That decision made, Tomasso's next concern had been escape. He had been quite sure that if they were still on the plane when it landed, they would never get free, so his next step had been to get them both off that plane and away from the kidnappers.
Mission accomplished there, he thought wryly, peering down again to check their progress. They were off the plane. The problem was he suspected they were going to land in the ocean instead of one of those spots of light he could see below. Which meant one hell of a swim to reach shore . . . using one arm as he dragged Abigail behind him. Tomasso could do it. He had to. But it wasn't going to be easy, and he was worried about the blood from her head wound attracting unwanted attention from predators like sharks. Things could get hairy.
Mouth tightening, he watched the dark water below grow nearer and began planning in his mind. Once low enough he would shrug himself out of the parachute and drop into the water with Abigail. Without their weight, the parachute should continue on past them and set down a distance away where he and Abigail would not get tangled up in either the chute or its lines.
If he had a knife Tomasso would be cutting one of the lines off now to tie Abigail to his back so that he could swim with both hands. Unfortunately, he didn't have anything as useful as a knife in his pocket. Hell, he didn't even have clothes, let alone pockets, he thought and then noted how low they had dropped while he thought. At the speed they were descending it would only be seconds before they hit the water.
It seemed his planning was over. And with all of his woolgathering he hadn't managed to direct them anywhere. Not that he probably could have anyway, Tomasso acknowledged, and tried to figure out how far from land they were going to set down.
Moonlight was making things a little easier. The islands were darker masses against the water, often with lit-up sections of inhabitation. Tomasso surveyed the area below and did a quick calculation of the distance they were likely to land from the nearest land mass and almost winced. It was going to be a long night.
Four
Abigail woke up moaning. It was her head. The damned thing was pounding like a bass drum. Boom boom boom. Grimacing at the sunlight that struck her eyes when she opened them, she quickly closed them again and cursed herself for not closing the living room curtains before lying down to sleep on the couch. It was something she rarely forgot to do when she was up late nursing her mother through the occasional really bad night.
They were becoming more and more frequent of late, Abigail thought, and then frowned with confusion as her memory began to nudge her, gently reminding her that Mom no longer had bad nights, and she no longer had a home, let alone a living room. Though she still had a couch and curtains. They were packed away in storage back in Austin.
She, on the other hand, was visiting Jet in San Antonio. No, she had been flying with him to Venezuela, but had had to ride in the cargo section and--
"Oh, hell," Abigail muttered and sat up abruptly, forcing her eyes open despite the pain the bright sunshine sent shooting through her skull.
Her gaze slid over a long stretch of sandy beach and crystal-blue water and for one moment she simply sat, stunned by the beauty of the scenery, but then she shifted her gaze to herself and her position. She was sitting on sand in the shade of the palm trees that lined the beach . . . and Tomasso Notte was asleep beside her.
He was still as naked as he'd been when she first found him, Abigail noted, absently slapping her arm and squishing a feasting mosquito as her eyes slid over Tomasso's body with interest. She could see him much better now that she wasn't trying to look him over by flashlight and . . . the man was just perfect. Too perfect. He was obviously a health buff. He probably spent half of every day at the gym to build up the muscles that bulged on his body.
The realization was a disheartening one. Someone who put so much time and effort into his body would not be impressed by someone as dumpy and out of shape as she was. Abigail was quite sure about that and the knowledge nearly broke her heart. After what had happened on the plane . . .
Abigail bit her lip, and struggled briefly with her body as it immediately responded to the memories now flooding her mind. His hands on her, his mouth on her, her cry as she reached her release . . . God, her nipples were getting erect just at the memory, and there was a sudden dampness between her legs too. What was the matter with her? She'd never reacted like this to a man, yet this one didn't even have to touch her and she was a trembling mass of need.
Which might be a good thing, she thought suddenly. Certainly, she doubted he'd want to touch her again after getting a look at her in daylight and seeing what he hadn't been able to see in the dark. So maybe fantasy and memory would be all she'd have.
Depressed by the thought, Abigail pushed herself to her feet. She immediately had to wave away a cloud of hungry mosquitoes that suddenly seemed to be swarming around her head. When that had little effect at dispersing the hungry bloodsuckers, she moved out of the shade, headed for the water.
Abigail was itchy from at least a half dozen mosquito bites she'd apparently received while she was sleeping and didn't have any After Bite. She was hungry and thirsty and knew without question that they didn't have any food or water. All they'd taken with them was the first aid kit, and that wasn't likely to have much but gauze and antiseptic. This was the ocean. She couldn't drink it, but she could splash it on herself and hope that soothed her itchy spots and fooled her body into thinking it wasn't as dehydrated as it probably was.
She'd barely taken half a dozen steps on the unshaded sand before Abigail stopped abruptly and almost turned back. The sand had been heated by the beating sun and was unbearably hot underfoot. Her gaze slid to the sparkling blue water and rather than turn back, she burst into a run instead, rushing to the cool relief of the water.
A relieved moan slipped from her lips as the soothing water closed over her feet. Here the sand was much nicer, and the water felt good against her skin. Uncaring that her jeans were getting soaked, Abigail moved out into the water until it reached her knees, then bent to scoop up handfuls of the cool liquid and splashed it on her arms, her face, her throat, and even her chest above her neckline. It immediately dribbled down to soak her tank top, but Abigail didn't care. She was hot and the water was refreshing, and she was wearing too damned many clothes. Jeans, a tank top, and a light blouse over it might be fine for a bus ride on an air-conditioned bus, and a cool evening in San Antonio, but it was definitely not appropriate for this hot, sandy beach in the Caribbean. It must be a hundred degrees or better here, she thought and wondered what time it was.
Pausing suddenly, Abigail straightened and raised a hand to shelter her eyes as she glanced to the sky to find the sun. It wasn't quite directly overhead, but was a little to the side, either on its downward path, or still on its upward path. Abigail had no idea which it was. She didn't know where they were or which direction was east or west at the moment. So by her best guess, it was either an hour or so before noon, or an hour or so after. She supposed she'd find out soon enough. The one sure thing in her life right then was that the sun would continue to move and the direction it moved in would tell her if it was late morning or early afternoon.
Abigail started to lower her hand, but stilled as the sunlight glared off something on her wrist. Her watch, she realized with self-disgust. She'd forgotten she was wearing one . . . probably because she didn't usually wear it. It had been a graduation gift from her mother, meant to be used at medical school. Abigail had found wearing it depressing after dropping out of school. Besides, there simply hadn't been much need for one. She'd been stuck in her mother's apartment with clocks at every turn and nowhere to go but doctor's appointments.
Grimacing, she turned her wrist to see the face and noted that it was still working, and that, if it was right, it was a bit after one in the afternoon.
Sighing, Abigail let her hand drop and scanned the water briefly, only to stiffen as she spotted a boat coming around the point on her right. Excitement rising in he
r, she waved happily despite knowing they probably couldn't see her yet. Then she began to jump up and down excitedly as she waved, and added shouting to her repertoire to get their attention. She'd only let out one shout when she was suddenly grabbed from behind, dragged off her feet and carried quickly backward into the trees.
"Tomasso!" Abigail shrieked with dismay as he slowed once they were deep in the woods and out of sight of the beach. "What are you doing? We need help."
"That could be Jake and Sully," he answered grimly, setting her down on her feet. Keeping a hand on her so she couldn't run, he then tilted his head to peer around the palm tree and back the way they'd come.
"Jake and Sully?" she asked with confusion.
"My kidnappers," he explained. "I heard them say each other's names once or twice when I woke up."
"Oh," she murmured and frowned. It hadn't occurred to her that his kidnappers might come looking for them, but she supposed it made sense. They probably knew the coordinates of where they'd jumped out of the plane. All they had to do was get a boat and search in that area for them. Still . . .
"But what if it isn't your kidnappers?" she pointed out. "We have no water, or food. Hell, you don't even have clothes. We need help, Tomasso."
"Si," he agreed bleakly, but shook his head. "If the boat had a lot of people then we could have flagged them down. But there were only two men on the boat. It raises the possibility that it is them."
"Two men? You could tell that?" Abigail asked dubiously. She'd barely been able to see the boat let alone anyone on it, yet he was claiming he could and had counted two men?
Something about her tone drew his gaze to her face and Tomasso frowned at what he saw. Drawing himself up, he said with dignity, "I have very good eyesight."
Abigail bit her lip and glanced away, stifling a sudden urge to laugh. It wasn't what he'd said that had roused her humor, it was his demeanor. It was hard to manage dignity when you were buck-ass naked, and his attitude just seemed ridiculous in her eyes.
"What?" Tomasso asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," Abigail said quickly, glanced to him and then just as swiftly glanced away. She then cleared her throat, waved back toward him, her hand at waist level and said, "Maybe you should do something about that."
A moment of silence passed and then he shrugged and said, "I apologize, but there is little I can do about my erection. Your presence has that effect on me."
"Erection?" Abigail squawked and whirled to take a look at what she'd been politely avoiding letting her eyes land on. Her eyes found--yes, indeedy, it was an erection. "Holy cripes!" she muttered, and then raised her gaze to his and gasped, "You've got an erection!"
"I am aware of that," he said stiffly.
"Yeah, but--I mean, you're saying I'm the cause of it?" she asked, sure she'd misunderstood.
"Is there anyone else here?" he asked, his tone just as dry.
"Noooo . . ." Abigail drew the word out as she glanced around to be sure there wasn't some young Bo Derek type sauntering around with her boobs hanging out. Not finding anyone, let alone a beautiful buxom blonde, she turned back to him with bewilderment and said, "But it's like daylight and everything. You can see what I really look like and stuff." Shaking her head, she added firmly, "That boner cannot be for me."
Tomasso didn't argue the point. He didn't soothe her insecurities and assure her that he found her attractive. He simply closed the small gap between them, caught her by the waist, lifted her into the air and kissed her. It was no hello-nice-to-see-you kiss. It was a full-on carnal ravaging that said, "This-erection-is-definitely-all-for-you-and-I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-use-it."
Abigail had to hand it to the guy; he was a hell of a kisser. Three seconds after his mouth claimed hers she was a trembling, panting, clinging mass, moaning into his mouth and ready to rip her own clothes off.
"Abigail," he muttered suddenly, tearing his mouth from hers and kissing a trail across her cheek.
"Yes?" she gasped, turning her head to give him better access.
"We cannot do this," he groaned by her ear, just before sucking her lobe into his mouth.
"No," she agreed on a moan as he nipped at the tender flesh.
"That boat could land. Our kidnappers could find us in flagrante delicto."
"Delicto," she mumbled. "You're delicto. That means delicious, right?" she added before biting lightly at his shoulder.
Tomasso chuckled helplessly against her ear, then suddenly turned with her in his arms. "We will move further from shore. There will be less chance we will be found after we pass out."
"Pass out?" She pulled back to peer down at him. "I know I fainted when you--I mean, when we . . ." Aware that she was blushing, she wrinkled her nose and waved away what she couldn't say. "That doesn't mean we're going to faint again. It was probably the altitude or something. And you were just coming off those drugs they had you on."
"It was not the altitude," he assured her, glancing over her shoulder to watch where he was carrying her. "We will faint again."
Abigail frowned. He wasn't giving any explanation for why they might faint, but he sounded very sure they would.
She glanced toward the passing woods, her mind working. She'd never fainted before when messing around with someone, but she'd definitely lost consciousness with him on the plane. But they were no longer on the plane. They were basically in the jungle, where there were snakes and icky bugs that could bite them while they slept. Passing out here did not seem a good idea to her.
In fact, now that Abigail was able to think again, messing around with Tomasso didn't seem that good an idea either. She still hardly knew the man, and yes, he said he was attracted to her, but heck, men were horny bastards, they could be turned on by a hot apple pie. It didn't mean they wanted a relationship with it any more than his desire to bang her meant that he wanted a relationship with her. And despite what had happened on the plane, Abigail just wasn't the sort to go around indiscriminately sleeping with gorgeous men just because they were naked in the woods and made her blood boil with just a kiss.
"Put me down," she said suddenly, kicking her feet.
"Why?" Tomasso asked, stopping.
"Because I don't want to do this," Abigail said simply, pushing at his chest. "Put me down."
Tomasso hesitated, but then eased her to the ground and stepped back. His expression was confused, though, and she couldn't blame him. Her nipples were still erect, she probably had a wet spot between the legs of her jeans from the excitement he'd inspired, and she had definitely been responding to him like a woman who wanted to get laid.
Turning her head away to avoid his gaze, she admitted, "I'm attracted to you."
"Si." It was a simple acknowledgment that he knew that, no ego or arrogance involved.
"But . . . I'm not the kind of girl who . . ." Abigail paused, feeling stupid. This was not the 1950s or something, and she didn't want to be the gal shrieking, "I'm not that kind of girl!" with virginal horror. She was not a virgin. What she was, was a woman who had just lost her mother, was emotionally vulnerable, and afraid of getting hurt by this big beefcake when a prettier gal came along and he lost interest in her.
Well, at least part of her felt that way. That was her brain. The other part, a much lower one that was situated between her legs, was shrieking at her to enjoy him while she had the chance. Telling her this would be a really good memory for her to enjoy later. Assuring her that it would be worth all the heartache that would probably follow. Just go on and bounce on his pogo stick now, it begged.
That part of her was a much less dignified communicator than her brain.
"Okay."
Abigail blinked and glanced up to see that Tomasso had turned and started back toward the beach.
"Okay?" she asked uncertainly, quickly following him.
"Si."
Abigail bit her lip, and then asked, "You're not angry with me?"
"Si and no," he answered, continuing forward.
"What
does that mean?" she asked with a frown. "Si, you're angry, and no, you're not?"
Turning, he eyed her with mild amusement and said, "You women, you like to talk, si?"
"I'm afraid so," she admitted wryly.
He nodded. "Then I will tell you. It is si because what I want most in the world is to strip every bit of clothing from you, lay you in the sand and lick every inch of your skin before sliding my aching pene into your body."
"Jeez," Abigail mumbled, fanning her face with one hand. The guy may not talk much, but when he did . . . Pene was Italian for penis, right? she wondered suddenly, and was quite sure that was the case.
"However, it is also no," he continued. "Because I understand if things are moving quickly for you and you wish to take time. Fortunately, so long as we avoid my kidnappers we have that time, more than you can imagine. So I will be patient and wait until you are ready for me to pleasure you with my mouth and hands and body until you scream my name and the stars explode behind your eyes."
"Jeez," Abigail muttered again, using both hands now to fan her face. The guy was--walking away again. Clucking her tongue, she hurried after him to ask, "You're willing to wait for me?"
"Si."
Apparently the more verbal guy had gone back into hiding, Abigail thought with irritation. She had kind of been hoping for some sort of proclamation. Like, that she was gorgeous and brilliant and sexy and worth waiting for or something. It seemed he wasn't going to try to sweet-talk his way into her pants though. Which was just a crying shame because really it wouldn't have taken much sweet talk at all, Abigail thought, and then rolled her eyes at herself. She was the one who had put the brakes on their having sex. He was just adhering to her wishes. Now she wanted to jump him?