make us both fall back into that lagoon, Francey," he growled in her ear, "I'm going to be very irritated."
She stopped her struggles. Not so much because of his threat, but because her skimpy bikini wasn't made for wrestling matches. And the more she struggled, the more her chilled, damp body rubbed against his warm, dry one. The effect it had on her was disturbing and undeniable. And she didn't even want to consider whether or not it was having an effect on him.
He released her then, abruptly, only his hand steadying her from tumbling back into the lagoon. If he'd made a smutty remark, tried to touch her in any way, she would never have forgiven him. But he kept his gaze on her face. "Dinner's almost ready," he said. "And I found a T-shirt in the bottom of one of the boxes. Now, I'd much rather wear it. For one thing, it's getting cooler, and I'd just as soon keep you wearing as little as possible. But as we've already ascertained, I'm a perfect gentleman. So the T-shirt's yours."
She didn't know what to say. Except that his blue eyes were looking steadily into hers, and his manner was back to what she was accustomed to. Calm, sexless, friendly. She was the one suffering from an excess of awareness, an excess of imagination. Not Michael.
"That would be very nice," she said politely. "What's for dinner?"
His mouth curved up in a smile. "Now, that's the bad news. Cecil might have left us plenty to eat, but it's all godawful. Tonight we have freeze-dried shepherd's pie. Fresh shepherd's pie is bad enough, but freeze-drying it is a crime against humanity. After that, I suggest we try to get some sleep. It's almost full dark, and there's not much we can do once the sun sets completely. I don't think it would be wise to keep a fire going after dark."
She glanced over at the clearing. He'd managed a makeshift bed. One. Big enough for both of them. She looked back at him, a question in her eyes. "We're sleeping together?"
"Unless you want to freeze. I'm looking forward to your bedtime story. Who'd want to kill you, and why?"
"You wouldn't believe me," she said glumly.
He smiled then, just a faint, amused crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "Try me," he said. "I'm a lot more gullible than you'd think."
The T-shirt was a vast improvement. It was of a heavy cotton jersey and hung halfway to her knees. She wished she dared take off her wet bathing suit, but she didn't. Not because of the effect it might have on him, but what it might do to her.
Dinner was as horrendous as Michael had predicted, but they polished off every scrap of it, including emptying a bag of tasteless
muesli
for dessert. The water carried a designer label, and there was a full case of it, and there were even a couple of bottles of an excellent Chardonnay. When Michael extinguished the camp stove, darkness closed in around them, lit only by the brightness of a thousand stars in the inky sky overhead.
"Sorry there's no moon." His voice was slightly muffled in the darkness. He was over by the lagoon; she could see his body huddled down beside the water.
"Could you have arranged one?" she countered. The makeshift bed was behind her, and she wished she could come up with a reasonable alternative.
"Maybe if I'd had prior warning," he said lightly, rising and moving toward her, his gait smooth and even despite the evidence of his recent injuries.
"Your leg's much better," she observed, hoping to disconcert him, stalling for time.
"Yes, it is." He stopped a short distance away from her, as if he knew she was frightened. "You could probably still outrun me if you had a mind to."
She swallowed. "Is that supposed to set my mind at ease? Because if it is, it's failing."
Even in the inky starlight she could see the smile that creased his face. "I'm not going to chase you, I'm not going to rape you, I'm not even going to seduce you. Right now all I want to do is get some sleep, but I can't until you stop acting like a skittish virgin and lie down."
"I'm not a
She stopped her struggles. Not so much because of his threat, but because her skimpy bikini wasn't made for wrestling matches. And the more she struggled, the more her chilled, damp body rubbed against his warm, dry one. The effect it had on her was disturbing and undeniable. And she didn't even want to consider whether or not it was having an effect on him.
He released her then, abruptly, only his hand steadying her from tumbling back into the lagoon. If he'd made a smutty remark, tried to touch her in any way, she would never have forgiven him. But he kept his gaze on her face. "Dinner's almost ready," he said. "And I found a T-shirt in the bottom of one of the boxes. Now, I'd much rather wear it. For one thing, it's getting cooler, and I'd just as soon keep you wearing as little as possible. But as we've already ascertained, I'm a perfect gentleman. So the T-shirt's yours."
She didn't know what to say. Except that his blue eyes were looking steadily into hers, and his manner was back to what she was accustomed to. Calm, sexless, friendly. She was the one suffering from an excess of awareness, an excess of imagination. Not Michael.
"That would be very nice," she said politely. "What's for dinner?"
His mouth curved up in a smile. "Now, that's the bad news. Cecil might have left us plenty to eat, but it's all godawful. Tonight we have freeze-dried shepherd's pie. Fresh shepherd's pie is bad enough, but freeze-drying it is a crime against humanity. After that, I suggest we try to get some sleep. It's almost full dark, and there's not much we can do once the sun sets completely. I don't think it would be wise to keep a fire going after dark."
She glanced over at the clearing. He'd managed a makeshift bed. One. Big enough for both of them. She looked back at him, a question in her eyes. "We're sleeping together?"
"Unless you want to freeze. I'm looking forward to your bedtime story. Who'd want to kill you, and why?"
"You wouldn't believe me," she said glumly.
He smiled then, just a faint, amused crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "Try me," he said. "I'm a lot more gullible than you'd think."
The T-shirt was a vast improvement. It was of a heavy cotton jersey and hung halfway to her knees. She wished she dared take off her wet bathing suit, but she didn't. Not because of the effect it might have on him, but what it might do to her.
Dinner was as horrendous as Michael had predicted, but they polished off every scrap of it, including emptying a bag of tasteless
muesli
for dessert. The water carried a designer label, and there was a full case of it, and there were even a couple of bottles of an excellent Chardonnay. When Michael extinguished the camp stove, darkness closed in around them, lit only by the brightness of a thousand stars in the inky sky overhead.
"Sorry there's no moon." His voice was slightly muffled in the darkness. He was over by the lagoon; she could see his body huddled down beside the water.
"Could you have arranged one?" she countered. The makeshift bed was behind her, and she wished she could come up with a reasonable alternative.
"Maybe if I'd had prior warning," he said lightly, rising and moving toward her, his gait smooth and even despite the evidence of his recent injuries.
"Your leg's much better," she observed, hoping to disconcert him, stalling for time.
"Yes, it is." He stopped a short distance away from her, as if he knew she was frightened. "You could probably still outrun me if you had a mind to."
She swallowed. "Is that supposed to set my mind at ease? Because if it is, it's failing."
Even in the inky starlight she could see the smile that creased his face. "I'm not going to chase you, I'm not going to rape you, I'm not even going to seduce you. Right now all I want to do is get some sleep, but I can't until you stop acting like a skittish virgin and lie down."
"I'm not a
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