There was always a small chance that they wouldn’t be found, that her father might have forgotten where she went. Or that a search party might miss them. It was a remote possibility, but a possibility nevertheless. The more likely scenario would be the opposite-that they’d be found in the morning and that a rescue plane would land in the lagoon, pick them up and take them back to the real world.
But what then? Would they just walk away from each other as if they’d never met? Or would they make hasty plans to have dinner together? If Trey had anything to say about it, he’d take her hand, drag her off to his hotel suite and let nature take its course.
They’d enjoy a long, hot shower together, then wrap themselves in thick robes. After that, they’d have a huge dinner with dessert and champagne. And then they’d go to bed for the next three or four days. Only after that would they be ready to make plans for the future.
Their rescue wouldn’t be the end of their affair, it would be the beginning. When the sex was this good, you didn’t just walk away. He and Sophie shared incredible intimacy in a relationship unencumbered by inhibition. But would they have to begin all over again once they got back? Or could they continue on as they had?
He turned to look at Sophie, sound asleep in the hammock he’d made. The effects of the wine and sex and incessant heat and rain had been enough to make her drowsy. The moment he’d finished hanging the hammock, she’d crawled in and fallen asleep.
He glanced down at his wrist, then remembered that his expensive waterproof watch had stopped running when he’d first jumped into the water. From what he could tell by the intermittent sun, it was probably getting close to five in the evening. He’d already spent eight hours with Sophie and he felt as if his life had completely changed. What would happen in the next sixteen? When he left Suaneva tomorrow, would he be a different man?
Trey found it difficult to believe that he could change so much in twenty-four hours. He hadn’t really cared about anything in his life, so what made him think he felt something deeper for Sophie? But then, the things he’d tossed aside so quickly had always been things he’d bought and paid for.
No matter how much he spent, he never seemed to find any satisfaction, any comfort. He’d gone through millions and had nothing to show for it. He wasn’t any richer, any smarter or any happier. But he couldn’t buy Sophie’s affection. Maybe that’s why Trey found it so valuable-and maybe that’s why he wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life.
He slowly stood, then walked across the porch and bent down to look at her face. Her dark lashes were thick and feathery, her lips parted slightly as she slept. Trey reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his fingers instinctively needing to touch her. This was crazy, he mused. If he couldn’t resist touching her now, how would he ever get along without her?
Women had always occupied a specific place in Trey’s life, as social accessories. The more beautiful, the better. He’d never really thought much about compatibility since he’d never intended to stay with one woman long enough for that to be an issue. But he liked Sophie. He admired her strength and her determination. He thought she was, by all accounts, the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. And when he was with her, he felt good about himself.
But would his feelings last? Or were they so intense only because she was the one thing he might not be able to possess? Trey sat back on his heels, his gaze still fixed on her face. This was the woman who had saved his life. Perhaps that was the reason for the attraction and nothing more.
As long as they were here on this island, he didn’t need to think about the future. He’d take each hour as it came and deal with the difficult stuff later. Trey drew a ragged breath. Yeah, he could keep telling himself that, but he was far from convinced that he’d ever be able to let Sophie Madigan go.
Trey picked through their belongings, which he’d tossed into a corner of the porch. He found his khakis, then tugged them on. Though it felt good to walk around naked, he felt vulnerable without clothes. How the hell was he supposed to fight his attraction to Sophie, when the proof of it was there for all to see?
Trey walked back to the grove of fruit trees and collected enough wood to get a fire started, making four trips back and forth before he was satisfied it would last through the evening. Sophie had been right about this side of the lagoon. Things were a lot easier when they had shelter, food, water and a supply of firewood.
Trey arranged the wood in a pile on top of the damp palm fronds, then searched for some kindling to start the fire. In the end, he grabbed his messenger bag and pulled out the notebook he kept inside, crumbling up sheets of paper and stuffing them beneath the firewood.
Ten minutes later, to Trey’s great satisfaction, they had fire. Though the matches were damp, it had only taken three tries to get a flame going. The wet wood popped and sparked and sent a cloud of smoke drifting straight up into the still air.
“You’re a man now,” he muttered to himself. He flexed his biceps and grunted, sure that he must have a caveman gene left inside him somewhere.
It was strange how self-reliant he had become when needed. In the past, money had always solved his problems. If he wanted something, he just paid for it. But here on the island, it didn’t matter that he had money…or privilege…or fame. He was just a regular guy who’d made a very respectable fire.
“Nice fire.”
Trey turned around to see Sophie standing on the porch, her hip braced against the railing, her hair tumbled around her sleepy face. He slowly let his arms fall to his sides.
“Hey,” he said. “How was your nap?”
“Good,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes. “I think I drank a little too much wine.”
“Headache?”
She nodded, smiling winsomely. “But my foot feels much better.”
“That’s good,” he said. “I thought I’d make us some dinner. Maybe heat up those beans. And I found a tin of crackers. They might be pretty tasty with the oysters.”
“I am hungry,” she said.
“Good. Why don’t you sit and I’ll get things ready.”
Sophie plopped down on the top step and watched him as he gathered up the collection of canned goods for their meal, her elbows braced on her knees, her chin cupped in her palm.
“You know, if we didn’t have this pocketknife, we’d be in pretty big trouble.” Trey held it out. “Corkscrew, can opener, knife, scissors, tweezers. If we just had a few more tools we could build a boat and get ourselves off this island. Kind of like MacGyver.”
“Does he have a lot of tools?” she asked.
Trey chuckled softly. He kept forgetting that he and Sophie had grown up on opposite sides of the world. Her cultural references were completely different from his. Still, he was amazed at how easily she moved between cultures. Now that she’d spent the day with him, her accent had all but disappeared. “Yeah, he’s got a lot of tools. He could make a luxury yacht out of a chewing-gum wrapper and a rubber band.”
She stared at him, her head tilted. “How is that possible?”
“American television,” he said. Trey set an open can of beans on the edge of the fire, then stood back to watch it. “I’m going to buy myself one of these knives when I get home.”
“You can have that one,” Sophie offered. “As a memento of our time together.”
“Thanks,” Trey said, staring down at the knife. “That’s nice of you.”
Though the knife was a thoughtful gesture, Trey wanted more than that. He at least wanted a promise that they’d see each other again. A chance to find out if there was anything between them once they were off the island.
“You are about to enjoy the full extent of my cooking skills,” he said, when the beans began to bubble.
Sophie watched as he straightened and carried the can over to her, using a piece of canvas as a potholder. He set them down, shaking his hand, burned from the heat from the can.
Sophie took his fingers and licked his fingertips, then blew on them. The cooling effect sent a flood of desire racing through his body and Trey cursed inwardly. Would there ever come a time when she could touch him and he wouldn’t automatically think about sex?
When she was satisfied that his fingers would be all right, Sophie sat back and waited while Trey laid out the rest of the feast between them. Sliced papaya, smoked oysters, another bottle of red wine. A tin filled with crackers that they could use to scoop up the beans. All in all, Trey thought it was a rather well-rounded meal.
