Nina Bruhns - Capturing the Crown Bundle

Christ. Carrington would be furious; he might even feel betrayed. After what had happened with Kayla…Chase shuddered. He’d thought he’d loved her enough to ask her to become his wife. When she’d tricked him into believing another man’s baby was his and then jilted him publicly, his own personal anguish had been splashed all over the papers. His infatuation with Kayla had nearly cost him his job once. Only Carrington’s interference had saved him and his tattered reputation.

Never again.

This situation had too many common denominators.

Such publicity, even if unwarranted, was exactly the kind of derailment Chase’s career didn’t need.

He shook his head. Silvershire—and his job—seemed thousands of miles away. Now, stuck for God knows how long on this deserted island, staying alive took precedence over anything else.

Sydney stumbled and nearly fell. The wound on her neck had started bleeding again. Her expensive outfit, torn and dirty and bloodstained, was ruined. Since she had nothing else to wear, all he could do was see what parts of it were salvageable. Either that, or else she’d have to run around using leaves to cover herself, like Eve outside the Garden of Eden. A sudden mental image of Sydney, her sleek curves glistening in the sunlight, nearly had him staggering.

Luckily, he was able to regain his balance.

Finally, they reached the pond. At the edge of the water, he stopped. Sydney looked up at him, her dazed expression telling him she might be going into shock.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his tone gentle.

She licked her lips and tried twice before finally answering. “I think so.”

“We’re going to get into the water here and get cleaned up. I’ll hold on to you, I promise.” He took the first step forward, pleased when she moved with him.

The first step took them in up to her waist.

She gasped and began shivering. “Cold!”

“Not really.” He knew he had to hurry, because victims of shock had to be kept warm. “Hold still and let me clean you off.”

Teeth chattering, she did as he asked. He told himself as he swept his hands over her wet skin, that his touch was impersonal. Nevertheless, his hands on the curve of her hips, her flat belly, felt as if they were touching forbidden fruit. When he accidentally brushed her full breasts and felt her nipples hard against his palm, his body responded, despite the cool water temperature.

He concentrated on cleaning her up and ignored his libido’s bad timing.

“I need you to put your head under the water,” he said. “Do you want me to dunk you or can you do it yourself?”

Though she still shivered violently, when she looked at him he saw her gaze had cleared. “I can do it, if you hold on to me.”

At his nod, she gulped air and dropped under. When she resurfaced, slicking her hair back from her face, his breath caught in his throat. Damned if she didn’t look like some primitive nymph, sleek skin gleaming in the dappled sunlight. The shreds of her wet clothing clung to her body and outlined every hollow, every curve.

He was so hard he hurt.

Self-directed anger made him gruff. “Good enough.” Helping her up onto the bank, he tried to ignore the way his hand cupped her rounded bottom. Once he was certain she’d be okay, he dived under himself, swimming with powerful strokes to the middle of the pond. Here, he trod water, reminding himself to come back later and explore the depth.

As soon as he had his body under control again, he emerged. Sydney sat, huddled into a wet ball, shivering.

“Let’s get you back into the sunlight to warm you.”

Docilely, she allowed him to lead her back to the beach area, where he sat her on a huge boulder in full sun.

Now, he needed to see what he could do to make them shelter.

A large side section of the jet had landed on the rocky beach. It would make a decent roof, much better than any primitive thatch thing he might attempt to construct from leaves and sticks.

He grabbed the section of metal and started dragging it toward the trees. It was heavier than he’d realized.

As he moved it inch by inch, dragging it over rocky ground, he wondered how long they’d have to wait until rescue arrived. He refused to consider the possibility that someone else might get here first.

Sydney opened her eyes to find Chase watching her closely, his hazel gaze unreadable. She licked her lips and he handed her a tin cup of water. “The cup is left from what remains of the jet’s galley. I found several of them—and a spring-fed pond—near the interior of this island.”

She sipped gratefully, her throat still raw. “My baby…”

He looked away, obviously ill at ease. Instead of answering a question that could not be answered, he tried to distract her. “I found your purse, too.” He held up the black Fendi. “Remarkably intact. Not even a scratch.”

Throat aching, chest tight, she nodded. She really didn’t care about the purse, other than being glad to have her passport. She had more important matters to think about. Until she could get to a hospital, she had no idea if her baby was all right. “How long have I been out?”

“You drifted in and out all of last night. I’ve been keeping watch. When you finally fell into a real sleep, I slept some. Now it’s morning.” Again he glanced at his wrist, then gave a wry smile. “Though I don’t know the exact time. Your watch is gone, too.”

“That’s okay.” She sat up, waiting for dizziness and felt absurdly pleased when the earth didn’t spin. They were in some kind of small shelter, made of bits and pieces of the crashed jet. He’d piled sticks and branches near one side, no doubt for when they needed to build a fire. “Where are the pilots?”

“They’re both dead. When the cockpit exploded, they burned.” A shadow crossed Chase’s rugged face. He had a good five-o’clock-shadow going, which had the effect of making him look even more dangerously masculine. He was so beautiful, looking at him made her chest hurt.

Sydney shook her head. She’d survived a plane crash, minor injuries, and felt like her insides had been scrambled. Had the bump on her head permanently addled her wits? She focused instead on his words, remembering the blond man who’d flown the jet. “I’m sorry.”

Chase looked away. “I wanted to bury them, but I couldn’t get them out in time.” His low voice was tight, controlled, but she thought she could detect an undercurrent of grief.

Wincing, she nodded. “How long before someone comes for us?”

Chase raised his head and met her gaze again. “I don’t know. The jet’s radio was broken. My cell phone’s gone. I have no way to contact anyone. All I can hope is the plane’s emergency beacon did its job.”

Still woozy, she pushed to her feet, waving him away when he tried to steady her. “We can stand up in here.” The shelter he’d improvised for them was nothing short of amazing. He’d anchored pieces of metal from the jet between three trees, using the middle one as a brace. It looked, she thought, quite sturdy, considering.

He saw her looking and shrugged. “It’ll do until we’re rescued.”

She seized on his words, allowing them to give her hope. “I’m sure it will,” she told him. “Provided rescue comes soon.”

She stepped out from under the shelter to brilliant sunshine. Shading her eyes with her hand, she glanced toward the beach, noting the way the sun reflected off the sea. “So we have water, but what about food? Would it be too much to hope some food survived the crash?”

“A few packets of crackers. That’s it. But I’ve seen some small game in the woods. And of course, there are fish.”

“Can you hunt?”

He gave her a supremely male look of arrogance. “Of course I can hunt. I fish, too. We won’t starve, if it comes to that.” He coughed. “But my cooking is abysmal.”