“But wait, that’s not the best of it.” He moved over to his suitcase, fighting with the zipper to get it fully open.
“You found a working cell phone?”
“Better.” He pulled out a bottle of champagne.
“Oh my God.”
“It’s an excellent vintage,” he assured me.
“I expect nothing less.” I assumed a haughty tone.
“That’s what I keep trying to tell you.” He came to sit next to me, treasure in hand. “Expect the best and you’ll get it.” He displayed the champagne, sexy as a pirate king in his tux with his roughed-up hair and stubble.
“You’re unbelievable,” I murmured. And I meant it in the very best way.
CHAPTER 15
Colt
The process of making fire felt both all-consuming and meditative. It required concentration and precision, an art and a science. Taking nothing and making it something, it felt so primal, so powerful. Two pieces of wood formed curls of smoke, an ember, smoldering into life-sustaining flame. I’d never felt prouder of any of my accomplishments.
Caroline kneeled over by a low, flat rock preparing the fish I’d caught. She did it well, efficient, effective, meticulous in cleaning her work surface with sea water and the cup she’d found in our cave. We made a good team, the two of us. Back in real life we’d been pitted against each other, adversaries with opposing goals. But here on the island our true selves came to play and we fit together perfectly.
Earlier in the afternoon I’d taken her rough, standing up against the wall of our cave. It had felt so raw, so real, pinning her wrists above her head onto the smooth stone. Pounding into her, her legs locked around my waist, her mouth open in frenzied cries. I’d lost myself in it, the smell of her, the sounds of our fucking. The way it looked right where our bodies met, my hands splayed along her generous ass, cupping her cheeks, angling her just right with every thrust, so slick and tight around me.
I’d bathed her afterwards in the lagoon, massaging her hair, loving every curve and crevice of her body. Taking care of my woman in every possible way. I’d never felt anything remotely near this with any other partner. With Caroline, it was so much more than amazing sex. It was a deep craving, a bottomless need to possess and satisfy. Mine, I felt it when I thrust into her. Mine.
She belonged with me, and I her. I could feel it with certainty. I didn’t know if she felt it, too. And in the dim recess of my brain I remembered—we’d only known each other a couple of weeks. But getting stranded on a deserted island had a way of stripping away all of the bullshit. What was left once you removed all the trappings, all the labels that described our backgrounds and families and jobs? The perfect click that happened once in a lifetime.
“This is going to be so good!” Caroline called over to me, holding up a big, fat fish I’d caught us earlier.
“Yes, it is.” I wasn’t looking at the fish. She was back in that pink ruffled bikini, driving me crazy, looking like a pinup from the 60s, all flirt and bodacious curves. Her breasts were a work of art, rounded, luscious, creamy softness with those nipples like cherries on top of mounds of whipped cream. That bikini top was coming off soon. And when our rescue came, as I knew it would, I’d have to continue to create opportunities to fully enjoy her plentiful assets.
I could use “CB” to block off time on my calendar. Caroline’s Breasts. I’d need hours devoted to that task every day.
The fire roared before me. I stood back and surveyed it, tempted to beat my chest and roar with triumph. Man vs. elements. Man wins.
“Oh! I just remembered!” Caroline’s eyes flashed with excitement as she took off toward our cave. I watched her go, enjoying the sight of her going as much as her coming. In both senses of the word.
She returned several minutes later with something wrapped in foil. Approaching me, she held it between her two upturned palms like an offering for the gods.
“It’s chocolate!” she declared.
“No.” It couldn’t be.
“Yes! In the side pocket in my backpack! I’m sure it’s all melted and gooey—”
“My favorite kind. All the better to lick and suck.”
She returned my smile. That dimple really killed me. We set the chocolate to the side, right next to the champagne, and went to work cooking our fish.
Sitting together on a blanket, Dom Perignon Rose straight from the bottle, fire crackling before us, sun setting over the perfect aqua blue ocean, the level of fulfillment and satisfaction broke all previous records. Fresh fish so tender and light, falling apart in our hands as we licked our fingers. Juicy pineapple, so flavorful and sweet. And chocolate, dark chocolate, half melted and sinfully decadent as we fed it to each other piece by piece. I licked it off her lips, her fingers as she sighed with pleasure.
“I think I’m going to have to bathe you again.” I licked a trail of pineapple juice from her chin, continuing on down her throat to my favorite playground below.
“I wouldn’t say no to that.” She wound her hands around my neck and I picked her up in my arms. Looking up at me, dreamy and relaxed, happy and satisfied, I knew I’d never seen a woman more beautiful.
The water was warm, as always, and calm in the shallow lagoon. I waded in, chest deep, letting the gentle water cradle us as we embraced. Kissing her slowly with no clocks, no deadlines, no pressing next engagements. We existed out of time, only for each other.
She let her fingers, her lips and tongue play along my shoulders, my neck, my chest, exploring every inch. When she came to the scar on my right shoulder, she stopped, lightly running the pad of her index finger along it. It had long since stopped hurting, but her touch brought back memories.
“How did you get this?” she asked, pressing a soothing kiss to it.
“A knife,” I answered honestly. Exactly three people knew the story behind it, and one of them was dead. It wasn’t something I shared. But with Caroline, I already felt like an open book. There was no making up another story or deflecting her attention, as I’d done in the past when asked. It wasn’t a large or ugly scar, only a couple inches long and well healed. But the attacker had almost killed me.
“Someone stabbed you?” She looked up at me, wide-eyed with concern.
“It could have been a lot worse,” I assured her, and I wasn’t just saying it. He’d been aiming for my neck. Had he hit my carotid artery I could have died in under 60 seconds.
“What happened?”
I held her and told her, sharing a story I hadn’t shared with another living soul. Four years ago during the summer my younger sister was 18, she’d had a stalker. I hadn’t taken it seriously.
“He was from a family like ours. Had a house nearby in the Hamptons.” I shook my head, still hating myself for not having clued in to how unhinged the young man had been, or how much danger Gigi had faced.
“One night, he broke into our house.” I could still remember every detail, how I’d been standing in the kitchen in the early morning hours, still slightly drunk from a night out and about. My senses dulled, I hadn’t heard him break the small pane of glass above the doorknob of a side entrance. He’d disabled our alarm system.
I had no warning before I saw him, all in black, creeping in the shadows toward the base of the stairs leading up to Gigi’s bedroom. I’d shouted and run over, stupidly trying to land a punch before I’d seen that he wielded a long, sharp knife. What he’d been planning to do with that knife to my sister, I thankfully never discovered.
“If it weren’t for Dom, I don’t know what would have happened.” I told Caroline about how Dominic had come out of nowhere, somehow managing to leap into the fray and deflect the path of the knife down to my shoulder. He’d handled everything with precision and expertise, stopping the bleeding from my wound as he called in the paramedics. What he hadn’t been able to do, though, was save Gigi’s stalker. After a hard punch from Dom, he’d collapsed onto his own knife.
“Thank God Dominic was there!” she exclaimed. “
Who is he?”
“A good friend of the family.” Or at least of mine. My father and his mother had met that summer and married, briefly, before my father’s death. No one thought much of his fortune-hunting mom, 21 years younger than my dad with the biggest, raunchiest fake boobs you’d ever seen. But Dom would always be all right in my book. We didn’t legally have a family bond anymore, but he’d always be like a brother to me. A brother who’d saved my life, and possibly that of my sister as well.
“I should have taken the threat more seriously.” I hated thinking about it. Twenty-six when it happened, I’d been fresh out of Harvard business school, devoting my weekends in the Hamptons to networking and partying, too pumped up with seizing my own destiny to stop and pay attention. I’d dismissed Gigi’s concerns, making assumptions about the stalker’s sanity based solely on his background and family connections. Turned out that Dom, covered in tattoos and muscles like a maximum-security prison inmate, was the good guy, while the one in the collared shirt and khakis was the villain.
“That’s so scary,” she murmured. “I’m so glad you and your sister are all right.”
I hugged her, appreciating her concern. But I didn’t want old, dark memories to cloud our current, blissful Eden.
“Enough about all that.” I ran my hands up and down her back, pressing her to me. “That’s ancient history. I’m more interested in now.”