It seemed his planning was over. And with all of his woolgathering he hadn’t managed to direct them anywhere. Not that he probably could have anyway, Tomasso acknowledged, and tried to figure out how far from land they were going to set down.
Moonlight was making things a little easier. The islands were darker masses against the water, often with lit-up sections of inhabitation. Tomasso surveyed the area below and did a quick calculation of the distance they were likely to land from the nearest land mass and almost winced. It was going to be a long night.
Four
Abigail woke up moaning. It was her head. The damned thing was pounding like a bass drum. Boom boom boom. Grimacing at the sunlight that struck her eyes when she opened them, she quickly closed them again and cursed herself for not closing the living room curtains before lying down to sleep on the couch. It was something she rarely forgot to do when she was up late nursing her mother through the occasional really bad night.
They were becoming more and more frequent of late, Abigail thought, and then frowned with confusion as her memory began to nudge her, gently reminding her that Mom no longer had bad nights, and she no longer had a home, let alone a living room. Though she still had a couch and curtains. They were packed away in storage back in Austin.
She, on the other hand, was visiting Jet in San Antonio. No, she had been flying with him to Venezuela, but had had to ride in the cargo section and—
“Oh, hell,” Abigail muttered and sat up abruptly, forcing her eyes open despite the pain the bright sunshine sent shooting through her skull.
Her gaze slid over a long stretch of sandy beach and crystal-blue water and for one moment she simply sat, stunned by the beauty of the scenery, but then she shifted her gaze to herself and her position. She was sitting on sand in the shade of the palm trees that lined the beach . . . and Tomasso Notte was asleep beside her.
He was still as naked as he’d been when she first found him, Abigail noted, absently slapping her arm and squishing a feasting mosquito as her eyes slid over Tomasso’s body with interest. She could see him much better now that she wasn’t trying to look him over by flashlight and . . . the man was just perfect. Too perfect. He was obviously a health buff. He probably spent half of every day at the gym to build up the muscles that bulged on his body.
The realization was a disheartening one. Someone who put so much time and effort into his body would not be impressed by someone as dumpy and out of shape as she was. Abigail was quite sure about that and the knowledge nearly broke her heart. After what had happened on the plane . . .
Abigail bit her lip, and struggled briefly with her body as it immediately responded to the memories now flooding her mind. His hands on her, his mouth on her, her cry as she reached her release . . . God, her nipples were getting erect just at the memory, and there was a sudden dampness between her legs too. What was the matter with her? She’d never reacted like this to a man, yet this one didn’t even have to touch her and she was a trembling mass of need.
Which might be a good thing, she thought suddenly. Certainly, she doubted he’d want to touch her again after getting a look at her in daylight and seeing what he hadn’t been able to see in the dark. So maybe fantasy and memory would be all she’d have.
Depressed by the thought, Abigail pushed herself to her feet. She immediately had to wave away a cloud of hungry mosquitoes that suddenly seemed to be swarming around her head. When that had little effect at dispersing the hungry bloodsuckers, she moved out of the shade, headed for the water.
Abigail was itchy from at least a half dozen mosquito bites she’d apparently received while she was sleeping and didn’t have any After Bite. She was hungry and thirsty and knew without question that they didn’t have any food or water. All they’d taken with them was the first aid kit, and that wasn’t likely to have much but gauze and antiseptic. This was the ocean. She couldn’t drink it, but she could splash it on herself and hope that soothed her itchy spots and fooled her body into thinking it wasn’t as dehydrated as it probably was.
She’d barely taken half a dozen steps on the unshaded sand before Abigail stopped abruptly and almost turned back. The sand had been heated by the beating sun and was unbearably hot underfoot. Her gaze slid to the sparkling blue water and rather than turn back, she burst into a run instead, rushing to the cool relief of the water.
A relieved moan slipped from her lips as the soothing water closed over her feet. Here the sand was much nicer, and the water felt good against her skin. Uncaring that her jeans were getting soaked, Abigail moved out into the water until it reached her knees, then bent to scoop up handfuls of the cool liquid and splashed it on her arms, her face, her throat, and even her chest above her neckline. It immediately dribbled down to soak her tank top, but Abigail didn’t care. She was hot and the water was refreshing, and she was wearing too damned many clothes. Jeans, a tank top, and a light blouse over it might be fine for a bus ride on an air-conditioned bus, and a cool evening in San Antonio, but it was definitely not appropriate for this hot, sandy beach in the Caribbean. It must be a hundred degrees or better here, she thought and wondered what time it was.
Pausing suddenly, Abigail straightened and raised a hand to shelter her eyes as she glanced to the sky to find the sun. It wasn’t quite directly overhead, but was a little to the side, either on its downward path, or still on its upward path. Abigail had no idea which it was. She didn’t know where they were or which direction was east or west at the moment. So by her best guess, it was either an hour or so before noon, or an hour or so after. She supposed she’d find out soon enough. The one sure thing in her life right then was that the sun would continue to move and the direction it moved in would tell her if it was late morning or early afternoon.
Abigail started to lower her hand, but stilled as the sunlight glared off something on her wrist. Her watch, she realized with self-disgust. She’d forgotten she was wearing one . . . probably because she didn’t usually wear it. It had been a graduation gift from her mother, meant to be used at medical school. Abigail had found wearing it depressing after dropping out of school. Besides, there simply hadn’t been much need for one. She’d been stuck in her mother’s apartment with clocks at every turn and nowhere to go but doctor’s appointments.
Grimacing, she turned her wrist to see the face and noted that it was still working, and that, if it was right, it was a bit after one in the afternoon.
Sighing, Abigail let her hand drop and scanned the water briefly, only to stiffen as she spotted a boat coming around the point on her right. Excitement rising in her, she waved happily despite knowing they probably couldn’t see her yet. Then she began to jump up and down excitedly as she waved, and added shouting to her repertoire to get their attention. She’d only let out one shout when she was suddenly grabbed from behind, dragged off her feet and carried quickly backward into the trees.
“Tomasso!” Abigail shrieked with dismay as he slowed once they were deep in the woods and out of sight of the beach. “What are you doing? We need help.”
“That could be Jake and Sully,” he answered grimly, setting her down on her feet. Keeping a hand on her so she couldn’t run, he then tilted his head to peer around the palm tree and back the way they’d come.
“Jake and Sully?” she asked with confusion.
“My kidnappers,” he explained. “I heard them say each other’s names once or twice when I woke up.”
“Oh,” she murmured and frowned. It hadn’t occurred to her that his kidnappers might come looking for them, but she supposed it made sense. They probably knew the coordinates of where they’d jumped out of the plane. All they had to do was get a boat and search in that area for them. Still . . .
“But what if it isn’t your kidnappers?” she pointed out. “We have no water, or food. Hell, you don’t even have clothes. We need help, Tomasso.”
“Sì,” he agreed bleakly, but shook his head. “If the boat had a lot of people then we could have flagged them down. But there were only two men on the boat. It raises the possibility that it is them.”
“Two men? You could tell that?” Abigail asked dubiously. She’d barely been able to see the boat let alone anyone on it, yet he was claiming he could and had counted two men?