“Scouting. To see what there is on the island.”
Oh, God. He was going to go exploring. She’d already seen Christian’s work ethic in action. She knew he was damn good at both sailing and being a doctor, but now she was struck by his sense of responsibility. They’d been shipwrecked, which really pretty much derailed his job and responsibility to any of them. Out here, he was just like her, a survivor. Each man for himself.
And yet he hadn’t stopped working, or shucked a duty. Maybe he wasn’t sweet and kind, at least in the traditional sense, but he had loyalty down to a science, and carried more responsibility on his shoulders than she could even imagine, managing with a grace and dignity she could only dream of.
She tried to picture him in her world, walking the aisles of Shop-Mart, dealing with a boss like Mr. Stryowski, and it was almost laughable.
He’d never fit into her world, because he’d never let his life live him. He lived his life, doing whatever it took, and more. Even now, surrounded by tragedy and destruction, he was prepared to do what had to be done, no matter that a coworker had gone missing, or that maybe he was hungry, or hot. He stood there, all lean and muscled and tough, gorgeous enough to be on a movie set waiting for the director to yell “action,” and yet he was no actor.
And this was all too real.
“You don’t think someone’s looking for us, or that we’ll be rescued today then?” she asked.
“All I know is that it’s too hot for us to be okay out here for days. We need to know what our options are.”
That he’d neatly avoided her question didn’t escape her, and she wondered how he did it: how did he keep the emotions in check? And who was there for him when he needed someone? She had the feeling she knew the answer to that-no one.
But she wanted to be. In a way that made no sense, she wanted to be there for him.
He adjusted the hat low on his face, so that all she could see was his jaw, covered in two days’ worth of beard. His torso was damp with sweat and tight with tension as he walked away from her.
She glanced at the others. Andy had pulled out some chewing tobacco and was showing Brandy and Cadence how to spit. Cadence looked to be surprisingly good at it. She should join them and leave Christian alone. Instead, she followed her heart.
After a few feet, Christian stopped. Sighed. “Dorie, go back. It’s safest for you on the beach with the others.”
The no shirt thing turned out to be hugely distracting. Without her permission, her gaze lowered to her favorite spot on a man-his belly. It was flat, ridged by his six-pack, and… well, quite fantasy-inducing. “How about you?” she asked. “What’s safest for you?”
He let out a harsh laugh and rubbed at his jaw. Then he turned and kept walking, not stopping, not even when they came to a huge outcropping of rocks that prevented them from going any farther on the beach. Nope, he simply turned and began climbing the rocks, movements steady and sure, his skin practically steaming, his muscles bunching and releasing with each step.
Huffing and puffing behind him, not nearly as graceful, she grappled to keep up with him. “Could we slow down?”
“Go back, Dorie.”
“Sorry. I’m done doing what I’m told.”
He let out a sound that managed to perfectly convey his frustration.
“You do realize you never answer my questions, right?”
Blessedly, he stopped. Swiping his arm over his forehead, he looked at her. “You asked me what’s safe for me. But trust me, you don’t want to hear that I’m safer anywhere far, far away from you.”
Her stomach plummeted. “You think I hurt Bobby?”
With a huge sigh, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, I don’t think you hurt him. I don’t think you could hurt a fly. That’s the problem, I want you safe. Safer than I can get you.”
Sometimes when he spoke, she found herself caught up in the accent, with the meaning behind his words following seconds later. This was one of those times. She blinked as what he’d said sunk in. “What does that mean?”
“Forget it.” He went back to climbing.
Her thoughts raced. He thought he was safer away from her. Because… because maybe he was attached to her. Maybe so much that it scared him. She scrambled to keep up. “Christian-”
“Look, I’m still on the crew. Which makes me in charge, for better or worse.” Towering over her, face tense, sweat streaking over his chest, he pointed down.
He was afraid for her. He cared about her.
“Go back to the beach.”
“First ask me again how I am.”
“I already know the answer.”
“Ask me, Christian.”
He sighed, and took a good look at her, probably seeing the emotion spilling all over her face, because he stepped over the rock between them, coming toe-to-toe with her.
She resisted the urge to put her hands on his damp chest. She had no idea why it was so unattractive when a woman perspired, but just the opposite when a man did.
Focus. “Ask me.”
“Fine.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “How are you?”
“Bad.”
He grimaced. “Look, you’ve been through a lot. You’ve probably never dealt with anything like this before, much less worried about the threat of possible physical violence, but-”
“You don’t know that.”
He arched a brow.
“Okay,” she caved. “I’ve never been in this type of situation before. Nothing even close, but that doesn’t mean I can’t handle it. But it’s you I’m worried about-”
“Me?” He looked incredulous. “I can handle it. I can handle anything.”
And probably had. “You know Bobby personally. It’s different for you.”
He folded his arms over his chest, so close yet still so closed off to her. “So you’ve decided that I didn’t kill him then?”
“Will it go to your head if I say yes?”
He gave her another of those long, penetrating looks that had her wishing she’d managed to do something more about her bedraggled appearance.
As if reading her mind, his gaze slid slowly down her body and then back up, but before she could read his expression, he turned his back on her and once again began climbing. “Go back to the beach,” he repeated.
She eyed the sleek sinew of his back, the way his muscles bunched and stretched, his entire body working like a well-oiled machine, recognizing the steady, unwavering motions for what they were-suppressed grief.
He’d helped her earlier, helped her deal, and now she wanted to do the same for him. Hurrying to keep up, she reached out to touch him.
“Don’t,” he said, those muscles jerking beneath her fingers.
“It’s a lot to deal with alone-”
“Goddamnit. At least I can deal.” Belying that cool, unfathomable voice, he whirled away from her. “Bobby can no longer deal at all. I should be counting my blessings.” He glanced at her. “And you should be counting yours, too.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if someone offed Bobby for being annoying, you might consider yourself in mortal danger.”
FIFTEEN
Forget Ashton,
send the Coast Guard (and chocolate).
Five minutes later, Christian climbed straight up onto a plateau.
Shit.
Not high enough to see past the mountains behind them or the other side of the island, and not low enough to see any other routes, it was a dead end. “We could go into the rain forest, see if it leads anywhere,” he said over his shoulder to Dorie.
“Oh, God. Really?”
He let out a sigh. He’d come back on his own. “Back to the beach then.” He turned to Dorie, and caught her oogling his ass.
The sheer lust on her face created his own, which was bad. Very, very bad. “Dorie.”