Susan Cliff - Stranded With The Navy Seal

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.