Always Page 10

  Rhys.

  She turned slowly. He stood a few yards behind her, one shoulder propped against a palm tree, arms crossed over his chest. When their eyes met he drawled, "Well, well. Alone at last."

  Chapter Six

  "That's not funny." Meghan glared at him. She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life, and his impassive attitude exacerbated her raw nerves almost to breaking point.

  "It wasn't meant to be. Nevertheless, it's true. We are alone." Rhys pushed away from the tree and strolled out onto the beach. He picked up his garment bag and the jug and headed back to the shade of the trees with a calm that made her want to scream. "I've been trying to get you alone for weeks with no luck. I didn't know it would require kidnapping."

  Meghan's eyes widened. "Rhys...you didn't...you didn't stage this whole thing, did you?"

  "No, I did not. I was merely pointing out the obvious." He dumped his load on the sand and came back for the rest.

  "How can you be so.. .so.. .unconcerned?" Her stockinged feet sank ankle deep in the soft sand and the straight skirt of her dress hampered movement but she stomped along at his heels. "We've been kidnapped, for heaven's sake! Taken against our will by three dim-witted lowlifes and dumped in the middle of nowhere, and you just calmly accept it. You didn't even try to resist them. What's the matter with you? At the very least you should be angry and upset."

  Rhys dumped the cooler and Meghan's briefcase and purse with the other things and straightened. His pale eyes stabbed her. "Oh, sugar, I'm plenty angry. And I don't have any intention of 'accepting' anything. I'm just not foolish enough to take on three armed men. Not without some sort of plan. If they return for us themselves, however, I intend to have some surprises ready for Virgil and his pals. Until then, though, I'm afraid you're stranded here with me. That being the case, I think we ought to make good use of this time."

  "To do what?" she asked suspiciously.

  "For one thing, to talk and clear the air."

  "Oh for— I can't believe you'd bring that up at a time like this."

  "And for another," Rhys continued as though she had not spoken. "To build some sort of a shelter. I don't like the looks of that squall line."

  Whirling around, Meghan shielded her eyes and peered at the low-hanging dark clouds on the western horizon. She turned back to Rhys with a shrug. "That's miles away, maybe even a hundred or more. What's the point in building a shelter? 'Virgil or the authorities will be here before those clouds reach us. Assuming they're even headed this way."

  "The prevailing winds are from the west. Unless the storm blows itself out, we'll get it by evening. And I wouldn't count on the three stooges, if I were you."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  Rhys gave her a brooding look, as if deciding how much to tell her. "Just that they probably won't make it back tonight," he said finally, and sat down on the sand and began to pull off his shoes and socks.

  "Of course they will. Why wouldn't they? They'll return to the mainland, call Quincy, get the money and be back, just like they said they would. What could be more simple?" She was babbling, the rapid-fire words tumbling willy-nilly from her mouth in a high-pitched voice she scarcely recognized as her own. Hysteria was building inside, rising in her chest like a flood tide, threatening to overwhelm her.

  "It's not always that simple. Negotiations in this kind of crime sometimes go on for days. Then, too, it takes time to put together that kind of cash, no matter how much you're worth. And from what little we've seen of Virgil and his cohorts, anything can and probably will go wrong."

  "Don't say that! They'll be back before dark. You'll see." She had to believe that. She'd go crazy if she didn't.

  "I think you should be a little more realistic about this, Meghan. It took all night for us to get here. Granted, part of that was probably due to the ineptness of those three idiots." Standing, Rhys brushed off the seat of his jeans, pulled out the tail of his shirt and began to unbutton it. "Nevertheless, you've got to figure it'll take most of the day for them to get back to the coast. Even supposing everything goes like clockwork and they get their money and return, or let the authorities know where we are, it will be morning before anyone comes for us."

  "Not necessarily. They could send out helicopters. Or... or faster boats. For all we know, the FBI has already picked them up and are on their way here right now."

  Rhys gave her a pitying look, and fear almost choked her. "It could happen," she insisted. Her voice carried a shrill note that was discernible even to her own ears, but she was too upset to care. "I refuse to let you frighten me with—"

  She gasped and backed up a step as Rhys shrugged out of his shirt."What are you doing?"

  "Getting ready to build a shelter. In case you haven't noticed, this is a tropical island. It's hot as hell."

  Meghan barely heard him. The sight of that broad chest made her mouth go dry. She stared at the inverted triangle of black hair, and as vivid as though it had happened yesterday, a picture formed in her mind. An image of herself running her fingers through that luxurious thatch, burying her nose in it, her tongue stabbing through the silky hairs to tease and torment and taste the salty tang of his skin.

  A trembling started deep in her belly. She felt strange-hot and cold at the same time, unable to move or look away.

  She was jolted out of her trance when Rhys reached for the button on the waistband of his jeans.

  "Rhys Morgan, don't you dare!"

  "What's the big deal? My briefs are dark colored. Anyway they cover more than most swim trunks."

  "I don't care. I do not want to watch you parade around in your underwear."

  "So don't look."

  "Rhee-eese," she admonished, and he rolled his eyes.

  "Oh, all right, little Miss Prude. I'll keep my pants on. But it's not as though you haven't seen it all before."

  She sucked in her breath and her face flamed. "I can't believe you would be so crass, so crude, so.. .so.. .insensitive as to bring that up. You may be a big star now, but you're still the same unfeeling brute you were eight years ago. Just as I knew you would be." With that, she stuck her nose in the air, pivoted on one heel and stalked away.

  "Unfeeling brute? Me? I resent that. I was damned nice to you back then. Wait a minute. Where're you going? Hey! Come back here!"

  Meghan ignored him. How dare he remind her of that night? And he had done it deliberately, too. She was sure of it. The dirty, rotten, no-good, stinking...

  She had barely covered ten yards when Rhys caught her arm and spun her around. "Wait just a damn minute. Where do you think you're going?"

  "Anywhere away from you."

  His eyebrows rose. "You're not going to help me build a shelter?"

  If looks could kill, he would have crumpled on the spot. "You can take your shelter and stuff it up—"

  "Never mind. I get the message."

  He shot an exasperated look heavenward and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, sweetheart, this is ridiculous. We're in this mess together. We should be working as a team, not fighting. Now come on back and help me throw together something to protect us from the weather. Then we can sit down together calmly and figure out what we're going to do."

  "I told you before, don't call me sweetheart," she snapped, and jerked her arm free of his grasp.

  "All right, all right." He held up his hands, palms out. "I won't, if you'll just come back and give me a hand."

  He had a point, as much as it irritated her to admit it. Not about the need for a shelter, but they should be working together instead of pulling in two directions like a pair of mules in harness. She gave him a surly look and huffed. "Oh, all right. I'll help. But only td pass the time, not because I think we're going to need it, mind you."

  "Fine."

  "And I warn you, I don't know anything about building." She whirled around and stomped back toward the spot where he had dumped their things.

  Rhys watched her, shaking his head. Stubborn, hotheaded l
ittle spitfire. What the devil had happened to that sweet-tempered, dewy-eyed girl he had known back in college?

  Everything about Meghan radiated anger—from her wild mane of hair, which seemed to catch fire in the sunshine, to the tilt of her chin and the rigid line of her back and shoulders—but the sugary sand and the tight skirt on her dress forced her to take mincing steps, which totally destroyed the effect of her irate march. He would have laughed, if he hadn't been so concerned about her.

  After he had pulled down some vines and showed her how to braid them into ropes, he announced that he was going to go cut some bamboo poles.

  Meghan gaped when he drew a large switchblade knife from his jeans pocket, but when he pulled a small hatchet from the garment bag her eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. "Where did you get those?"

  "The knife, I always carry. It's a leftover from my survival training when I was a marine, I guess. Virgil and friends searched the garment bag, but they forgot to frisk us. Real bright guys." He grinned. "While you were asleep I convinced Harley to let me use the head. I filched the hatchet then, out of a toolbox they'd left in there. I hid it in my pants until I got back to the cabin." His grin grew wider and more wicked. "Old Harley didn't noticed the bulge, or if he did he was impressed."

  He chuckled as her face flamed, but when she began to sputter he headed for the bamboo grove.

  "I still say we're wasting our time," she yelled after him. "We're going to get blisters and sore muscles for nothing!''

  Rhys sighed and kept going. He knew it was fear that made her cling so stubbornly to the conviction that Virgil and his buddies would be back for them today. Actually, given their situation, she was coping better than most women he knew would have. For the moment, at least.

  Obviously, it had not occurred to her that Virgil and his partners might have no intention of ever returning or of revealing their whereabouts to anyone. Or worse, that once they got the money they might come back and kill them.

  Just as well she hadn't, Rhys thought. He doubted that Meghan could handle that gruesome possibility right now.

  He certainly wasn't going to point it out to her. There was no point in frightening her more than she already was.

  Rhys spent the next couple of hours gathering palm leaves and hacking down bamboo poles. Sitting on the trunk of a fallen palm tree, Meghan sulked and watched him cart load after load back to the site while she braided what seemed like miles of the tough vines.

  Within the first five minutes Rhys was perspiring. By midday, sweat was dripping from his face and hair, running in rivulets down his back and through the soaked ringlets on his chest. The top four inches of his jeans were soaked, as well.

  Meghan struggled not to notice, but when he stopped beside the log and she drew in the earthy smells of sweat and man, her pulsed skittered.

  Breathing hard, he swiped his face with his forearm, then braced his fists on his hips. "I could use a bite to eat." He gave his face another swipe and squatted down on his haunches to investigate the contents of the cooler.

  The terrible threesome's idea of survival food turned out to be a large package of bologna, a jar of pasteurized-cheese spread, two loaves of bread, a huge bag of corn chips, assorted packages of goo-filled cupcakes and three six-packs of beer.

  Rhys's mouth twitched as he settled on the log beside her with his meal. "Not exactly a health-conscious diet or gourmet food but at least it will keep us alive long enough for us to learn to fend for ourselves if we have to."

  Meghan gave him a killing look, but she was too busy devouring a bologna sandwich to argue. Until Rhys had opened the cooler, Meghan hadn't even realized she was hungry; she had been too upset to notice. She hadn't eaten since lunch the previous day, and though she'd never cared much for bologna, at that moment a feast could not have tasted better.

  Neither spoke. For several minutes appeasing the gnawing hunger in her belly demanded all of Meghan's attention. By the time she finished the sandwich, however, her focus had returned to their situation.

  Washing down the last bite with a swallow of beer, Meghan gazed out over the deep blue waters. A frightening sense of unreality enveloped her, and she shivered, despite the bright sunlight and tropical breezes.

  Stranded. They were castaways on a deserted island—just her and Rhys! With no way off. She shivered again.

  "Hey, are you all right? You can't be cold in this heat. Don't tell me you're coming down with a fever." Rhys's face puckered with concern and he reached out and laid the back of his hand against her cheek.

  Meghan jumped at the contact, and Rhys's frown deepened.

  "No. No, I'm fine. Really."

  She quickly looked away, her gaze swinging back to the north and sweeping the horizon. It was too soon for Virgil and his buddies to be back. She knew that. Still she could not stop herself from looking for them, from hoping.

  "You know, our predicament aside, this really is a beautiful spot," Rhys murmured.

  Meghan glanced at him. He looked perfectly at ease, leaning back on one braced arm. The other was draped over his raised knee, his empty beer can dangling in his loose grasp. As he scanned their surroundings, his eyes squinted against the glare, forming attractive crinkles at the corners.

  Her heart did a funny little skip and she looked away.

  "Yes, I suppose it is," she murmured.

  She swept her gaze over the blue waters and crystalline white sand and swaying palms, taking in the unspoiled beauty of the place for the first time. The sun had shifted and it was now warm on their outstretched legs. Overhead, tattered palm leaves fluttered with a dry rattle in the breeze, which carried with it the faint perfume of flowers and the scents of sand and surf and salty air... and Rhys's sweat.

  She glanced his way again, and her pulse fluttered. She was accustomed to seeing him immaculately groomed. With his dark hair and beard, he routinely shaved in the mornings and again in the evenings before a performance, but now a faint stubble shadowed his face. The cut at the corner of his mouth had scabbed over, and as her gaze traced the jagged line Meghan realized it would probably leave a scar. His hair was wind tossed, and several loose strands whipped across his forehead in the breeze. A few of the curls on his chest stirred, but most were still wet with sweat and plastered to his skin. Sand clung to his bare feet and to the corrugated muscles that ridged his flat abdomen.

  He had an untamed look about him—savage almost—as though he had shaken off the fetters of civilization and allowed that wildness she had now and then glimpsed to break free.

  It suddenly occurred to Meghan that if the details of their abduction ever got out she would be the object of envy. Being marooned on a deserted island with Rhys Morgan was the dream of women all over the world.

  "Will you tell me something?"

  Meghan's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What?"

  "Where did that temper of yours come from? The girl I knew eight years ago was a sweet-natured, mild-mannered little thing. What brought about this change?"

  She snorted. "I haven't changed at all. This is the real me. I was raised with three older brothers and three cousins. When you're the youngest, you learn to hold your own and stand up for yourself. Besides, they all taught me not to take anything off anyone. That foolish girl you knew back at UT was the aberration. Going all mealymouthed and gooey, and making cow eyes." She made a face. "But I was only eighteen and—" She stopped and looked away, her jaw set.

  "And had a crush on someone?" Rhys finished for her, not unkindly, but Meghan threw him a dagger look.

  "I told you before, I don't want to talk about that."

  "Don't you think it's time we did?"

  "No."

  "Meghan-"

  "I said no. If you say one more word about it, I won't help you anymore."

  Rhys sighed, but he fell silent..

  "Those storm clouds are getting closer," he announced a moment later.

  She glanced toward the west and experienced, a flicker of unease. The low line
of black clouds that had stretched across the horizon five hours ago was larger and miles closer. "They're still hours away. And they could veer off at any time," she said stubbornly, and focused once more on the stretch of water to the north.

  "Not a chance. Not with that wind." In a fluid motion, Rhys rose to his feet. He stretched and swung his arms to work the kinks out of his muscles. "C'mon, Slugger. Back to work."

  Meghan watched him stroll away with his easy, hip-rolling gait, and stuck out her tongue. Slave driver.

  They toiled nonstop for the next several hours, setting poles, building a support frame, lashing together palm leaves. Meghan carried her share of the load, but she continually groused and grumbled and goaded Rhys with snippy comments and an overall belligerent attitude. She couldn't seem to help herself. Merely being near Rhys made her feel prickly as a hedgehog.