it?”

“Not far.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“The island is only about five miles long. I think we’re close to the coast.”

She inclined her head east, toward the sunrise. “That way?”

“Yep.”

She gathered the extra fabric from her skirt to use as a shawl. As he collected his eggs and breadfruit and aloe plant, his stomach clenched with a sharp pain that surprised him. He’d been hungry before, but not like this. He’d never felt true hunger pangs.

“My stomach hurts,” she said.

“Mine, too. We’ll eat some more coconuts at the beach.”

They hiked all morning. The waterfall he’d spotted from the summit didn’t materialize. Neither did the white-sand beach he’d hoped to see. It was baking hot, with no breeze. The foliage that blocked out the sun also seemed to hold in heat. Sweat slicked his skin and tickled his mosquito bites. His damp shirt clung to his back.

In contrast, his throat felt like sandpaper. He was losing too much fluid to perspiration. Staying hydrated under these conditions was almost impossible.

Cady trudged along with a zombie-like stoicism that concerned him. Although she was stronger than he’d expected, he was afraid to push her too hard. When he found another cluster of liana vines, it was none too soon. She collapsed in the shade, her face pale. They drank until her color returned. Then they drank some more. She used the aloe on her lips, which were healing well. He did the same. His sunburn felt better. This environment was challenging, but it was nowhere near as harsh as the open ocean.

After a short rest, he stood and offered her a hand. She rose to her feet too quickly. Her lashes fluttered, and she swayed backward. He caught her before she fell, holding her upright. She didn’t faint, which was a good sign. She stared at him in surprise. His heart pounded against hers, half relieved, half...something else.

“I got light-headed,” she said.

“I can see that.”

She clung to him for a few seconds. Her fingers were curled around his biceps, her slim body pressed to his. He liked the way she felt in his arms, despite the circumstances. He’d liked the way she’d felt this morning, too.

“Okay now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He released her slowly, struck by a wave of guilt. He was having a hard time keeping his hands off her, and his thoughts were completely inappropriate. She was weak from exhaustion. He should be taking better care of her.

His desire for her was awkward, but manageable. What really bothered him was the sense that he was letting her down. He was failing her, the same way he’d failed his comrade in Telskuf. If Logan hadn’t been injured, Hud would still be alive.

The loss of his teammate weighed heavily on Logan, and it made him feel even more protective of Cady. She was his team now, and she needed him to survive. She shouldn’t be hiking like this. He cursed himself for not being able to carry her. She could get heat exhaustion, and then they’d really be in trouble. There were a thousand ways to die here. She could contract dengue fever, or pick up a nasty intestinal bug. She could succumb to an infection, just from the cuts on her feet.

“I’m going to scout ahead,” he said.

“No,” she said, grasping his arm. “I can walk. Take me with you.”

He raked a hand through his hair, torn. She was afraid to be alone in the jungle, which was understandable, but he really needed to find the shore. He glanced around and spotted a seagull flying over the tops of the trees. They were close.

He nodded his agreement, and they started walking again. She seemed to have recovered from her dizzy spell. They followed the bird’s flight path to a clearing. From there he could see swaying palm trees, loaded with coconuts.

They’d made it. Thank God.

There was no gradual transition from inland to coast. The foliage just ended where the beach began. He stumbled forward and fell to his knees in the sand, basking in the change of scenery. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed fresh air and sunshine. The thick canopy had felt suffocating and oppressive.

This beach was paradise. Pure paradise.

It was all soft white sand and crystal-blue water. There were coconut palms for days. The tide pools promised a plethora of tasty seafood, and the underwater reef would offer even more. His chest swelled with emotion. He couldn’t see the waterfall from here, but a tall rock formation rose up in the distance like a monument of hope.

Cady didn’t stop on the dry sand. She raced straight into the surf and collapsed there, letting the gentle waves lap over her. He laughed at her antics, his spirits soaring. They were going to be all right.

He hadn’t allowed himself to feel relief until this moment. He also hadn’t dwelled on the dangers they’d faced so far. The days at sea had been dark, to say the least. The odds of arriving at an island like this were astronomical. He’d had brushes with death before, but they were the flash-bang kind, over in the blink of an eye. Slow starvation wasn’t his cup of tea. They were incredibly lucky to be alive.

He wanted to join her in the waves, fully clothed, but he couldn’t afford to get his fire-starting materials wet. So he shucked out of his pants and pulled his shirt over his head before he dove in. The water felt deliciously cool on his overheated skin. He submerged his entire body, getting his hair wet, rinsing away the dirt and sweat and jungle funk.

It was glorious.

She was right there with him, laughing and splashing around in the waves. He hadn’t seen her this happy since the night at the bar. She looked like a tropical goddess in her red dress, eyes dancing.

He drew her into his arms and kissed her. He couldn’t help himself. His relief overflowed, and his instincts took over. He pulled her on top of him and kissed her beautiful mouth. Then he rolled on top of her and did it again.

He didn’t put much thought into his actions. He just let his impulses take over and went along for the ride. They’d been through a lot together, and he felt a deep connection with her. He told himself it wasn’t even sexual—but he wouldn’t have done this with anyone else. He didn’t kiss his comrades after a successful mission. He didn’t grab random women and plant one on them when the mood struck.

She kissed him back with the same joyful ebullience, twisting her arms around his neck. It was all innocent fun, as frothy as the foam-specked surf. She laughed into his mouth as a wave crashed over his back. Then the water around them bloomed bright red.

He lifted his head, his heart pounding. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” She studied the cloud of crimson around them. “My dress is bleeding. It’s dry-clean only.”

He didn’t know dresses could bleed. The sight of red dye spreading across the water chilled him to the bone. It was like a portent of doom and a bad flashback rolled into one. He remembered the last time he’d seen a woman in a pool of blood. The interpreter’s wife, in Syria. That moment had been difficult for his entire team. They’d failed her.

Logan blinked away the memory, his gut clenched with unease. Cady resembled a shark attack victim, and he was on top of her. He didn’t believe in visions or premonitions, but he did believe in gut feelings. His gut told him that he was putting her at risk. He shouldn’t be touching her like this. He’d dropped the ball the night they’d met, and now here they were. He couldn’t repeat that mistake.

His behavior was also unbecoming of a SEAL. Hunger must have turned his brain into mush. He had to stop acting like a lovesick schoolboy and start acting like a professional. She was depending on him to keep her alive.

“Sorry,” he said in a stiff tone. “I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

She stared at him in confusion, as if he’d turned into someone she didn’t recognize. Another wave struck, swirling her dress around her thighs. The wet fabric clung to her breasts, outlining every curve in exquisite detail.

He disentangled himself from her and rose to his feet, suddenly aware of his own attire. Water streamed down his body. He was soaked to the skin, and half aroused. His hand dropped to the front placket of his boxer shorts to make sure it was closed. Her gaze followed his motion. He adjusted himself and turned away, flushing.

Although the chemistry between them was red-hot, his excitement was more of a byproduct than a driving force. He hadn’t kissed her because she was sexy. He’d kissed her because he was overwhelmed with emotion. That had never happened to him before. It was an unexpected complication, but now he’d be on guard. Forewarned was forearmed. He’d squash whatever feelings needed to get squashed.

He waded out of the surf, determined to hold himself in check. He had to stay in control, and concentrate on survival.

His first task was combing the beach for coconuts. There were about a dozen mature ones strewn across the sand. Fresh coconuts were less abundant. They didn’t fall off the tree when they were green. They had to be shaken loose or picked by hand, and climbing a coconut tree was a great way to fall and break your neck. After a short search, he found two.

He also gathered several different types of wood. He wasn’t familiar with any of them, so he had no idea what would burn well or make the best bow drill, which was his preferred method of starting a fire.

Cady didn’t sit idle while he wandered the beach. She explored the area as well, and returned with a nice score: a bunch of ripe bananas. His stomach rumbled with hunger. “Where did you find those?”

“There’s a cluster of banana trees right over there.”

He followed her gaze to the edge of the beach. There were several banana trees laden with green fruit. Grunting his approval, he directed her toward a shady spot under a palm tree. They sat down and shared the feast. He devoured three bananas, one after the other. When he reached for a fourth, she stopped him.

“You’ll get sick if you eat too many.”

“Bananas are good for you.”

“Only in moderation.”

He was still hungry, but he deferred to her greater knowledge of food and nutrition. He couldn’t afford to regurgitate his only meal of the day. They switched to coconuts, draining every drop of juice.

He lifted one of the empty shells. “We can use these to collect water.”

“Later,” she said, leaning her back against the tree trunk. She pressed her palm to her flat belly, as if it was uncomfortably full. “I can’t move.”

“Fine,” he said easily, because he’d promised her a break. The waterfall wasn’t going anywhere. There were liana vines in the rain forest, less than a hundred feet away. He had plenty of other tasks to accomplish. “Stay here and rest.”

“Where are you going?”

“Not far. I have to collect some materials to start a fire.”

“Why do we need fire? It’s a million degrees.”

“It was cold last night.”

“How far will you go?”

“I’ll be within shouting distance.”

She waved a hand in the air to grant him permission. It was a regal, graceful gesture. Queen of the Island. His lips quirked into a smile. The trauma of the past few days had wrung some of the attitude out of her, but not all. Her resilience was reassuring. He needed a strong partner, and she had a lot of potential.

The best place for a shelter was near the edge of the beach, where the tide wouldn’t reach them. He decided on a spot between two massive palm trees. There was plenty of shade, a nice breeze and a natural windbreak. First he dug a shallow depression in the sand. Then he made a fire ring with about a dozen volcanic rocks. He tossed some sticks and branches inside the pit. There was a bench-sized piece of driftwood nearby, so he dragged that over to sit on.

After the stage was set, he worked on a small hut for the fire. He had to keep the pit dry or he’d be starting over from scratch every time it rained. He harvested palm fronds from several different trees, and ventured into the forest to chop down a sapling. Using its slim, sturdy branches, he formed a simple A-frame and covered it with palm fronds. This would protect the fire from the average afternoon shower.

The third step was constructing the bow drill. He needed a flat wooden base, a bow-shaped tree branch, a spindle and some rope or cordage to create friction. If one of the pieces was flawed, there would be no ember, so he chose his materials carefully. He carved the flat base out of driftwood and shaped the spindle from a sturdy stick. When that was done, he went in search of a top rock to hold the spindle in place. He found a flat stone with a curved depression in the center.

The last thing he needed was cordage—and he didn’t have any. He’d left their only rope with the deflated raft. That was poor planning. He blamed the flub on dehydration and a concussion. He didn’t have any shoelaces; he had no shoes. His belt wouldn’t work. Sighing, he ventured into the jungle for more material.

Young liana vines made excellent cordage, so he cut down several. He sliced the vines into long strips and braided them together for extra strength. This process was time-consuming and labor-intensive. When he was finished, he was soaked in sweat again. It was blazing hot, even in the shade.

Cady hadn’t moved from her spot under the palm tree. Her dress fluttered around her thighs like a red flag.

He rolled his pants up to the knee and took the fire bundle from his pocket. It was dry, and still smelled like gasoline. He set it next to the pile of kindling in the fire pit. As soon as he had an ember, he’d transfer it to the bundle. When he had a flame, he’d add kindling. He felt confident about executing his plan, but making a primitive fire wasn’t an easy task. It required skill, patience, upper body strength and perseverance.

He moved the bow back and forth in a rapid sawing motion, visualizing a hot coal. Waiting for the telltale smoke.

It didn’t come.

He continued to work the bow. His foot held the base in place. The vine cordage didn’t move as smoothly as rope or a shoestring, but it was all he had. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He sawed faster. The only thing that started burning was his forearm muscle. His injured knee hurt like a son of a bitch. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain.

Was that smoke?

He stopped to check his progress. There was no coal, which was disappointing. Maybe the driftwood wasn’t hard enough to generate an ember.

He carved a new base from another piece of wood he’d collected on the beach. Then he tried again, sawing his heart out. His hand ached from the repetition. Blisters formed on the inside of his palm. His knee throbbed in protest. Smoke curled up from the notch where the base met the spindle.

Almost there...almost there...

Snap.

The cord broke in half.

He tossed aside the top rock and the bow, swearing. There was a sooty black spot at the notch in the base. It wasn’t a coal. It was nowhere near a coal.

Goddamn it.

He leaped to his feet and cursed at the sky. He said things his mother wouldn’t be proud of. He threw the wooden base across the beach, calling it every dirty name in his vocabulary. Then he sat down in the shade, seething. He’d learned how to make fire several different ways in an outdoor survival class. He’d practiced this method a dozen times. He’d even taught it to his comrades. But he’d never tested his skills in a tropical setting with unfamiliar materials, or in a real-life emergency. The pressure was getting to him.

If he didn’t make fire, they were going to be in serious trouble. Fire was the ultimate morale booster. They needed fire to stay healthy, mentally and physically. Without fire, the nights would be miserable. They couldn’t stay warm or fend off mosquitos. They couldn’t make use of most of the island’s resources. They couldn’t cook without fire. They’d probably die without fire.

Logan’s gut clenched at the thought. He wasn’t prone to mood swings or negativity. He knew better. Focusing on the worst-case scenario could get you killed. But he’d also learned that a positive mind-set wasn’t bulletproof armor.

He’d stayed positive in Telskuf, and everything had gone to hell anyway. Months later, he still couldn’t come to terms with what had happened. He remembered chaos and confusion. Their communications system had malfunctioned. Then a simple misstep had resulted in his injury. He couldn’t complete the mission. He couldn’t even walk on his own. Samir had to support him. Instead of retreating with them, Hud had continued into the building.

He’d never gotten out.

Logan felt directly responsible for the loss. He’d agonized over it, second-guessing every action he’d taken that night.

Seeing Cady in a pool of crimson had taken him to the same dark place. It had affected him on a deeper level than any of the blood he’d shed, on desert sands or in the open water. He’d calmly killed men with a variety of weapons, including his bare hands. He’d watched the corpse of the man he’d gutted get torn apart by sharks with relish.

That was pretty messed up—and he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to cry over a good kill, done in self-defense. What bothered him more was the idea of failing.

Failing to get a fire started.

Failing to provide for her.

Failing to protect her.

Failing to keep her alive—the same way he’d failed his teammate in Telskuf, and the interpreter in Al-Hasakah, and the interpreter’s wife.

Making a sound of frustration, Logan rose to his feet to get more cordage. His knee almost gave out, and black spots danced across his vision. He leaned against the tree to regain his balance. His arms quivered uncontrollably.

This was the price he had to pay for overexerting himself.

He focused on taking deep breaths until his muscles relaxed. Instead of walking into the jungle, he sat down again. There was no sense in continuing to work on the fire right now. His hands ached, his palms were blistered and his biceps felt like jelly. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed a break.

So he stretched out in the shade and closed his eyes for a few minutes, giving his body time to recover.

Chapter 8

Cady took pity on Logan and brought him a fresh coconut.

It was their last one. There were plenty more on the trees, thirty or forty feet high, but she had no idea how to get them down. The bananas were off-limits until tomorrow. They contained nutrients that were toxic in large amounts.

He was lying on his stomach in the shade with his head in his arms. All of that caveman yelling must have tuckered him out. She understood the reason for his meltdown. They were in an extremely stressful situation. Every basic necessity was difficult, if not impossible, to attain. They hadn’t been getting enough food or sleep. Her behavior had been erratic, too. She’d been crying one minute, laughing the next.

Instead of disturbing his slumber, she sat down beneath the opposite tree and studied him. He was facing away from her, unaware of her presence. Something about his state of repose appealed to her. She hadn’t seen him resting on his stomach before. He was always on the move, always working hard—and it showed. Every muscle was on point.

His shirt was damp with sweat, his hair mussed. Broad shoulders narrowed to a lean waist and a very cute, very tight butt. His pants were rolled up to the knee. He had nice calves, hairy and suntanned and strong. He even had nice feet. They were big, like the rest of him. She shivered at the memory of his wet boxer shorts clinging to his body.

Lord.

She’d abandoned all of her reservations about hooking up with him the instant his mouth touched hers. She’d forgotten that she was starving and exhausted. She’d forgotten everything but the feel of his hard-muscled body on top of her. Her cheeks heated at the memory. He’d been the one to come to his senses, which was even worse.

She couldn’t blame the island for her lack of inhibitions. It was him. He made her throw every rule out the window.

It won’t happen again.

She puzzled over the strange declaration he’d made. Now that they were stuck together, he’d decided not to pursue her? She didn’t know why he’d changed his mind. Some men lost interest quickly. Some only wanted casual relationships, and there was nothing casual about their current predicament. Maybe he’d decided she wasn’t his type. Or maybe she just looked like a hot mess with dirty clothes and tangled hair.

She set aside the coconut with a frown. He didn’t act disinterested. He still watched her with hungry eyes. His desire hadn’t cooled, but his attitude had. He’d been almost formal with her since the kidnapping. He’d kissed her as an impulsive celebration, not because he was trying to get with her.

It didn’t really matter what his deal was, because she wasn’t trying to get with him, either. Momentary lapse of reason aside, she’d put him on her no-play list. He was too intense, too risky, too big...too everything.

She leaned her back against the palm tree and sifted the fine grains of sand through her fingers. This spot in the shade was pleasant, with a gentle breeze. The view was incredible, but also disconcerting. She’d never been on an empty beach before.

In the jungle, it was easier to forget they were all alone. Out here, the isolation was clear. They were still stranded in the middle of the ocean, countless miles from civilization, with little or no hope of rescue.

Even so, only a fool wouldn’t appreciate this place, after what they’d been through. A stunning white-sand beach, lined with fruit trees, was a vast improvement over a stinky bat cave. It was practically a five-star resort.

He mumbled something in his sleep, startling her. It sounded like he was saying “go with thud.”

She dusted her hands off and leaned closer to listen.

“Leave me,” he said. “Go with Hud!”

Not thud. Hud.

She assumed it was a name, though she’d never heard it before. His leg twitched in a restless motion. She stayed quiet, reluctant to wake him. His brow was furrowed in distress. While she watched, his shoulders tensed, and he threw out his arms as if some invisible force had attacked him.

Then he rolled over and stared at her, breathing heavily. He had sand in his hair and eyelashes. Fine grains stuck to his sweaty skin.

“Who’s Hud?” she asked.

He groaned, scrubbing the sand from his face. Then he gave her a cautious look. “He was a member of Team Twelve.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died.”

“Overseas?”

Logan nodded. “Telskuf. Iraq.”

“The same place you got injured.”

His brows rose. “Did I say that?”

“No. I just guessed. Tell me about him.”

He glanced past her, contemplative. “He was funny. We went through BUD/S training together. He’d make everyone laugh, even when it hurt to laugh. No one could beat him at poker. He was a smooth talker.”

She smiled at this description. Logan wasn’t a smooth talker. He was more of a blunt instrument, quiet and brutally efficient. He used as few words as possible to convey meaning. “Do you miss him?”

“Very much,” he said, meeting her gaze.

She didn’t ask any more questions. He seemed reluctant to show emotion, and he was still mourning the loss of his friend. Instead of prodding a sore wound, she fell silent, studying his appearance. The bruise on his forehead had faded from dark purple to sickly green. His eyes were puffy from sleep. His shirt was half-buttoned and filthy. He was beyond rugged; he looked like he’d been on a bender, or in a barroom brawl. Despite his rough edges, she found him handsome and endearing. The fear she’d felt after the kidnapping had faded. Every day they were together, her trust in him grew.

“I brought you a coconut,” she said.

He picked up the coconut and chopped the end off in three quick strikes. They passed it back and forth, sharing the juice. It wasn’t enough to quench her thirst. She tilted the fruit upside down to get the last few drops. He watched her with a hungry expression. She set aside the empty husk, flushing.

“We need to find water.”

She let out a ragged breath. “What about the vines?”

“Those are a finite resource. We should save them for emergencies.”

“This isn’t an emergency?”

He didn’t answer. Apparently, their situation could get worse. They could become gravely ill or sustain serious injuries. Her mind supplied a dozen examples of freak accidents. Broken bones, parasites, snakebite...

“Can you walk?” he asked.

She wiggled her bare feet. They felt fine when she wasn’t putting any pressure on them. The soft sand didn’t bother her as much as rocky terrain. “I’ll try.”

“You can always stay here.”

“No,” she said, stricken. “What if something happens to you?”

“That’s why I’d rather go together. It’s not far.”

She’d heard that lie before. The waterfall he’d pointed out yesterday wasn’t even visible from this beach. There was a vague mountainous shape looming in the distance. They’d have to climb uphill or circle around it. The entire island formed a half-moon, with the summit on one end and this smaller peak on the other.

“Let’s check out the coastline first,” he said. “Water always flows downhill. Maybe there’s a runoff.”

She hoped so, if that meant they wouldn’t have to hike inland. They collected the empty coconuts and headed toward the tide pools. This section of beach was interspersed with slabs of volcanic rock. The perforated surface was sharp on her tender soles, so she stayed on the sand whenever she could.

If Logan felt any pain, he didn’t show it. He searched every nook and cranny of the tide pools for sea creatures. He spotted several crabs, which led him to draw his knife, but they scuttled into hiding places the blade couldn’t reach.

“Tomorrow I’ll make a spear,” he called out to her.

Beyond the tide pools lay another stretch of white sand. She continued across the beach while Logan chased crabs. She caught a glimpse of a blue plastic object, half-buried. It looked like a bucket. When she reached it, she fell to her knees and started digging. The treasure she unearthed was a basic utility bucket. The handle had broken off, but the rest was intact. She rinsed the bucket in the surf and held it up in the air, triumphant.

Logan rejoined her, grinning his approval. “That’s a great find.”

“You think it just washed up?”

“Yeah. There’s a ton of trash in the ocean. I’m surprised there isn’t more here. We must not be near any major currents.”

The beach gave way to a section of rock cliffs that resembled the other side of the island. The sand was wet and flat, as if the tide had just receded. They skirted around the cliffs to a secluded little cove, and found another pleasant surprise. Water rushed down a mossy rock wall and formed a shallow pool in the sand below. It wasn’t the waterfall he’d pointed out from the summit, but a smaller runoff.

Logan ran toward it with an eager whoop. She followed at a slower pace. They stood ankle-deep in the pool of water. Behind the falls lay the mouth of a cave. Water rained over the entrance like an outdoor shower. He made a cup with his hands and filled it. She did the same. The water looked clear and felt wonderfully cool.

He took an experimental sip. “It’s freshwater.”

“Is it safe?”

“I think so. There aren’t any large animals or humans here to contaminate the supply. Even if there were, the water is flowing through volcanic rock and moss, two natural filters. It’s about as safe as you can get.”

That was good enough for her. She brought the water to her lips and drank. It tasted better than the water from the liana vines, which had a gritty, tree-bark flavor. The coconut juice was delicious, but she couldn’t drink it all day. It wasn’t what she wanted to quench her thirst. There was no substitute for freshwater. She could feel it hydrating her entire body. She drank as much as her stomach could hold.

He set the bucket underneath the steady spray. While it filled with water, he ducked into the cave. She went with him. Unlike the bat cave, this one smelled clean. It was spacious, with a high ceiling. The sand beneath her feet was damp, indicating that the waves lapped inside the cavern at high tide.

Logan pointed to sunlight on the opposite end of the tunnel. “I think this goes through to the other side of the island.”

“Great. Let’s get out of here.”

He laughed at her lack of enthusiasm, wiping the moisture from his face. Her dress was wet from the waterfall. So was his shirt. The fabric clung to the muscles in his chest and arms. “We can explore another day.”

She turned around, relieved to leave the dark cavern. On her way out, she almost stepped on something that looked like striped rope. When it moved, she shrieked and jumped backward, into Logan’s arms. He carried her to the mouth of the cave. By the time he put her down, the snake had slithered out of sight.

“What was that?” she asked, still trembling.

“Sea krait.”

“Are they poisonous?”

“They’re venomous, yes, but they rarely bite. Next time you see one, don’t scream and jump around like that. You scared it away.”

She couldn’t believe he was scolding her for letting a snake get away. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to one side. Even from that angle, it didn’t make sense.

“It’s a food source. We need protein.”

She’d eaten some strange delicacies, and she wasn’t squeamish about trying another, but the thought of him messing around with a venomous snake sent her stress levels skyrocketing. “What we need is fire,” she said, her voice sharp. “Not you risking your life for a snake we can’t even cook!”

He flinched as if she’d slapped him. “I’m working on that.”

She nodded an acknowledgment, and he dropped the subject. She hadn’t meant to criticize his efforts; she just didn’t want him to kill any snakes. They were in enough danger without him taking unnecessary risks.

He turned and picked up the bucket, hefting it onto his shoulder. Then he walked back in the direction they’d come. She followed him along the base of the cliffs and across the tide pools. The return trip took about ten minutes. She had to hurry to keep up with him, even though he was carrying an awkward weight.

As soon as they arrived at the beach with the palm trees, he set down the bucket and covered it with a palm frond. Then he disappeared into the jungle for a few minutes. She stayed in the shade, nibbling her lower lip. She could sense his tension. Although she wanted to get along with him, she wasn’t interested in tiptoeing around his ego. She’d done that with Andrew, and he’d walked all over her. It occurred to her, in hindsight, that their relationship had never been equal. She’d been the sous chef at a restaurant his uncle owned. Andrew was the manager. When he left to participate in the reality show, Cady hadn’t been promoted. They’d hired another man to fill the position.

She didn’t expect Logan to defer to her. He was the survival expert, and she was a civilian. He had nerves of steel, and she didn’t. She couldn’t match him in skill or daring, but she could be his partner.

He brought a length of green vine back with him. He cut it into thirds and braided the strips to make one cord. Then he attached it to a bow-shaped stick.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, surprising her. “Come here and put your foot on the base.”

She knelt where he indicated, with one foot planted on a wooden piece to hold it steady. It wasn’t a comfortable pose, and she felt self-conscious about his proximity. She didn’t complain, because she was trying to prove herself. He moved the bowstring back and forth in swift, practiced motions. She could tell the task required a lot of upper body strength. Logan was probably the fittest man she’d ever met, and he struggled with it.

She struggled to keep her foot in place. Her calf muscle ached from holding the position. He was breathing hard, his biceps flexing. She worried his hands would slip and he’d stab her bare foot with the stick, or burn her with a hot coal.

Then the cord snapped.

And she was secretly glad, because she needed a break.

Logan wasn’t glad. He leaped to his feet, cursing with frustration. She glanced at the horizon and noted it was almost sunset. There were no clouds in the sky, and no mosquitos. They wouldn’t die without fire, but she really wanted it. They had eggs and breadfruit to cook, and she was hungry.

She stood and stretched, feeling low.

“I need your straps,” he said suddenly.

Her hand rose to the front of her dress. “My straps?”

“The vine cordage isn’t going to work. I have some rope, but I left it with the raft, and I’ll have to hike back to get it. I don’t want to wait that long. It could rain anytime. We don’t have a shelter or another way to stay warm.”

After a short pause, she nodded her agreement. They needed fire. This was important. If she had to sacrifice a piece of clothing, she would.

She moved closer and turned her back to give him access to the straps. She felt the whisper of the blade as he sliced through the fabric. Then he came around to the front, his expression flat. He cut the straps with brisk efficiency. She clutched the bodice against her chest before it fell away.

After he made a new bowstring, they resumed their efforts. It was difficult to keep her dress in place. The fabric inched down with every little motion. Whenever she let go, it started slipping again.

“Hold still,” he said. “Focus on this.”

She gritted her teeth and left her dress alone. He reminded her of her drill-sergeant grandfather, who’d died barking orders. She pushed aside that dark memory and concentrated on her foot placement. One of her breasts popped out, but she ignored it. So did Logan. He didn’t take his eyes off the tools in his hands. Sweat dotted his forehead.

Finally—finally—the coal formed.

Smoke rose up from the base where her foot was resting. He tossed aside the other tools and gestured for her to move. She did, gladly. He transferred the coal to something that looked like a bird nest. Then he cradled it in his palms and blew gently.

Flames erupted.

She wanted to cheer, or weep, but she was afraid to jinx it. He looked tense, as if the job wasn’t done yet. He placed the bundle of fire in the pit, under a teepee of twigs. When those started burning, he added some sticks. Then branches.

Before long, they had a real fire. He’d made fire.

It was great timing, too. Dusk had fallen. The fire was a reason to celebrate, and far more of a relief than finding this beach, but they both stayed silent. There would be no kissing and rolling around in the sand tonight.

He collapsed on his back, eyes closed tight. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. He was either emotional, or exhausted.

Exhausted. He didn’t get emotional.

She remembered that her breast was out, so she tucked it away. Then she stared at the fire and thought about dinner. She was ravenous, but campfire cooking wasn’t her forte. She hadn’t been camping since she was twelve. They had no pots, pans or utensils.

“I need to boil water,” she said. “The breadfruit can be cooked over an open flame, but the eggs will explode.”

“You can boil water in a coconut husk.”

“How?”

He stayed stretched out on the sand, unmoving. “Put a few small rocks in the fire, and some water in the husk. When the rocks get hot, I’ll transfer them.”

There were a couple of golf ball–sized rocks in the fire ring already, so she tossed them on top of the flames. Filling the coconut husk was trickier. She nestled it in the sand and poured water from the bucket carefully. When that was done, she peeled the breadfruit and sliced it. It was difficult without a flat surface, but she managed. She put the slices in another empty husk. Boiling the breadfruit would taste better than charring it on a stick.

He sat upright, groaning a little. She hoped he hadn’t reinjured himself with that marathon of physical exertion. She felt a surge of guilt over what she’d said earlier. He’d seemed insulted by her comment, and determined to make fire because of it.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

“How’s your knee?”

“It hurts.”

She heard the strain in his voice, and saw it in the lines of his face. If he admitted to feeling pain, it must be agonizing. “I didn’t mean to criticize...about the fire.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The thought of you picking up that snake really freaked me out.”

“I wouldn’t pick it up. I’d just kill it.”

She wasn’t comforted by the distinction. “I’m not brave, like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just an ordinary person.”

“So am I.”

“No, you’re not. An ordinary person doesn’t do combat and water rescue and snake handling.”

“That’s training, not temperament.”

“It’s both.”

He raked the sand from his hair, shrugging.

“I don’t have the temperament for this.”

He made a scoffing sound. “Everyone gets scared in emergency situations.”

“Yes, but some people can stay calm and take action. They’re the rescuers. Others are frozen with terror. I’m that second type.”

“How do you figure?”

She was reluctant to tell the story, but it was the best way to get her point across. “Remember how I said I went camping with my grandpa?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d go with him and my dad on fishing trips and stuff. I was an only child, and I think my dad wanted a boy.”

“I know how that is. I’m an only child, too.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “My mom totally wanted a girl. She took me to all of her Charity League meetings and tea lunches.”

“Did you like it?”

“Hell no. I was a rowdy kid. She made me wear bow ties. I couldn’t even sit still.”

She smiled at the mental picture. He couldn’t sit still as an adult, either. “One year my dad got shot in the line of duty.”

“By who?”

“Some lowlife. Domestic violence call. Anyway, he fully recovered, but he couldn’t go anywhere that summer, so I went with my grandparents. It was an RV trip through the Sierra Nevada.”

“Go on.”

She forced herself to continue. “I was on a hike with my grandpa when we heard someone calling for help. A man had fallen over the edge of a steep cliff. The earth had eroded under his feet, I guess. He was hanging by a branch, but he couldn’t pull himself up. My grandpa yelled at me to stand clear. Then he dropped to his stomach to give the guy a hand.”

Logan’s brow furrowed with concern. “What happened?”

“They both fell. And died.”

“Jesus.”

“I didn’t move. I was paralyzed with fear.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“You were a kid. You couldn’t have done anything.”

“I mean that I didn’t move for hours. I couldn’t bring myself to look down the cliff. Someone came along and found me, and I couldn’t even talk.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“I didn’t help him.”

“He’d have taken you down with him.”

She wasn’t convinced of that, but she’d never know. She hugged her arms around herself, feeling numb.

He poked at the fire with a stick. “Did anyone in your family blame you?”

“No. My parents said they were glad I stood clear. But my cousin called me a coward at the funeral.”

“Well, he was wrong. A coward wouldn’t have kicked the knife away to help me during that fight. A coward wouldn’t have gotten in the raft, or survived the open sea, or swam her heart out in the middle of the night. A coward wouldn’t have hiked through the jungle all day or slept in a bat-infested cave. You don’t have a cowardly bone in your body.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Then why am I so scared?”

“Fear isn’t cowardice. I’m scared, too.”

“You don’t show it.”

He grunted an acknowledgment.

“Is that Navy SEAL training?”

“It’s man training. From birth.”

She smiled at the joke, a little sadly. “If you kill a snake, I’m not cooking it.”

“Fair enough,” he said, smiling back at her.

She didn’t tell him that her biggest fear wasn’t snakes. It was being left alone here. She had no idea what she’d do without him. Temperament aside, she didn’t have the training to survive on her own.

“I’m sorry about your grandpa.”

She took a deep breath. “It was a long time ago.”

“You’re doing great, Cady. We’re going to get through this. The most important aspect of survival isn’t training or temperament. It’s tenacity, remember?”

She nodded, comforted by his words. When the rocks were ready, he moved them out of the fire with two sturdy sticks and dropped them into the water. She added the eggs, her stomach growling.

“How long do you boil them?” he asked.

“Only a few minutes. They’re small. The breadfruit will take longer.”

“You’ll have to put more rocks in the fire. The water won’t stay hot.”

She had to search the beach for a second set of rocks. By the time she returned, the eggs were done. They were about half the size of a chicken egg. She gave him two and kept one for herself.

He popped the first egg into his mouth, shell and all, crunching with relish. She tested her own egg by biting it in half. The shell was thin and nutrient-rich. The egg inside was piping hot and soft. It tasted mildly fishy. It wasn’t yummy, but she’d take it.

The hot-rock method wasn’t an efficient process for cooking breadfruit. She probably took it off the heat too early, because they were both tired of waiting. She’d never tried breadfruit before. It was kind of like zucchini, with a starchy, gummy texture. They both devoured their share because they were starving.

It was the best meal they’d had yet. Her stomach had shrunk over the past few days, so a small amount was enough to satisfy her. It wasn’t enough for Logan. She could tell he was still hungry. He had one of those never-quit metabolisms, along with a never-quit attitude. He needed a ton of calories to maintain his body weight. Two little eggs didn’t put a dent in his protein requirement.

She gave him another banana, figuring it was safe. Then she drank water from an empty coconut shell and watched the stars come out. There were more than she’d ever imagined, spread across a monstrous sky.

“I didn’t get around to building a shelter,” he said. As if he’d been wasting time, lounging.

“It’s okay.”

He’d chopped down some palm fronds earlier, so he spread them out on the sand. She curled up on one side of the fire. He took the other. She was acutely aware of the distance between them. Their heads were almost touching, but nothing else. He didn’t hold her close the way he had last night. Although the fire was warm, she preferred his arms.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Today was a better day than yesterday, and yesterday was better than the day before. We have fire and an excellent water source. Right now we’re just surviving, but we can thrive here. We can have good days.”

She liked his optimism, but she didn’t care about thriving so much as being rescued as soon as possible. Because every day they spent together she felt closer to him—and more afraid of losing him.

Chapter 9

Logan woke with the sun.

He’d dreamed that he was back in Telskuf, searching for Hud. He didn’t know why he was searching. The explosion had left nothing but burning piles of rubble and a huge crater. There was no possibility of survival. No remains to find.

He sat upright, shaking off the remnants of the dream, along with the sand that was always clinging to him. It was in his hair, on his neck, underneath his clothes. It spilled out of the rolled-up cuffs of his pant legs.

The fire was still going. That was a relief, because he hadn’t really taken care of it last night. He’d tossed a thick log onto the pile and slept like the dead. Now the log was ash and embers, with one stubby end intact.

Cady was curled up on her side, facing away from the fire. She had that red veil wrapped around her head to protect her from bugs. The mosquitos didn’t swarm on the beach like they had inland. There were a few, but the smoke kept them away. It didn’t keep away sand flies or crabs or snakes, which was why he needed to build a sleeping platform.

He rolled the log stub into the embers so it would catch. Then he lumbered to his feet and blinked at the sunrise. Just another day in paradise. He walked down the beach, testing his knee. The dull ache was bearable. His stomach rumbled, telling him that the most pressing issue of the moment was food, not shelter.

Last night, after making the fire, he’d been whipped. His hands were sore and his knee had hurt like a son of a bitch, but the real reason he’d stayed off his feet was dizziness. He’d almost passed out. His body had said that’s it. No more. You’re done.

He hadn’t expected his system to shut down like that. He was used to extreme physical challenges and sleep deprivation. He had great stamina. He’d aced every endurance test during BUD/S training. But he’d never gone several days without food and water, after sustaining a head injury. Some ill effects were to be expected under these conditions. He hadn’t told Cady about it because he didn’t want her to worry.

And maybe he didn’t want to admit weakness. Whatever.

He felt better this morning. The eggs had supplied a bit of protein. He was more hydrated and less stressed. Getting fire was a huge weight off his shoulders. He knew he shouldn’t overexert himself again—not until he’d eaten a full meal. Once he had some meat in his belly, he could go all out and make this island his bitch.

He was Logan Nathaniel Starke. He didn’t quit. He didn’t faint. He nodded at the waves. Let’s do this.

When he turned away from the shore, he saw Cady was awake. She had the veil wrapped around her shoulders, as if she felt a chill. He added some wood to the fire. She tugged at the bodice of her dress, which he’d ruined last night. He remembered how the fabric had slipped down, revealing one dusky-tipped breast. Not that he’d looked. He’d been focused on the fire. Still, the vague impression was enough to get his blood pumping.

He gathered the strap from the sand. “I can reattach this.”

She turned around to give him access to the back of her dress. He bored a hole in the fabric with his knife, and tied it with fumbling hands. He had blisters all over his palms, but that wasn’t the reason for his clumsiness. It was her silky skin.

The front of the dress posed an even greater challenge. Her face was there, staring right at him. So were her breasts. He had to slide his battered hand into her bodice while he poked a hole in the fabric. When his knuckles grazed her soft flesh, she inhaled a ragged breath. His gaze met hers, and he felt the same pull as always, drawing him in. Then he stabbed the tip of the knife into the center of his palm.

Cursing, he yanked his hand free.

“Did you cut yourself?”

“It’s fine.”

She grasped his wrist and turned his palm over to examine it. The minor cut was the least of his problems. He had weight-lifting calluses, so his hands were tough, but not tough enough to protect him from the blisters that had formed last night.

Her brow furrowed in concern. “You got these making the fire? They need to be bandaged.”

He agreed to the treatment because he couldn’t afford to get an infection. He gathered a few elephant plant leaves and the broken cordage. Then he sat down and let her tend to him. She cleaned his skin with cool water from the bucket, and applied some soothing aloe vera. He didn’t know where to look while she worked. There was no safe place to put his eyes. Her mouth was lush, her breasts plump against the uneven bodice of her dress. He imagined it slipping down again. The sting of the cut didn’t distract him. Warmth pooled to his groin as she wrapped his hands in folded-up leaves and secured them with cordage.

“All done,” she said in a husky voice.

He muttered thanks and tore his gaze away from her. He added another branch to the fire, even though it didn’t need one. She rose to her feet and filled a coconut shell from the bucket. Instead of drinking it herself, she offered him the cup. He drained it in four or five gulps, grateful for its cooling effect.

When he could stand without embarrassing himself, he ventured into the jungle. His next order of business was making a spear. He needed a sturdy branch with a circumference about the size of his hand grip. Green wood, because it was stronger. After he found a good branch, he started to shape the end with his knife.

She gathered an armful of wood and a bunch of bananas while he worked on the spear. “This is the last of the yellow ones.”

“How many green?”

“Dozens.”

He ate two. Foraging would become more difficult the longer they were here. The mature coconuts wouldn’t last forever. That was why it was so important for him to hunt. He could make a fish basket, and set some traps for birds. He considered the possibilities as he sharpened his spear point. When he was finished, he stood and jabbed the end into the sand. It was a blunt weapon, hastily made, but he had high hopes.

“I have to go hunting,” he said. “Can you stay and take care of the fire?”

“What does it need?”

“Just make sure it doesn’t go out. Add some wood when it gets low.”

“Do we need more wood?”

“Yeah. A lot more.”

“What about stuff for the shelter?” She fingered the palm leaves.

“That can wait until I get back.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. An hour or two.”

She didn’t look happy about staying here without him. She didn’t want to be left behind. After hearing that story about her grandfather, he understood why. He could build up the fire and bring her along, but he’d rather go alone. Hunting required total concentration, and he had trouble focusing around her.

“I’ll be right at the tide pools,” he said. “It’s not far.”

“What if a rescue plane comes while you’re away?”

He glanced at the deserted sky. A rescue plane was unlikely, and human figures were almost impossible to spot from the air. They needed to make a signal fire at a higher location, which was a major undertaking. He wasn’t doing it today. “Do you want to work on an SOS?”

“How?”

“Dark rocks would show up pretty well on this beach.”

“Should I spell SOS?”

“You can do that, or make a triangle. Both are universal distress symbols.”

“A triangle,” she said, moistening her lips. “Right here, by the fire?”

He gathered some stones from the beach and marked three points to get her started. “Don’t bother with the sides. Just make three big piles.”

“Got it.”

Feeling optimistic, he strode toward the tide pools. He was surprised by her willingness to collect wood and help out. She was a beautiful woman, and a city-girl chef. Call him sexist, but he hadn’t expected her to work this hard.

Although his instincts toward her were protective, and he liked to be in charge, he needed to remember she could pull her own weight. She also stayed calmer when she had a task to focus on. Most people did.

When he reached the slabs of volcanic rock, he rolled up his sleeves and went to work. He spotted several tiny hermit crabs, but they scuttled out of range as soon as he stepped closer. Before long, he got distracted by the colorful fish in the shallows. They were everywhere, darting in and out of the coral. Blue ones and orange ones and fluorescent yellow. He aimed his spear at everything that moved, but his bandaged hands felt clumsy. He didn’t hit any targets.

He tried changing his stance to avoid casting a shadow. He tried adjusting his strike to account for the water’s distorting effects. It didn’t work. The fish fluttered around like butterflies, taunting him.

Apparently hunting with a primitive spear wasn’t any easier than making fire. He might have to rethink his weapon. He studied the nearby seabirds, who picked at the rocks and crevices with pencil-thin beaks. They were having a feast.

As the sun soared higher, the glare off the water burned his eyes and baked his face. His bad knee felt like rubber. He hobbled inland to take a break in the shade. The optimistic mood he’d started the day with evaporated. He didn’t want to quit. He was hungry, damn it. But hunting was an exercise in patience, and he had none.

Experience told him his odds would improve with trial and error. He would learn the best techniques for the setting, the optimal conditions. He couldn’t expect success on his first try. The fish weren’t going to jump out of the water for him.

While he leaned against the tree trunk, frustrated with his weakness, he caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision. There was something crawling down the side of the tree, like a giant tarantula. He scrambled forward, his heart racing.

It wasn’t a tarantula. It was a crab. A big-ass, slow-moving crab.

He sank his spear point into a soft place behind the animal’s head. Its legs flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed. Then it went still with death. Logan gaped at it for several seconds. The crab was huge, with vivid blue streaks on its legs and body.

He returned to Cady with a fresh kill on the tip of his spear, triumphant. When she saw him, her eyes lit up with delight. “Oh my God,” she said, her hands on her cheeks. “That’s a coconut crab.”

“Yeah? Do they taste good?”

“Let’s find out.”

She took the crab off the spear, squealing. He built up the fire while she cleaned the meat. He noted that she’d collected wood, and made progress on the triangle symbol. It wasn’t big enough to be seen from the air, but it was a start.

“I’m going to cook this between two rocks,” she said. “Will that work?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

She placed a flat rock in the center of the fire. The crab went on top. Then she covered it with another flat rock. The process was much faster than boiling water in a coconut husk. He started to smell roasted meat immediately. His stomach growled in anticipation.

When the crab was done, she used two sticks to take it off the fire. They sat on the driftwood log, waiting for the meat to cool. Then they pulled the shell apart and feasted on the tender white flesh.

He groaned at the first taste. With no seasoning, no utensils and no pots or pans, she’d created a masterpiece. The rock technique had sealed in the moisture and prevented the meat from getting charred. She’d cooked it perfectly.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think I love you.”

She laughed at the compliment. “It’s good, right?”

He grunted in agreement and savored every morsel, sucking the meat from the crab legs like straws. She did the same, licking her fingers. He wasn’t stuffed when the meat was all gone, but he was satisfied. He’d never enjoyed a meal more.

“Where did you find that crab?”

He told the story, which made her laugh in this beautiful, uninhibited way. Her hair was a mass of ebony curls, her teeth flashing white against her smooth caramel skin. Her laughter might have stung his ego if he hadn’t felt so great about providing for them. He also couldn’t begrudge such a gorgeous sight.

She caught him staring and went quiet. Maybe he shouldn’t have made that joke about being in love with her. Maybe it wasn’t a joke, and he was really starting to feel something he shouldn’t be feeling.

He tore his gaze away, frowning. “I need to, uh, get the shelter started.”

“What can I do?”

Stop being so irresistible. “You can collect palm fronds from the beach. We’re going to need a lot of those.”

While she went in search of loose fronds, he worked on making a handheld axe. He’d found a piece of quartzite yesterday that was about the size of his fist. He used a chunk of granite to strike the quartzite, causing it to flake. It didn’t take long to shape one end into a sharp edge, but it was bloody work. His fingers had multiple cuts when he was finished. His leaf bandages were shredded, and the blisters on his palms were raw.

Cady made him sit down so she could bandage his hands again.

He endured the treatment with impatience. Then he used the axe head to chop down a bunch of bamboo stalks, and some vine for lashing. She helped him carry the building materials back to the beach.

Although his strength and energy had returned to normal levels, time worked against him. By late afternoon, they’d lashed together enough bamboo stalks for a sleeping pallet. He’d formed a simple A-frame over the pallet, and she’d layered palm fronds on top. He wanted to build a platform for the pallet, but that would have to wait. Tomorrow, he’d improve the shelter. Today, they had a floor and a roof.

Good thing, because it started to rain.

He covered the wood pile and made sure the fire was well protected before they crawled inside the space. It was just long enough for his body, and wide enough for her to lie next to him. The bamboo didn’t make a comfortable mattress, but it felt nice to stretch out on his back. His muscles ached from overuse. He stared at the palm frond ceiling and listened to the soft rain. They stayed dry, for the most part.

They didn’t stay warm. The heat of the fire didn’t reach the shelter. He thought about ways to fix that. After he built a platform, he could make a pit for hot rocks, like a sauna. A better roof would help seal out moisture. He needed some moss or another soft material for padding and to hold in warmth.

Cady shivered beside him. Her smaller frame was more susceptible to cold.

“Do you want my shirt?”

She blinked at him in the dark, seeming hesitant. His shirt probably smelled bad. He shrugged out of the fabric anyway and draped it over her like a blanket. She curled up in the crook of his arm. He could feel her smooth cheek against his pectoral muscle. Her soft hair tickled his biceps.

Getting close to her had a predictable effect. His body didn’t care about the hard bamboo flooring or the intermittent raindrops that seeped through the roof. It wanted to generate some heat and get back into action.

He was used to going without sex during overseas assignments, but that was different. The members of his SEAL team offered no temptations. Cuddling with a beautiful woman—one that he’d felt an instant connection to, along with an attraction beyond anything he’d ever experienced—was a special kind of torture.

“How did you get into cooking?” he asked, desperate for a distraction.

“My mom taught me. And my grandmother.”

“The grandmother with the drill sergeant husband?”

“No. That’s my dad’s side of the family. My mom’s mom lives in Texas. I didn’t get to see her as often growing up. Just on holidays and stuff. Special times of the year. She was always in the kitchen.”

“What kind of food?”

“Soul food. Creole. Some Southwest stuff, too. Gumbo, chili, seafood...”

His stomach growled with interest.

“Are you hungry again?” she asked, sounding amused.

“I could eat.”

“My grandmamma would like you.”

“Did you always want to be a chef?”

She rolled onto her back and rested her head against his arm. “I wanted to be a dancer, actually. I was in competitive dance for years.”

“What happened?”

“I broke my ankle. I was practicing a leap near the edge of the stage and fell off. It healed, but I started dancing again too soon. Then I broke it a second time, and it was never the same after that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said in a light tone. “Professional dancing is kind of a risky career choice, anyway.”

“And you always play it safe.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t find that odd, considering her background. She’d lost her grandfather in a tragic accident, and her father had been shot on duty. There was nothing wrong with being cautious, but it wasn’t his style. Risks were inevitable in his line of work. They were part of who he was. No pain, no gain.

He wondered if she felt sad about giving up her childhood dream. She was a great chef. Cooking was another form of creative expression, and hardly a bad gig. She didn’t seem bitter about her chosen path.

“It’s funny,” she said. “I always play it safe, but here I am. In the least safe situation imaginable.”

“I can imagine worse,” he said, flexing his left hand. It was falling asleep. “I’ve seen worse.”

She lifted her head so he could move his arm. “In war zones, you mean?”

He nodded.

“What’s the worst place you’ve been?”

“Syria.”

She was quiet for a moment. “What if we don’t get rescued?”

He didn’t want to talk about Syria, but this subject wasn’t any better. “Then we’ll find a way to leave.”

“How?”

“I’ll repair the raft.”

“It’s shredded.”

“There’s a patch kit. I can fix it.”

“You want to brave the open ocean in a patched-up raft?”

“If we don’t get rescued, it might be our only option.”

“I won’t do it,” she said, her voice shaky. “I’d rather stay here than get lost at sea again. I’d rather die.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

He sat upright, incensed. He was trying to answer her questions honestly, and doing his damnedest to keep them both alive. Her words were an insult to everything he believed in. They were an insult to his dead comrades. “Don’t ever say you’d rather die.”

“You don’t understand how I feel.”

“Sure I do. You’re miserable. You miss your family and the comforts of home. I get it. You think this is easy for me?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I think this is an exciting challenge for you.”

He lay back down and took a deep breath, considering her point of view. He wasn’t as rattled as she was. He thrived in dangerous situations. He had confidence in his skills, and the ability to adapt to extreme circumstances. This was an exciting challenge for him, but that didn’t mean he was enjoying himself. “Let’s focus on getting rescued. We’ve only been here three days. It’s way too early to give up.”

“You said they might not even be looking for us.”

“We don’t have to count on an organized rescue effort. Some random person could pass by in a boat or a plane.” He told her about his idea for a signal fire. “Smoke from a high point can be seen for miles. We can build up the triangle. I also want to repair the raft, regardless. Having that kind of mobility is always an asset.”

“You think someone will pass by?”

“Maybe.”

“What about the kidnappers?”

“What about them?”

“Are they looking for us?”

“I hope so.”

She frowned at him in the dark. “Why?”

“Because they have a better chance of finding us than a rescue team. If they spot our signal, they’ll come ashore. And I’ll be ready.”

“You mean you’ll kill them.”

With relish, he thought. “If I have to,” he said.

“Then we’ll steal their boat?”

“Yes.”

Although she didn’t object to this plan, he could sense her unease. He could hear it in her rapid breathing. He knew she was afraid, and he didn’t want her involved in any violence. If the kidnappers showed up, he’d hide her somewhere safe.

“Look, we’re talking hypotheticals,” he said. “The possibility of a second attack is low. It’s more likely that a random plane or ship will pass by.”

The conversation trailed off and the rain dissipated. She was stiff as a board beside him. He remembered how distraught she’d been the last time they’d tangled with the pirates. He regretted stirring up her fears, but she’d insisted on this discussion. She’d asked him to be honest with her about the dangers they faced.

He also wanted her to be prepared. He needed her to fight, even if she was scared. Because that was the key to survival.

Chapter 10

Cady didn’t sleep well in the new shelter.

Although they were protected from the worst of the rain, the bamboo pallet needed padding. She had to lie on her back on the hard surface, which was her least favorite position. Moisture seeped inside, dripping from the palm fronds and creating a damp chill she couldn’t shake. She fretted half the night about Logan’s gonzo plan to kill pirates. Then she drifted off in the wee hours of the morning.

The next thing she knew, it was sunrise. Logan was already up, of course.

She emerged from the shelter with a stiff body, but a calmer mind. She had to stop worrying about worst-case scenarios. That was a bad survival strategy, according to Logan, and it was mentally exhausting. She also couldn’t prevent him from taking risks. She had to accept the situation, focus on simple tasks and live for today.

That was her plan, anyway. If she didn’t succeed, she’d try again tomorrow.

She did some yoga stretches and drank water from a coconut shell. She wondered if she’d be wearing them as a bra soon, complete with a hula skirt. Her dress was in shambles. The reattached strap kept slipping off. She tied back her hair, splashed her face with water and brushed her teeth with a twig.

They ate bananas for breakfast. She thought about other dishes she could make with the ingredients available. He started working on the shelter while she collected wood for the fire. Her feet felt better. The swelling was down and the cuts had scabbed over.

During her search for wood, she stumbled upon another treasure. A turtle shell had washed up on the shore overnight. It was oblong, about the size of a large serving bowl, and super tough. She picked it up and raced back to the shelter.

“Look what I found,” she said.

He was sitting on the driftwood log by the fire, making an axe handle. His hand axe wouldn’t chop down a tree big enough for the platform he was trying to build. He glanced up. “You can cook in that.”

“Right on the fire?”

“I think so. Boil some seawater in it first.”

She made a sound of excitement and set the prize by the fire pit. As she went back for the wood, she realized she’d squealed in delight over the prospect of cooking in a turtle shell. Who was she right now? She didn’t even recognize this person.

They spent the morning working on separate projects. While she boiled the turtle shell and scrubbed it with a pumice stone, he made improvements to the shelter. They had coconuts for lunch. Then he asked for her help to raise the roof onto the platform. There was a lot of cursing and adjusting and heavy lifting.

By early afternoon, she was covered in sweat and dusted in a fine coat of sand. She felt satisfied with their accomplishments. She tried not to wish for a shower and clean clothes, but she was only human. She was a woman who enjoyed looking presentable. They shared the last of the water, eyeing each other.

“Need a break?” he asked.

“I need a bath.”

“I need one more,” he said in a gruff voice.

She smiled her agreement. Between the two of them, he was sweatier and dirtier. They went to the waterfall to refill the bucket. She wanted to strip off her dress and stand under the cool spray.

He had another idea: “Let’s walk through the cave.”

She didn’t want to explore the dark interior, but she nodded, because she was curious about the other side. The cave was spacious, with water dripping from the cathedral-like ceiling. At high tide, the floor was completely submerged in water. As they moved away from the entrance, the light faded. She followed close behind Logan, taking careful steps. She couldn’t see anything. She imagined sea kraits twining around her ankles. When her bare toe grazed a slippery object, she almost jumped out of her skin.

“What was that?”

“That was my foot. You stepped on it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Do you want me to carry you?”

She shook her head and urged him forward, gripping the crook of his arm. The water level rose above her knees. Then it dipped again, and they were on dry sand.

Beyond the cave’s exit, which was obscured in vines, there was another little cove with a secluded stretch of sand. It was similar to the beach they’d slept on the first night, surrounded by rock cliffs and largely inaccessible.

Logan studied the cliffs with interest. “We can get to that other waterfall from here. Maybe I can find some more eggs, or another breadfruit tree.”

She followed his gaze, considering. She wasn’t eager to hike again, but she wouldn’t mind foraging for food. She was a chef, and he was hungry. They both were. His instincts were to protect her, and hers were to feed him.

He walked around a boulder in the middle of the beach to gain a better vantage point. “Whoa!”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Buried treasure.”

It was a sand-colored plastic storage trunk, about four feet long, half-submerged in the sand next to the boulder. Logan dropped to his knees and tried to pry the lid open with his knife. It was locked, and wouldn’t budge.

“Did someone leave it here?”

“It probably fell off a boat and floated here.”

After about ten minutes, he managed to pick the lock. The lid sprang open, revealing a treasure trove of waterlogged supplies. There was a large canvas umbrella, two full-size deck cushions, two beach towels, two life vests, a kayak paddle, a diving snorkel with a mask and a yellow rain jacket.

“This is a huge score,” he said, holding up the mask.

She helped him remove the deck cushions. They’d make perfect sleeping pads as soon as they dried in the sun. He swished his hand through the water in the bottom of the trunk and fished out a pink nylon bag. After a cursory glance, he handed it to her.

She gasped as she examined the contents. One pair of black bikini bottoms, size medium, with adjustable strings at the hips. One oversize T-shirt, white with a pink flamingo. One empty water container. One bottle of sunscreen, SPF 50.

Every item was like a precious diamond. She hugged the bikini bottoms to her chest, blinking away tears. There was no top, but she didn’t care. She’d have paid a thousand dollars for a pair of fresh panties. Half a bikini was a godsend.

“I told you we’d have good days here,” he said softly.

She nodded her agreement, sniffling. If someone had told her a week ago that she’d be weeping with joy over a bag of hand-me-downs, she wouldn’t have believed them. A week ago, she couldn’t have imagined feeling this way about anything.

Or anyone.

She wouldn’t have survived without Logan. He’d been her rock from day one. He’d stayed positive during their days at sea, and he’d pushed her beyond her physical limits on land. She hadn’t realized she was strong enough to keep pace with a Navy SEAL.

She hung up the wet towels and clothes to dry in the sun. “How far do you think that trunk drifted?”

“Not far,” he said. “I’m surprised it didn’t sink as soon as it went overboard. Maybe it came off a boat that was anchored nearby. Maybe it drifted a few miles. Either way, it hasn’t been here long. There’s hardly any deterioration.”

The words were music to her ears. Human beings had been near this island before. Surely someone else would cruise by, and they’d get rescued. She hopped up and did a series of leaps on the beach, flying across the sand. Then she turned to face him. He was watching her with quiet awe. Her chest rose and fell with labored breaths.

It was too late to worry about getting attached to him. It had already happened. She’d turned over a new leaf today, and set aside her fears about the future. Maybe something else had shifted inside her, as well. When he looked at her like that, her heart skipped a beat, and she stopped thinking about getting rescued. She started thinking about making the most of their time together.

Was it really so bad, being stranded with a smoking-hot survival expert who made her pulse race with excitement? The real world was a difficult place, full of stress and strife. This island was a remote paradise, ripe with possibility. She’d never felt more alive than she did right now, right here, with him.

“I haven’t done that in years,” she said.

“You don’t look rusty.”

She laughed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She felt rusty and out of shape, but he didn’t know any better. He stared at her for another few seconds, his face taut. Then he started walking toward the cliff. She grabbed the nylon bag and followed him. It was an easy climb, and a short hike into the jungle interior, but the heat under the canopy was sweltering. She’d forgotten how humid the air was here, compared to the pleasant breeze at the coast.

On the way there she found a taro plant, which had edible roots, like yams. They dug up several and tucked them into her bag. In the same area, there was a tree with lime-sized fruits. Logan plucked one and chopped it open. Several smooth brown nuts were nestled inside the fleshy white pulp.

“These are chestnuts,” she said.

“Safe to eat?”

“Yes, but you have to roast them first.”

They collected as many as they could carry, tucking them into her new bag. They’d have roasted chestnuts and taro for dinner tonight. It wasn’t coconut crab, but the meal would suffice. She was glad they’d explored this side of the island.

As they got closer to the waterfall, the jungle teemed with life. Logan had to draw his knife to slash through a thick section of foliage. Over the buzz of insects and birdsong, she heard the telltale sound of rushing water. He cut away a tangle of vines, his forearms flexing. Then they reached a clearing.

It was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen. A twenty-foot high waterfall tumbled into a sky-blue pool. Rocks lined the shore. Mossy cliffs framed the falls on both sides. She dropped her bag and stood at the water’s edge, speechless.

Logan didn’t hesitate. He peeled off his shirt, dropped his pants and waded in. Although he’d lost weight in the past week, he hadn’t lost muscle. Every ridge and angle was sharply defined. His shoulders looked wider, his biceps harder. He dove under the water and came back up, sweeping a hand over his hair. Although she’d seen him shirtless on a daily basis, she still drew in a ragged breath at the sight of his wet torso.

“Are you coming in?” he asked, seeming puzzled.

“My dress,” she stammered.

“Take it off. I won’t look.”

After he turned around, she pulled the dress over her head quickly. She kept her panties on and held one arm across her breasts, tiptoeing forward. He didn’t look, not even when she submerged her entire body with a soft splash. He kept his back to her and swam toward the waterfall to drink from it.

She stayed near the middle of the pool, reveling in sensation. The water was wonderfully cool and refreshing. It felt like heaven against her overheated, moisture-deprived skin. After days of harsh sun and saltwater residue, it was practically a spa treatment. She dipped her head under the surface to soak her tangled hair.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression guarded. “Drink from the waterfall, not the pool.”

She nodded, venturing into deeper water. She couldn’t touch the bottom in some places. When he retreated from the falls, she swam forward to drink. The cascade made a sleek curtain of water to duck into. She stuck her head under the stream, rinsing her hair of sand and debris. He floated on his back, eyes closed.

He wasn’t watching, so she removed her panties under the water. She wanted to burn them. Instead she scrubbed the lacy fabric and tossed the wet bundle on the shore. Those panties were well suited for a hot island night, but completely inappropriate for hot island days. They’d been giving her a nonstop wedgie.

With a sigh of relief, she washed from head to toe. She felt like a new woman, squeaky-clean and free of constrictive clothing. Too free, perhaps. She was acutely aware of her nudity, and of Logan’s proximity. The fact that he wasn’t steady-boyfriend material didn’t matter anymore. They’d survived together, against all odds. Her body had decided that it wanted to celebrate life. She wanted to float on her back, like he was. She wanted to expose her breasts to the sunlight. And to him.

He turned toward her, as if he could sense her desire. She straightened in the water, lifting her wet hair off her neck. Her nipples flirted with the surface. His eyes darkened at the subtle invitation.

But the only move he made was to wade out of the water, grab his shirt and start scrubbing it against a rock. She enjoyed the play of muscles in his shoulders and the cling of his boxer shorts against his taut backside. He washed his shirt with vigor, his jaw clenched. Then he rinsed the fabric and wrung it out, biceps bulging.

Lord have mercy.

“We should go,” he said in a curt tone.

She blinked the stars from her eyes, with some difficulty. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to climb him like a tree.

He put on his pants, giving her an impatient look. “Are you ready? I’ll turn around.”

Her stomach clenched with disappointment. He wasn’t interested. She didn’t think he’d missed her signals. He wasn’t that clueless. She also didn’t think she’d misread him, an hour ago. He’d stared at her like he wanted to rip her clothes off and take her on the sand. Now that she was naked, he turned his back.

She waded toward the shore, stunned. She wasn’t a vain woman, and she didn’t consider herself irresistible, but she’d never been rejected before. When she offered a man her goodies, she expected him to jump on it.

To her chagrin, tears flooded her eyes. She felt vulnerable and exposed. She was trembling with embarrassment as she rose from the water. She chose her footing carefully on the slippery rocks along the bank. As she bent to pick up her panties, a centipede scuttled across the fabric. She hopped back and let out a little shriek of surprise.

He looked over his shoulder. “What...”

The question trailed off as he got a full frontal view. Before she could cover herself, he jerked his head the other direction. She donned the damp panties, flustered. Then she slipped into her stained, wilted dress.

“You did that on purpose,” he said.

“Did what?”

He turned to face her, his neck flushed. “You know I want you,” he said through clenched teeth. “You know you have a beautiful body, and I was already aching for a taste of it. Now I have to deal with that mental picture every time I close my eyes?”

She gaped at him in disbelief. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You think I planted a centipede to flash you? You’ve lost your damned mind.”

“You didn’t have to scream.”

“Screw you,” she said, still shaking.

He threw his hands out, frustrated. “I can’t!”

She didn’t ask him why not, though the question was on the tip of her tongue.

He tucked his knife into his belt and picked up the nylon bag. After a few deep breaths, he seemed to collect himself. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m on active duty. We aren’t two survivors who just happened to get stranded together. I’m a SEAL, and you’re a civilian. You were kidnapped because you were mistaken for my client. I have to treat you the same way I’d have treated Maya O’Brien.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It’s reality. I take my professional responsibilities very seriously.”

“But you’re not my bodyguard! I didn’t hire you.”

“I have ethical obligations, regardless. I took an oath to assist my country and its citizens in the event of an international emergency or terrorist attack. There’s a strict code of conduct on the clock and off. I can’t touch you.”

“You already have,” she said, remembering the kiss on the beach. He’d called a halt to that encounter, but he’d also started it.

He dragged a hand down his jaw, unable to dispute her.

“Look, it’s cool. I get what you’re saying. You don’t want to take advantage of the situation, because we’re not partners. We’re not equals. You’re a big-shot SEAL, and I’m a helpless baby bunny.”

“That’s not at all what I said.”

She held her palm up to halt any further explanation. “I appreciate you being on the level. Now I know where we’re at.”

“You’re twisting my words around.”

“And you accused me of screaming for attention.”

Instead of getting more defensive, he gave in, conceding her point. “That was out of line. I’m sorry.”

She accepted his apology with a stiff nod. He tossed his wet shirt over his shoulder and picked up the nylon bag. Apparently the conversation was over. They walked away from the waterfall in silence. Now she understood why he’d been keeping his distance, but she didn’t feel any better. She didn’t want him any less. They were stuck here in this wild place, and they couldn’t even do what felt natural.

When they got back to the beach with the storage chest, he handed her the bag of taro and chestnuts. The cushions were still a little damp, but the towels and clothing were dry. He carried most of their new gear through the cave and back to the shelter. Then he picked up his spear and headed to the tide pools.

While he was gone, she roasted the chestnuts and boiled the taro root. The turtle shell worked like a charm. He returned from the hunt empty-handed, which didn’t surprise her. If he thought they were going to feast on crab and lobster every night, he was going to have to manage his expectations better.

After dinner, she ducked behind a tree to change her clothes. The T-shirt was soft and cozy. It covered her from neck to midthigh. The bikini bottoms weren’t quite the right size, so she adjusted the string at each hip.

They sat in front of the fire for at least an hour. She watched the flames flicker. He worked on another spear, his head bent low. Then it was time to turn in. He placed the deck cushions on top of the bamboo pallet. The life jackets doubled as pillows. She crawled in next to him with a towel for a blanket.

The shelter was warmer and more comfortable, but sleep was as elusive as ever. She’d overreacted earlier. She’d asked him to be honest with her, and he had been. He’d said he was aching for a taste of her.

How was she supposed to ignore the heat between them, knowing that? They shared a sleeping pallet. She couldn’t avoid his company, or turn off her desire. She also couldn’t deny her feelings for him. They were depending on each other to survive. He’d been caring and supportive. She’d opened up to him about her grandfather. Their connection went deeper than physical attraction, and that made him even harder to resist.

He shifted beside her, equally restless. “I do think of you as a partner,” he said. “You’re not helpless. I value your contributions.”

“I know. I was just mad.”

They were both silent for another moment.

“I didn’t scream on purpose,” she said.

“I know. I was just...stupid.”

She smiled at this apt descriptor.

“I meant what I said about treating you with respect and acting like a professional. But it’s more than that. I feel like I let you down.”

“How?”

“I let you get kidnapped.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” she said, speaking from experience. She’d blamed herself for her grandfather’s death for fifteen years. It was the nature of witnessing an accident you couldn’t stop.

“It’s my job to protect you.”

She sighed, but didn’t argue.

“Also, I don’t have any condoms.”

This practical concern gave her pause. She hadn’t even thought about it at the waterfall, and she’d always insisted on safe sex.

“You’re not...on anything?”

“No.”

He let out a pent-up breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You went to the bar without any condoms?”

“I wasn’t planning to meet anyone. Then I saw you.”

“What were you going to do when we got back to your cabin?”

“I was praying I had one in my luggage. I couldn’t remember what I’d packed.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I thought you’d be prepared.”

“In my defense, it was supposed to be a work trip.”

They smiled at each other in the dark. Her heart twisted inside her chest. She reached out to hold his hand. He took it, twining his fingers with hers. They couldn’t act on their desires, but they didn’t have to be at odds. They could still be friends, and partners.

“You didn’t let me down,” she said. “You’re the reason we’re alive right now.”

“You’re the reason we’re not starving.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

Chapter 11

He slept later than usual and woke up groggy.

For the first time in a week, or however long they’d been stuck together, he wasn’t eager to rise and shine. The shelter was downright cozy with the new cushions. Cady was cuddled next to him, her hair a fluffy cloud of dark curls. He was warm, but he wasn’t comfortable. His knee ached from overuse, and he had a raging hard-on.

A vivid mental picture of her naked body sprang into his mind. He’d seen everything. Every inch of her, sleek and supple and dripping wet. Her perfect tits, topped with ripe brown nipples. Her flat belly and gently curved hips. The sweet little triangle between her thighs. He hadn’t lied when he said he was dying for a taste of her. Maybe he was just hungry, in general, but she looked delicious.

Smothering a groan, he got up and climbed out of the shelter. He studied his ravaged hands in the harsh daylight. Even if he had the privacy to take care of his own needs, there would be no physical release for him until his palms healed. These blistered, cut-up mitts would feel like sandpaper.

She emerged from the shelter, stretching her arms over her head. She was wearing that soft T-shirt, with the new bikini bottoms. Both garments flattered her curves. She joined him by the smoldering ashes, yawning. When she walked away, his eyes followed her ass. She bent over the water bucket to fill a coconut shell cup.

He returned his attention to the fire, poking it with a stick. He didn’t think she was trying to tease him. It was just that they’d spent every moment together since the kidnapping. They’d become comfortable with each other. She wasn’t self-conscious about her body, and she often seemed unaware of his gaze.

The chemistry was still there, of course. She’d proved that yesterday.

He hadn’t expected her to issue such a blatant invitation. He’d thought sex was off the table for the duration of this adventure. When she’d given him that come-hither look, her breasts half-exposed, he’d almost swallowed his tongue.

It had been so hard to turn his back. So hard.

They had bananas for breakfast, as usual. He only ate two. He didn’t want bananas. He wanted something else, and he wasn’t going to get it.

“What’s on the schedule for today?” she asked.

His mind swam with pornographic images. He blinked them away. “I want to finish the spear I started last night, and try out that snorkel. We should build up this triangle. I also need to scout a location for a signal fire.”

“Where would you make it?”

He glanced around, considering. “A high point is ideal, but it also has to be accessible. If it takes too long to get there, I can’t light it in time to signal anyone.”

“Maybe we should conserve energy.”

It wasn’t a bad suggestion, considering how little protein they’d had. “We need to eat before we do anything else.”

“How are your hands?”

He made a noncommittal sound. They were worse, not better, but the spear he was working on required dexterity. The bandages got in the way, and kept his hands moist. He preferred going without.

She wandered off to gather wood and look for washed-up treasures on the beach while he finished his spear point. She added some rocks to her SOS triangle. He kept his head down, determined not to stare at her.

“Can I borrow your knife?” she asked.

“For what?”

“I want to make a top out of this.” She held up a narrow strip of torn canvas from the umbrella.

Instead of giving her his knife, he cut two holes in the material, where she wanted them. Then he sharpened two sticks and attached them to his spear point, forming a trident. This type of spear was a lighter, more agile tool. He stabbed it into the sand a few times to test its strength. When he was confident in its durability, he looked for Cady again. She was wearing her bikini briefs, with the canvas band across her breasts. She’d used her dress strap to secure it at the middle of her back. Her hair was neatly braided, tied with vine cordage.

He studied her with guarded eyes. She was adapting to their environment, even embracing it. She was a fighter, not a bystander. He admired that. He’d meant what he said about valuing her contributions. Having an equal partner took some of the pressure off, but it didn’t reduce the sexual tension. He couldn’t unsee her wet, naked body.

“I’m going to the tide pools,” he said.

“Can I come with you?”

He shrugged, even though he’d rather be alone. Before they left, she grabbed the nylon bag and put a few things inside it. He brought the snorkel and both spears. If he didn’t catch anything, he’d have to adjust his strategy. Maybe he’d make some basket traps. That meant putting off his other projects, because providing food was the top priority.

He was hungry. Always hungry. The gnawing emptiness had become his constant companion, along with unfulfilled desire.

As soon as they reached the tide pools, he stripped down to his boxers. They rode low on his hips. He’d probably dropped a full pants size. He was leaner than he’d been in years. Life on this island had robbed him of everything but muscle and bone.

Her hands met his shoulders, spreading cream on his skin. “You need sunscreen. You’re already burnt.”

Although her touch discomfited him, he allowed it. When she came around the front to put sunscreen on his face, he clenched his jaw in irritation. It was awkward as hell, being treated like a little boy while fighting a very adult male reaction. He jerked away before she was finished and picked up his trident.

He was being rude, but he needed space. He strode toward the water, taking ragged breaths. He couldn’t stop fantasizing about those soft hands on his erection, stroking up and down. She was too familiar with him, too physical. Although he understood the basic desire for human contact, he felt like a pressure keg. If she wanted to touch someone, she was going to have to touch herself.

This idea gave him pause. He glanced over his shoulder, his blood thickening. She was sitting in the shade underneath a palm tree. Maybe she was going to slip her hand between her thighs right now, while he was busy.

Damn. He’d give his left nut to see that.

But he wasn’t going to see it. He was going to drive himself crazy thinking about it. Frustration coursed through him in waves. Making a snarling sound, he turned around and walked toward her.

She scrambled to her feet. “Do you need me?”

He nodded, gesturing for her to join him. “Bring the other spear. I might want it, and I can’t hold them both.”

If he wasn’t getting off, she wasn’t either. End of story.

She grabbed the spear and hustled to catch up with him. She was so eager to help that he felt petty for making her tag along. He couldn’t prevent her from pleasuring herself. He shouldn’t even want to. If she took care of her own needs, she might stop looking at him with those sultry eyes.

They explored the tide pools together, side by side. She chose her footing over the sharp rocks carefully. The isolated puddles near the shore offered nothing of interest.

“Why are the pools empty?” she asked.

“Birds got here first.”

“So we need to come at dawn?”

“I don’t know. There might be other sea creatures at night. Rays, octopus. Anything that can move in shallow water.”

“I like octopus.”

“Yeah? I’ve never had it.”

“It’s good. Let’s get one.”

He grunted his agreement, but they didn’t find an octopus lurking in the shallows. They waded into knee-deep water, where it was more difficult to use a spear with accuracy. There were plenty of tropical fish, bright-colored and elusive.

“Look,” she said, pointing out an orange one. “It’s Nemo.”

“Can we eat it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen clown fish on a menu.”

When he aimed his spear, the fish flitted away. He ventured farther out, donning the snorkel and mask. Cady swam alongside him, making ineffectual stabs at the reef. Her strategy stirred debris into the water, reducing visibility.

He didn’t know if failing with her was better or worse than failing alone. He probably shouldn’t have brought her along. She had no idea what she was doing, and he didn’t have the patience to teach her.

She grabbed his arm, excited. “There’s a giant clam.”

“Where?” he said around his mouthpiece.

“That blue ruffled thing.”

He adjusted his snorkel and peered down at the ocean floor. There was a clam about the size of a basketball. It looked like a pretty rock, with bright blue accents. He spat out the mouthpiece and shoved the mask up his forehead. “Should I get it?”

“How?”

“I’ll carry it in.”

“It’s too big.”

He scoffed at this and handed her his trident. “Watch the master.”

The master dove underwater and attempted to lift the clam. It was about ten feet below the surface, nestled in the reef. He couldn’t get a good grip on it. He ran out of breath and came up empty-handed.

“Give me the spear,” he panted.

She passed him the one she’d been using, the original. He returned to pry the clam loose. It wasn’t easy. After about a dozen turns from the sea floor to the surface, the stubborn shell broke free. He handed her the spear and dove under to claim his treasure.

Unfortunately, the clam was heavier than it looked. He tried rolling it along the ocean floor, but his progress was slow. The strain wore him down. He started getting light-headed, so he floated upward for more air.

Just before he surfaced, he spotted some dark shapes in the distance. He sucked in a breath and ducked under for a second look.

Sharks.

There were three or four of them, not more than twenty feet away. They were blacktip reef sharks, probably not aggressive, and too small to be deadly. Even so, he needed to get Cady out of the water now. If she started screaming and thrashing around, they might come over to investigate.

He ripped off the mask and snorkel. “You were right. It’s too heavy.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Nah. I’m tired.”

She frowned at this uncharacteristic statement. “Really?”

“It’s not going anywhere,” he said, urging her along. “We’ll get it later.”

She swam with him toward the shallow water and waded to the shore. He kept her moving, his hand on her elbow. Maybe his grip was too tight, because she pulled her arm free as soon as they reached the sand.

“What’s your problem?”

He glanced across the reef, reluctant to give a reason for rushing her.

“You saw a shark, didn’t you?”

“It was a small one.”

“A small one,” she said in a shrill voice, scanning the water. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“You said you were tired.”

“I was getting there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“I thought you might...get loud.”

“Get loud?”

“You scream a lot.”

Her eyes narrowed at the charge. He thought she was going to argue, but she shoved his spear at him and stormed away. He watched her stomp across the beach, leaving footprints on the sand. Water dripped from her hair onto her bare shoulders. He admired the sway of her hips and her curvy backside.

He dragged a hand down his face, wishing she’d stayed to yell at him. Maybe if she slapped him across the face, he could retaliate by crushing his mouth over hers. Then they’d make out in the surf and roll around naked.

That was a nice fantasy. In reality, he was standing on the beach alone. He couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t even touch himself. This had to be an all-time low. He shook his head, laughing. It was either laugh or cry.

Instead of following her back to the shelter, he stayed at the tide pools. They both needed space. They were practically on top of each other every hour of the day, and not in a fun way. He was already wet, and he was hungry. He might as well keep trying. He left his snorkel behind and cruised the shoreline.

Hunting required patience and stillness. He couldn’t expect to spear a fish every five minutes. Crouching behind a boulder in the shallows, he waited.

He needed some rope to get that big clam. That would be tomorrow’s project. He’d retrieve the rope from the other side of the island. Harvesting the clam would give them meat for days, and some extra to use as bait. They’d have energy. He could make traps, build the signal fire, repair the raft...

While he was planning the next few days, he caught a glimpse of movement in the water. Something that looked like an algae-covered rock had flitted into his range. He jumped out of his crouched position and stabbed downward in one smooth thrust.

Got it.

He lifted the trident carefully. A creature flapped at the end, impaled by all three prongs. It was a mottled brown fish with ruffled fins and bug eyes, about the size of a softball. As he carried it toward the sand, its color changed to dark orange.

“Caught you, you ugly little bastard.”

The fish stopped twitching. Logan let out a victory whoop, holding his spear high overhead. He hadn’t felt this triumphant since he’d made fire.

Hell yeah.

He’d speared a fish, right out of the water. If he could do it once, he could do it again. This was a major turning point. He had a meal on a stick, and several more guaranteed by that giant crab. In the space of a single morning, they’d gone from struggling to surviving, maybe even thriving. Things were looking up.

He collected his other spear and strode away from the tide pools. When he reached the beach, Cady was sitting outside the shelter with a stack of palm fronds. She stood, letting the leaves fall off her lap.

“Check it out,” he said, proud of his kill.

She didn’t react the way he expected. Instead of celebrating, she clapped a hand over her mouth with a strangled scream.

“It’s a fish,” he said, because she didn’t seem to recognize his accomplishment. He reached up to take it off the stick.

“Don’t touch it!”

His hand froze.

“That’s a stonefish,” she said, flapping her hands. “It’s deadly.”

Her words raised a vague warning flag in his mind. He examined the unsightly orange lump, with its round belly and bumpy scales. Had he learned about stonefish in one of his survival classes? He couldn’t remember.

She held a palm to her stomach, as if she felt sick. “They have barbs that release poison if you disturb them. Serious poison.”

Logan arched a brow. “Can we eat it?”

“Yes, but you’re missing the point. It could’ve killed you.”

“Well, it didn’t, so let’s have it for lunch.”

She frowned at his cavalier attitude. “Do you remember our conversation about the sea krait?”

“This isn’t a sea krait.”

“It’s worse than a sea krait!”

“I didn’t even know it was poisonous, Cady.”

“Would you have left it alone if you had?”

He shrugged, feeling surly. “No.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I told you about my grandfather for a reason. I don’t want you to risk your life like he did.”

His gut clenched at the sight of her distress. He hadn’t meant to make her cry, but he also wasn’t sorry he’d caught the fish. He didn’t care how poisonous it was, as long as it was edible. His stomach rumbled with hunger.

“Give it to me,” she said. “I’ll cook it.”

He held it out of her range. “I’d rather handle it myself, if it’s deadly.”

“Oh, you want to handle it yourself? Because it bothers you when I do something dangerous?”

He paused, trapped by this bit of logic. She was right about his risk-taking nature, and his discomfort with turning the tables. Although he didn’t want to surrender control of the spear, he let her have it. She knew how to clean the fish safely. He had to trust her with the task. He watched her do it, his gut clenched.

Yeah, okay. Now he knew how she felt.

That didn’t mean he was going to apologize for working hard to provide a meal for them. He wasn’t going to be timid and cautious and wait for a rescue. He wanted to thrive here. It was what he did. It was who he was.

She wrapped the fish in banana leaves and placed it in the coals at the edge of the fire. “Heat kills the poison.”

While the fish cooked, he went to refill the water bucket and retrieve his clothes at the tide pools. In his excitement, he’d forgotten them. When he returned, she served steamed fish with mashed taro in a coconut shell bowl. They used sticks for utensils. He cleaned his bowl three times.

“Thank you,” he said. “That was delicious.”

She nodded an acknowledgment and went to wash the dishes in the surf. He stayed near the shelter for the rest of the afternoon. He’d been pushing her too hard. They could both use a break, and it was hot as hell.

His first project was making a sheath for his knife out of yucca leaves. They were narrow enough to weave, but durable and waterproof. When it was finished, he attached the sheath to a piece of cordage and tied it around his waist. The next time he saw a shark, he’d have a backup weapon.

When that was done, he started working on a couple of basket traps. Trapping was a reliable method of catching fish. That giant clam would give them plenty of bait to use. He bent about a dozen long, flexible branches into a basket shape.

Cady was busy with her own projects nearby. She watched his technique for weaving yucca leaves, and she was a quick hand. By early evening, she’d made two rectangle-shaped sandals with vine cordage foot straps.

Then it was dark, and she roasted some chestnuts for a light dinner. Although they were both quiet, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. He didn’t think she was angry with him anymore. She wasn’t the type of woman who pretended everything was fine and hid her feelings behind a fake smile. When she was upset, she said it, straight out.

He wasn’t used to that. The women he dated tended to be very accommodating. They gave him compliments, not criticisms. He didn’t argue with them, either. Playing the field kept him from getting emotionally attached, so there was nothing to argue about. If a minor quarrel came up, he smoothed things over in bed. Or he just moved on to the next conquest. He didn’t have time for relationship drama.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t take Cady to bed. She was his partner in survival. They were stuck together, for better or worse. It was like a marriage, without the perks. He had to listen to her concerns. He had to communicate and compromise.

This was unfamiliar territory for him.

Even so, he found himself kind of enjoying the challenge. He didn’t mind being disagreed with. She was passionate and sexy. The “drama” wasn’t killing his desire for her or driving them apart. If anything, it was bringing them closer together. He felt more connected to her every day, and less tied to the outside world.

A little voice in his head whispered that it didn’t matter if they hooked up. They were already sleeping together. Sex was a natural progression. It was the ultimate morale-booster. It was practically a survival strategy. And it was personal.

No one had to know.

He squashed that idea before it could take hold. They’d only been here a week. It was too early for her to abandon hope, and for him to abandon his professional ethics. He wanted to thrive on this island, but he also wanted to get rescued.

Because when she was safe, he could make her his.

Chapter 12

The days passed in an endless blur of heat and sunshine and hard work.

Cady stopped worrying about the kidnappers.

She also stopped worrying about the rescuers. If anyone was coming for them, they’d have been here by now.

She didn’t know how they’d ever get off this island without help, but she tried to stay positive about their chances. She couldn’t wallow in despair. She wasn’t a risk taker, like Logan. She’d never laugh in the face of danger. Even so, her parents hadn’t raised a quitter. Her drill-sergeant grandpa had fought in two wars. Her grandmamma in Texas had lived through Jim Crow and segregation before she joined the civil rights movement. Giving up wasn’t part of Cadence Crenshaw’s DNA.

So she crawled out of the shelter every morning at the crack of dawn, determined to contribute. She collected eggs and fruit and chestnuts. She gathered wood for the fire. She wove baskets like a native. In addition to the yucca-leaf sandals, she’d made two hats and an umbrella. She had wooden utensils and a twig toothbrush. She’d been thinking about making a grass skirt and a coconut shell bikini top, just for fun.

Logan had been keeping track of the days by marking notches at the base of a palm tree by their shelter. Three lines represented their time at sea. Beneath that was the island count. Today there were two groups of five, plus another one.

They’d been here eleven days.

They’d been lost fourteen.

In that time, she hadn’t seen a single plane or ship. There was nothing in the sea, nothing in the sky. No bottle to put a message in. No convenient carrier pigeon.

Despite their overwhelming solitude, Logan had taken steps to attract the attention of a random passerby. He’d forged a path from the beach to the nearest peak and gathered all of the necessary materials for a signal fire. It was ready to light at the summit.

A few days ago she’d gone with him to retrieve the raft from the other side of the island. He’d managed to drag the inflatable portion to the cave, where he’d stashed it. They’d left the engine behind because it was too heavy to carry.

Today he was making a bamboo raft. He planned to paddle over to the cove, pick up the engine, and tow it back. He came out of the jungle with five pieces of bamboo that were about the length of his body.

“Are you making it big enough for both of us, plus the engine?” she asked.

He dropped the bamboo on the sand, giving her an impatient glance. His shirt was damp with sweat, his jaw scruffy. His clothes were getting ripped to shreds. So were hers. They looked like a couple of island bums.

They’d already argued about the trip to the cove. He wanted to go alone, but she’d insisted on accompanying him. He’d agreed, with reluctance, and he still seemed irritated by the concession. He liked being in charge and getting his own way.

“If it doesn’t hold us both, I’ll swim,” he said.

“What if a shark comes?”

“The only sharks I’ve seen around here are blacktips. They hang out by the reef, where the fish are.”

That was true enough. She’d seen them hunting in the same area where he set traps and speared fish. That type of shark was small, only three or four feet long. As far as she knew, they didn’t come close to him. He probably wouldn’t tell her if they did. He didn’t always communicate with her. They’d both been walking on eggshells around each other since that day at the waterfall.

The second week on the island had been easier than the first, however. He’d moved the storage box into the cave, where it was cool. Then he’d harvested that giant clam and stuck it inside. They’d had fresh meat for days. Now she had another boiling pot and a washbasin, made of clam shells. She’d been experimenting with cooking methods and spices. She’d collected salt deposits from the tide pools. Logan had found a passion fruit vine, which offered delicious fruit and plenty of leaves for tea.

Life on the island wasn’t perfect, but they were surviving. Sometimes he flinched at her touch, as if it pained him. Maybe it did; he overexerted himself at every opportunity. The division of labor fell heavily along gender lines, with her hanging out at camp and cooking while he did the more physical jobs. His daily schedule looked like an Ironman workout. He was on the go from sunup to sundown, hunting and fishing and lifting and building. She couldn’t convince him to take a break during the daylight hours unless there was a meal involved.

Instead of continuing the debate over the bamboo raft, she returned to her own project. She’d grated some coconut against a sharp volcanic rock and strained it into an empty shell. Then she boiled the liquid, let it cool and strained it again. By late afternoon, she had a half-filled shell of coconut oil.

Pleased, she crouched beside him to present the result. “Check it out.”

“What is it?”

“Coconut oil.”

He grunted his approval. “I’ll catch you a fish to fry.”

She dipped a finger in the fragrant oil and brought it to her lips. “It helps heal and moisturize, too. Want some?”

He shook his head, probably because his hands were busy. He’d been applying a coat of tree sap to the lashing on his raft. It was a sticky substance, like tar, that would prevent the vine cordage from coming apart in seawater.

Undeterred, she applied a drop of oil to his chapped lips. He didn’t stop her, but his jaw clenched with unease. His skin was darkly tanned now, only a shade or two lighter than hers. His eyes met hers as she pulled her hand away. Although brief, the contact was intimate, and arousing. Her mind supplied more explicit uses for coconut oil. His expression told her he knew them all.

She imagined him rubbing oil over her sensitive parts with callused fingers. The fantasy was so sharp, she had to smother a moan. Flustered, she left his side abruptly. She almost dropped the coconut shell and wasted a half day’s work.

He put his head down and finished the lashing, his face like a stone mask. When he was finished, he rose from the crouched position he’d been working in. She didn’t miss his wince of pain as he straightened.

“Is your knee bothering you?” she asked.

“It’s fine.”

“Maybe you need to rest.”

“That’s the last thing I need,” he said in a curt tone. He drank a cup of water and studied his hands, cursing. They were covered in tree sap. She’d used the substance to reinforce her sandals, so she knew it would wear off in a day or two. He seemed agitated about the inconvenience, as if it wrecked his plans somehow.

The coconut oil might have helped remove the sap, but she didn’t offer.

He muttered something about checking the traps and left with his spear. He was having more success with the trident. He’d found a lobster in one of the traps yesterday. When he didn’t bring back a fresh catch, she made do with chestnuts and side dishes. She had a stash of fruits and vegetables in the storage chest, along with a stack of wood. He’d brought the trunk over to their beach after the clam meat was gone. It kept the wood dry and the food protected from seabirds. Crabs were terrible scavengers, too.

She boiled some taro root while she waited for him to return. The water bucket was getting low, so she decided to refill it. She was restless, and he’d been acting strange. She hoped he wasn’t out there hunting sharks.

That sounded like something he would do.

She didn’t find him at the tide pools. She waded into the shallows, shielding the sun from her eyes with one hand. He wasn’t in the deeper water beyond the reef, as far as she could tell. She continued down the beach, frowning.

When she reached the group of boulders just before the waterfall, she spotted him. He wasn’t fishing at all. He was standing buck naked underneath the falls with his back to her. She stopped and stared.

Oh my.

He’d lost a few pounds in the past two weeks, but his body was still tight and right. He was bulky where it counted. His shoulders were wide, his hips narrow. Below the waist, his skin was several shades paler than his sun-bronzed back. Water streamed over his taut buttocks.

Lord have mercy.

She could have made her presence known at that moment. She could’ve quietly walked away without disturbing him. At the very least, she could’ve looked the other direction while he finished showering.

She didn’t do any of those things. She sank to her knees behind the boulder and ogled him with thirsty eyes. Then he turned around, and her throat went dry. The front view was even better than the back. She’d seen his rock-hard chest before, and the dark tufts of hair beneath his arms. She’d seen him in wet boxer shorts. She hadn’t seen him in his full naked glory, and it was a sight to behold. Even in a relaxed state, his size was impressive. He was naturally thick. Her breath hitched with excitement.

A gentle wave struck the boulder, wetting her knees.

It didn’t cool her down. She’d been mildly turned on ever since she’d rubbed coconut oil on his lips. Now she was aching for release. She wanted him to touch her, but he wouldn’t. So she slid her hand into her bikini bottoms to do it herself. In the next instant, her forgotten bucket got carried away in the surf.

She tried to reach for it, but she wasn’t fast enough. Making a sound of panic, she scrambled after it on all fours. She grabbed the bucket and ducked behind the boulder, her heart pounding with trepidation.

Had he seen her?

Logan appeared beside the boulder a moment later, answering that question. He had his pants on, but no shirt. His expression was curious. She tried to think of a plausible lie, even though it was clear she’d been spying on him. He glanced toward the waterfall, where he’d been showering. Then his gaze moved to her bikini bottoms, which were slightly askew. His nostrils flared, as if he could smell her arousal.

She closed her eyes, mortified.

He didn’t say anything. Not one word. After a short pause, he picked up the bucket and walked toward the falls. She rose to her feet, following him.

“I can do that.”

He let her have the bucket. While she filled it, he retrieved his shirt and boxer shorts, which were wet. He wrung out the fabric and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he placed the full bucket on top.

He had a crab on his spear, ready to go. They walked back to the shelter in silence. She couldn’t bring herself to apologize. She was too embarrassed to speak.

Back at camp, she boiled the crab with the taro root and some seaweed greens. He hung his wet clothes near the fire. They ate side by side, avoiding eye contact. It was the most awkward meal on record.

After she cleaned up, he reached out to grasp her wrist. “Sit.”

She sank down on the driftwood log, her cheeks hot.

“I think I should build a separate shelter.”

“Why?”

“Because of this,” he said, gesturing between them.

She didn’t want to sleep alone, no matter how excruciating the sexual tension was. “That’s a lot of extra work.”

He didn’t disagree. “It’s difficult for me to be close to you every night.”

His confession surprised her. It wasn’t like him to admit weakness.

“If I make my own space, you’ll have privacy to do whatever. So will I.”

She studied his face, embarrassed. She hadn’t thought about how he spent his time alone. “You haven’t...”

“Of course I have,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “I’d be going crazy if I hadn’t. I’m going crazy anyway. It just doesn’t hit the spot, you know? It’s like eating vegetables when you really want dessert.”

Her mouth dropped open. He was really laying it all out there. “For me it’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sex with someone else is the vegetable. Without dessert.”

It took him a second to process what she was saying. “Touching yourself is the dessert? The only dessert?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you’ve been choosing the wrong vegetables.”

She laughed at this, shaking her head. “Maybe I have.”

He stared at her in that way of his. Half longing, half awe. She felt something shift inside her. It was like her heart had been balancing on this precarious edge. Now it was falling free, out of her hands and into his. He was the kind of man no woman could resist, and the intensity of his gaze just wrecked her. She felt more alive with him than she ever had before. More aware of herself, more in tune with her body.

She was capable of things she hadn’t dreamed of. He made her want to live to the fullest. He made her want to take risks.

She was tempted to toss aside her misgivings and throw herself at him, but she couldn’t do him dirty like that. It was wrong. He cared about his career and his professional ethics. She had to respect his boundaries.

“I’m sorry I spied on you,” she said. “You don’t have to build another shelter on my account.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Fine.”

After a weighted silence, he said, “I’ll sleep by the fire tonight. It’s not raining.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, getting up to leave.

He reached out to stop her. “When we get back home—”

“What if we don’t?”

His eyes met hers, contemplative. He didn’t have an answer for that. Instead of making promises he couldn’t keep, he released her. She crawled inside the shelter and curled up, alone. He took his cushion out to the fire.

She wondered how long they’d be stranded on this island. They could get rescued tomorrow, or next week. They could also die here, having never indulged their desires. The thought kept her awake for hours.

She wished for rain to bring him in, but it didn’t come.

Chapter 13

He slept off and on, plagued by vivid dreams.

In one, he was back at the waterfall with Cady. Instead of watching from a distance, she stripped naked and joined him. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips touched his. He lifted her against the wet rock wall and took her like that, standing up, with the falls raining down on his shoulders.

Then the setting shifted, and he was on top of her in the surf. It was the same basic scenario. She was wet; he was hard. They were going at it while the waves crashed around them. But she slipped away from him somehow, leaving behind her red dress. He crushed the fabric in his fists and searched for her. She was in the raft, floating out to sea. One slender arm dangled over the side, fingertips touching the water. Sharks circled.

He jerked awake at dawn, chilled to the bone. A fine mist coated his face. He wiped the moisture away, blinking.

The fire was almost out, so he tossed some dry branches in the pit. Then he went to water a nearby palm tree. He was irritated that his sex dream had turned into a nightmare. He shook off and stretched his neck muscles, wincing.

What a day. What a night. What an unbearable situation. He was stranded with the hottest woman he’d ever met. She was so hot, she’d touched herself while watching him shower. He still couldn’t believe it, and he’d seen the evidence with his own eyes.

The sight of her on her knees behind that boulder had undone him. He’d wanted to grasp her pretty hand and lick her fingers. He’d wanted to rip off her bikini and bury his face in her. He’d been so close to giving them what they both needed. So close.

Instead he’d dug deep for control, and found the strength to leave her untouched. He told himself that her actions didn’t mean anything. She was responding to a naked male body with toned muscles or whatever, not to him as a person. It was flattering and sexy as hell, but rubbing one out wasn’t a declaration of affection.

While he sat by the fire, imagining what she might have done if he hadn’t interrupted her, she crawled out of the shelter. She was wearing her typical morning outfit, an oversize T-shirt and panties. She’d change into her bikini in an hour or two. Until then, he could see the shape of her breasts and her dark nipples poking at the fabric.

Building another shelter wouldn’t help him ignore her sleek curves. It wouldn’t stop his eyes from following her around camp. It wouldn’t kill his desire. If he needed to be alone, he could walk into the woods. He’d stroked himself to a furtive climax a couple of times since his hands had healed.

He put on his shirt, which he’d hung up to dry by the fire, and decided to scrap the idea of separate spaces for now. He had more important projects to tackle. It was time to prepare for the long haul. They couldn’t count on getting rescued. Waiting for help was a passive strategy. He wanted to take a more active role in his fate. He wanted to repair the raft.

With the raft, they’d have mobility. They could escape the kidnappers, if necessary. They could explore the shoreline, go out to meet a ship, or travel around the reef. The fishing possibilities were far greater. He could avoid sharks and rays, and cover more area. He could travel from one end of the island to the other.

The raft also offered the last and riskiest option: leaving the island. At some point, they’d have to talk about it. Months from now, though. Maybe even years. Because the chances of surviving a long journey across the ocean were slim.

Whatever they decided, he couldn’t let the raft and engine components deteriorate. He had to get it in working order as soon as possible.

She made some kind of pudding for breakfast out of bananas and coconut milk. He’d rather have eggs and bacon, but he didn’t complain. She was a wizard with the meager ingredients they had.

After they ate, he checked his bamboo raft. It was dry and ready to go. He gathered the rope and the kayak paddle. He also found a piece of palm bark she could use as a paddle. Then he stripped down to his boxer shorts and belt, with his knife secure in the sheath. His shorts were getting ragged because he used them for swimming so much. Pretty soon, he’d be wearing a damned loincloth.

Cady changed into her bikini and covered her hair before they left. She applied sunscreen, passing him the bottle. He wondered where she’d put the coconut oil. He had plans for a hot date with it later.

They walked along the tide pools and through the cave, to the beach where they’d found the storage trunk. They’d named it Treasure Cove. They were going to East Eden for the engine. Shelter Bay was their home base.

He launched the bamboo raft from the beach. She straddled the front section, and he straddled the back. Although the raft stayed afloat with both of them aboard, it didn’t maneuver easily. Because of its narrow shape, it would be better suited to the calmer waters on the leeward side of the island. He could use it for fishing along the reef.

Navigating the choppy sea was difficult, but doable. They paddled past a set of sheer cliffs, into a section of no-man’s land. The stark rock face made a striking contrast to the blue water. Although it was beautiful to look at, he felt a twinge of unease. There was no shoring area along these cliffs. If something happened to the raft, they’d have to swim.

Luckily, the raft held together fine. Cady seemed calm and focused. They had to paddle hard against the current to reach East Eden, but they made it without incident.

So far, so good.

The engine was heavier than he remembered. He tied a rope around it and dragged it across the beach the same way he’d dragged the clam shell. About halfway there, he had to stop and rest. His knee throbbed in protest when he started moving again. Cady helped him by pushing while he pulled. It took both of them to complete the task. He rolled the engine onto the raft in a final heave.

She dusted off her hands, smiling. “See? You needed me.”

He hadn’t wanted her to come along because it was mildly dangerous, but she was right. He’d needed her.

“You can just say it. The world won’t end.”

“I needed you.”

“You couldn’t have done it without me.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. I’m so glad you’re here. You’re the queen of the island and I’m your humble servant.”

She did a fancy bow, her toes pointed.

“What kind of move is that?”

“A curtsy.”

“Were you a ballerina, too?”

“Not really. I did Acro. It’s a blend of dance and acrobatics, with some ballet. You know Cirque du Soleil?”

He had a vague idea, so he nodded.

“It’s like that. Very physical.”

No wonder she was so fit, with her tight little body and sleek curves. She could probably do all sorts of twists and contortions.

He shoved that exciting thought out of his mind and focused on tying down the engine. He wrapped the rope around several times and secured it with a double fisherman’s knot. He couldn’t risk letting this prize fall overboard. If he lost the engine in deep water, they’d be screwed.

When he launched the raft from the beach, testing its buoyancy, it started to sink. He’d anticipated that, so he handed her the paddle and climbed off to swim. What he hadn’t anticipated was the balance problem. Without his weight, the raft tipped forward. She bailed out before it flipped completely, treading water with him.

“I have to retie the engine in the back,” he said.

“Why? We can both swim.”

That was true. The raft looked stable with the engine in the middle. It would be easier to push and less likely to flip. “You don’t have to swim with me. I’ll drop off the engine and come back for you.”

“Let’s just go together. It’s not that far.”

He wasn’t worried about the distance. It was less than a mile, and she was a strong swimmer, but they had to skirt along those sheer cliffs. If she got a cramp or panicked, they’d be in trouble.

“You don’t think I can make it?”

“You can’t go back once we start.”

“I know.”

He rested the paddle on top of the raft and pushed it through the water, kicking hard. Cady swam beside him. She didn’t seem worried. She was better at swimming than paddling. They moved with the current, making steady progress.

“We’re halfway there,” he said. “You good?”

“I’m good.”

He glanced behind them, just to confirm the distance traveled. His blood ran cold as he spotted the worst possible sight.

A dorsal fin.

Less than twenty feet away.

Judging from the height of the fin, this was not a small blacktip reef shark. It was an open water species, large and deadly. Although he knew that sharks tended to strike from below, rather than skimming the surface, his throat tightened with fear. This predator was tracking them. That wasn’t necessarily a prelude to an attack—but it was really frickin’ scary.

The next instant, the fin was gone.

That was even scarier.

“Come here,” he said to Cady.

She followed his gaze, scanning the water. “What is it?”

“Just come here,” he said, his teeth clenched.

When she swam closer, he pulled her into the space between the raft and his body, protecting her as much as possible. “Get on the raft, but be careful. I don’t want you to tip it over or fall off.”

The fin resurfaced in front of the raft. The shark was circling. He prayed it wouldn’t take an exploratory bite.

She scrambled to get out of the water, eyes wide.

“Careful,” he repeated.

The fin disappeared again.

She managed to climb on the raft, with his help. He grabbed her backside and hauled her aboard. She couldn’t straddle either end of the raft without throwing off the balance, so she had to drape herself across the engine with her bottom in the air. It might have been comical if he wasn’t afraid for their lives.

The shark circled around again, its dorsal fin cutting closer. He identified the size and species with growing unease. It was a tiger shark, about ten feet long. Tiger sharks could be aggressive, and they weren’t picky eaters. He drew his knife from the sheath, treading water. She gaped at him over her shoulder.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“Defend myself.”

“Cut the engine loose and get up here right now.”

He shook his head. “I can’t lose the engine.”

“Better it than you!”

The shark swept by his left leg, spooking the hell out of him. It was gone before he could make a stab in its general direction. He gripped the knife handle tight, worried about dropping it. He couldn’t lose his knife. He couldn’t lose the engine.

He couldn’t lose her.

“You get up here, or I’m coming down,” she said.

“Don’t you dare move,” he said quietly.

The shark bumped the raft.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream. He waited for the next pass, his knife ready. She was sobbing with terror. He couldn’t hear her, but he could tell by the way her body shook. He felt oddly disconnected from his own fear. The thought of leaving her bothered him more than the thought of dying. She couldn’t survive here without him.

He waited for the shark to attack, his heart in his throat.

After about thirty seconds, he returned the knife to its sheath. He was going to continue about his business. If the shark didn’t like it, too bad.

He resumed swimming, pushing the raft forward. His stomach twisted in anticipation of teeth tearing into his flesh, but he tried to stay calm. Cady wept silently, her shoulders trembling. He concentrated on moving through the water with brisk efficiency. Soon they were in sight of Treasure Cove.

He didn’t see any fins. Maybe the shark hadn’t followed them.

When his feet touched the sand, he felt a surge of relief. They’d made it. They were on land, in one piece. They were both completely unharmed. The engine and raft were intact. She waded through the surf and collapsed in a heap on the beach. He shored the raft with relish. Then he flipped the shark two birds.

Take that, you bastard. In your face.

Cady didn’t share his triumph. She glared at him with weepy eyes, as if she couldn’t believe he would celebrate their narrow escape.

He rested his hands on his hips. “What?”

“You said the sharks hang out by the reef.”

“The smaller ones do. That was an open water species.”

“What if it had attacked you?”

He didn’t have an answer for that.

“What if I’d panicked, or jumped in the water to help you?”

“I told you not to move,” he said in a reasonable tone.

She gave him an incredulous look.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me.”

She made a strangled sound and closed the distance between them. “Hear this,” she said, jabbing her finger at his chest. “You’re a jackass.”

He flinched at the insult, his muscles taut. He’d taken a risk by staying in the water, but it was a calculated risk. They’d needed the engine. The shark hadn’t attacked. They were fine. Why not focus on the positive?

Instead of trading barbs with her, he untied the rope. He left the engine on top of the raft and secured the rope to the bamboo. It was easier to drag across the sand this way. He hauled the engine to the mouth of the cave and left it there, next to the deflated raft. Although the raft had a repair kit, he wasn’t ready to start a big project. They hadn’t eaten lunch yet. He hadn’t explored the tide pools or checked his traps. It was his responsibility to provide for them. He was doing the best he could. She should respect that.

“Let’s go,” he said, walking through the cave.

She followed close behind him, but not by choice. She was afraid of the dark interior, especially at high tide. As soon as they reached the other side, she stormed off. He scowled at her slender back in frustration.

He found himself reacting just as passionately when they argued as when they kissed. That wasn’t normal for him. He also didn’t know how to resolve their conflicts. He couldn’t take Cady to bed, so he had to find another way to please her.

While he headed toward the tide pools to check the traps, he considered different strategies. He’d had steady girlfriends before he’d become a SEAL. He tried to remember what he’d done to make them happy. They liked gifts, flowers, nice gestures. He could give Cady a fish, but that wasn’t much of a peace offering.

What else? He’d never had any trouble communicating with women. They liked men who could carry on a conversation. They liked men who listened.

He hadn’t listened to Cady’s concerns just now. Instead of hearing her out, he’d asked if she’d heard him clearly. He hadn’t stopped to think about her feelings. He’d told her to stay put, so he’d expected her to stay put. It occurred to him that her grandfather had barked the same order just before he’d died.

Logan massaged the nape of his neck, wincing.

Yeah. Maybe he’d been a little insensitive.

Although he didn’t regret his decision to save the engine, he could’ve listened and communicated better. He also should have anticipated her reaction. He’d been in the water with an aggressive tiger shark for twenty minutes. Of course she’d been horrified.

Two weeks ago, she’d watched a group of the same species tear apart a dead body. Most people were traumatized by stuff like that.

He didn’t have much success at the tide pools. He returned to camp with one of those orange fish that looked like Nemo. It wasn’t his finest moment. Her eyes were swollen from crying. She accepted the fish and cooked it in silence.

He cleaned up for dinner by washing his hands and face, and putting on his clothes. They had fried Nemo with mashed taro and seaweed. She could turn almost anything into a delicious meal, but not this. The fish was flabby and tasted strange.

He wouldn’t be catching any more Nemos.

“I’m sorry I called you a jackass,” she said, staring at the fire.

“I deserved it.”

She seemed surprised by this admission. “I thought you were going to die out there.”

“I know.”

“How could you do that to me?”

He raked a hand through his hair, which was gritty with sand. “I didn’t think the shark would attack.”

“And sea kraits rarely bite?”

It was difficult to compare a shy, nearly harmless sea krait to an aggressive tiger shark. The second animal was far more dangerous. He’d made a risky decision, and he had to own it. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

She rose from the driftwood bench, pacing in front of him. “I can’t stand watching you be so careless with your own life. Or mine.”

Two weeks ago she’d seemed a bit cavalier about death herself. She’d told him that she’d rather die than leave the island in the raft. It still bothered him, remembering that. “I didn’t mean to put you in harm’s way.”

“Just yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you get scared?”

“I do get scared, but I set the fear aside. I move past it.”

She stopped pacing and crossed her arms over her chest. “You move past it.”

He nodded.

She sat down again, facing the fire. “You know how I said my dad got shot in the line of duty? It took him a couple of months to recover from the injury. Then he went back to work on the same beat. He risked his life every day. I was afraid he’d die, like my grandpa. He moved past the fear, I guess. But I never did.”

“That’s why you play it safe?”

“That’s why I play it safe. I’m not an adrenaline junkie, like you. And I don’t enjoy worrying about people I love.”

His heart did a flip inside his chest, even though she was talking about her dad, not him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you won’t scare me again.”

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, reluctant to make promises he couldn’t keep. “I’ll try not to.”

“You don’t give an inch, do you?”

He’d like to give her every inch he had. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “I should teach you how to build a fire.”

“No,” she said, jumping to her feet.

“I want you to learn.”

“Why don’t you just keep yourself alive?”

“I could get sick. There could be a storm.”

It smelled like rain right now, actually. Although it wasn’t monsoon season, they’d grown accustomed to light showers in the afternoons and evenings. Heavier rains could strike. She started rinsing out the coconut shell cups and scrubbing her turtle shell, ending the conversation. They’d had more than enough conflict for one day, so he stayed quiet.

Clouds gathered low in the night sky, shrouding the beach in mist. He wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight. He covered the fire as well as possible and climbed inside the shelter. They lay side by side, silent. A light drizzle began, pelting the roof. The drizzle turned into rain, and the rain became a downpour.

The storm had arrived.

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