Samantha Connolly - I Will Survive

Dear Reader,

I don’t know anybody who hasn’t had this fantasy at one time or another. To be marooned on a tropical island with the man of your dreams—heaven!

Add to that fact that I’m a big fan of survival and wildlife shows, especially the ones where the presenters are so cheerful and unruffled as they ramble on about poisonous plants or marauding herds, while pointing out the volcano behind them that’s due to erupt at any moment or the piranha-infested river they’re planning to kayak, just as soon as they’ve splinted the leg of this cute little snarling puma.

Writing this book was a dream because I got to create my own heart-melting presenter and also to wonder how I might fare in a survival situation—though I freely admit I didn’t take my research as far as eating bugs!

So sit back and enjoy this feast of sand, sea and s…Well, I’ll say no more. Slap on that sunscreen and enjoy the adventures of the indomitable Jessie Banks!

Best wishes,

Samantha Connolly

Jessie’s eyes widened as Nick unbuttoned his shirt. Had she been completely wrong about him? About this show? Was she expected to have sex with him after all? On camera?

“Here,” said Nick, handing her his shirt. “Put this on. It’ll give your things time to dry.”

Jessie was mortified by her assumptions and touched by his consideration. She took the shirt and slipped it on.

“I just wanted to tell you that you don’t have to worry about bunking together tonight…. I mean, uh, that’s not something you, uh…”

So much for her ego. Jessie said awkwardly, “Uh, oh, you neither, of course.”

“Let’s get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

Nick seemed devoid of any awkwardness as he lay down on the cot and curved his arm around her. She snuggled against him and could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. Meanwhile, her heart was thudding like a piston.

Suddenly Jessie decided that she didn’t care if the others were less than ten feet away. She was in bed with Nick Garrett—gorgeous, kind, hugely popular TV host—and she was going to make the most of it.

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Born in Ireland, Samantha Connolly has lived all over the globe. Her family (mom, dad, younger sister) moved to Australia when she was four. Six years later the family returned to their native Ireland, where her parents opened their own bookshop. And there Samantha’s love affair with books began. Growing up surrounded by books, she dreamed of writing one of her own someday. After completing university, she lived in London for several years, working in a number of places, including an art gallery. And she earned her private pilot’s license (now sadly expired due to lack of flying hours, but she plans on retaking the exams one day!). Samantha, too, has now returned to Ireland and gotten serious about her writing. She divides her time between putting pen to paper and working in her family’s bookstore. Her hobbies include horseback riding, camping and, of course, reading.

HARLEQUIN DUETS

86—IF THE SHOE FITS

104—A REAL WORK OF ART

This one’s for Kathryn Lye Editor extraordinaire Whose persistently high standards both exasperate me beyond measure and make me write better than I knew I could

For all the many times you’ve made me want to throw my laptop out the window My deepest thanks

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Epilogue

JESSIE BANKS STEPPED out of the tiny bathroom and looked crossly at the other occupant of the small cabin.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “I won’t wear this.”

Lois ran her eyes appraisingly over Jessie. “But you look fantastic. It’s perfect on you.” She moved out of the way to allow Jessie to look at herself in the full-length mirror. Jessie spread her arms.

“Oh, you’re right,” she said. “What was I thinking? This is indeed the perfect outfit for ten days on a desert island.”

The yacht crested a wave and Jessie teetered on her five-inch heels.

“That’s the spirit,” said Lois, deliberately ignoring Jessie’s sarcasm.

Jessie sighed and pointed at the cargo pants and checked shirt that were strewn across the bunk bed.

“Is the joke over now?” she said. “Can I put my own clothes back on?”

Lois raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow and her gaze turned steely. “Look, a shipwreck is an unexpected thing, right? When it happens you don’t really have the luxury of picking and choosing what you’re going to wear.”

“I’m aware of that,” retorted Jessie. “But even if I can’t wear my own clothes is it really necessary for me to be dressed like a…well, a lady of the night?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed Lois. “That’s a designer dress.”

Jessie pulled up one of the spaghetti straps that had slipped off her shoulder. “It may well be a designer dress,” she said in despair, “but it still feels like it’ll fall apart before we even get to the island. I don’t see how it’ll last the whole ten days.”

“So that can be one of your projects on the island, to fashion yourself some new clothes.”

“Let me guess,” said Jessie. “Coconut shells and a grass skirt?”

“Whatever you like,” said Lois impassively.

Jessie turned back to the mirror again and gazed at her implausible attire. The red dress, which stopped a good four inches above her knees, was made of some kind of stretchy, spangled material that hugged every curve of her figure. It was a figure that was usually hidden by her demure tailored suits at work or played down in jeans and loose-fitting chambray shirts at home but even in those innocuous clothes it could still only be described as statuesque. And with the strappy shoes bringing her height to almost six feet she was barely able to stand up in the cramped cabin.

She turned back to Lois, polite but determined.

“I’m sorry but this is not going to work. I’m not wearing it and you can’t make me.”

Lois riffled through the sheaf of papers she was holding and thrust a few pages towards Jessie.

“Actually, we can.”

“What’s this?”

“It’s a complete copy of the rules, terms and conditions of the competition, which, in entering, you agreed to abide by.”

Jessie flipped through the pages, squinting at the dense print. “I never saw these.”

Lois shrugged. “Contestants were invited to send away for the full rules if they so wished. Have a look at Section Two, Part Four.”

Jessie read aloud. “The attire and accoutrements of the participants, aka competition finalists, shall be determined at the sole and total discretion of Quest Broadcasting.”

Jessie looked up and waved the rules at Lois. “I don’t suppose there’s any other little surprises in here that I should know about, is there? Any little clauses saying I have to sleep with Nick Garrett by any chance?”