Stranded With Her Ex. Jill Sorenson

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СКАЧАТЬ weeks of uninterrupted study were almost impossible to come by, and she’d been waiting over a year for this unique opportunity.

      Whenever she was feeling closed in, she could do her breathing exercises. She would stay focused on the present, rather than letting the trauma of the past overwhelm her, blurring the edges of her vision and squeezing the air from her lungs. She would keep her eyes on the horizon and her feet on the ground.

      As they drew closer to Southeast Farallon, the main island, she noticed a single house. It was a large, ramshackle dwelling, built over a century ago for light keepers and their families. The old Victorian stood stark and lonely on the only flat stretch of terrain, an ordinary structure on alien landscape. Like a gas station on the moon.

      “They say it’s haunted.”

      The deckhand’s voice startled her. She dragged her gaze from the whitewashed house to his wind-chafed face. “The entire island?”

      “Nah,” he said with a smile. “Just the house.”

      She cast a speculative glance at the simple, no-frills structure. It was the least intimidating feature on the island. And she, like most scientists, didn’t believe in ghosts. If she had, she might have believed in an afterlife, as well. Faith was a comfort she’d been denied in her darkest hour, and she wasn’t going to start being superstitious now.

      “I’m more worried about the sharks,” she admitted.

      The deckhand grunted his response and jerked his chin toward the shore. “They’ll be coming for you now.”

      She caught a glimpse of two dark figures walking along a footpath etched into the side of the cliff, a few hundred yards from the house. With no docking facilities, setting foot on the island was a tricky process. The research biologists had access to a beat-up old Boston whaler, hoisted above the surface of the water by a formidable-looking crane.

      At fifteen feet, the boat was smaller than a full-grown great white.

      While she watched, one of the figures boarded the whaler, and the other lowered it to the pounding surf below. In a few efficient moments, the boat was speeding out to pick her up.

      “Don’t panic,” she whispered, squaring her shoulders.

      The man driving the boat brought it alongside the charter and killed the engine, exchanging a friendly greeting with a crew member.

      When he stood, throwing the deckhand a rope to tie off the whaler, she studied him with unabashed curiosity. His legs were covered by dark, waterproof trousers and knee-high rubber boots, same as hers. Unlike her immaculate, just-purchased ensemble, his clothes were well-used and far from spotless. His jacket was splotched with what might have been bird droppings, and his face was shadowed by a week’s worth of stubble.

      “Seen any sharks today?” the deckhand asked.

      The man grinned. “Day ain’t over yet.”

      Based on his dark good looks, she guessed that this was Jason Ruiz, the Filipino oceanographer she’d been communicating with via email. She’d seen a grainy photo of him once and it hadn’t done him justice.

      The deckhand lobbed her duffel in his direction. After catching it deftly, Jason motioned with his gloved fingers. “Toss her to me. I’m ready.”

      The deckhand’s eyes were merry, full of mischief.

      Daniela took a step back. “I’d rather not—”

      “We’re just messing with you,” Jason said, patting the aluminum seat beside him. “Jump over here.”

      She moistened her lips, measuring the distance between the boats with trepidation. The expanse was less than two feet, but the drop went quite a ways down. And, although the whaler was tied off, it was still a moving target.

      Her stomach churned as she watched it pitch and sway. “Jump?”

      “Yeah. And try not to hit water. Just because we haven’t seen the sharks doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

      The deckhand laughed, as if this were a joke. It wasn’t. This time of year, the sharks were most definitely there. They came to the Farallones every fall to dine on a rich assortment of seals and sea lions.

      Daniela stared at the surface of the water, feeling faint.

      She’d been briefed about the boat situation, of course. But reading a matter-of-fact description detailing the steps needed to access the island was different than actually going through with it. Leaping from a charter to an aluminum boat in shark-infested waters was madness. One false move, one tiny miscalculation, and…

      Gulp.

      Jason gave the deckhand a knowing smirk. “Just throw her to me, Jackie. She can’t weigh much more than that bag.”

      “No,” she protested, taking a step forward. She was pretty sure they were teasing again, but she also didn’t want to give herself time to reconsider. Chickening out before she’d begun was not an option.

      She took a deep breath and grabbed Jason’s proffered hand, hopping over the short but frightening precipice.

      She didn’t fall into the water. She didn’t hit the aluminum seat, either. She collided with Jason Ruiz, almost knocking them both off balance. He threw his arms around her and braced his legs wide, holding her steady until the boat stopped rocking.

      Daniela clung to him, her heart racing. She hadn’t been this close to a man in a long time, and it felt good. Strange, but good. He was much taller than she was, and a lot stronger. She could feel the muscles in his arms and the flatness of his chest against her breasts.

      He smelled good, too. Like salt and ocean and hard work. But even while she registered these sensations, there was one irrational, overriding thought: He’s not Sean.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat.

      “Don’t mention it,” he murmured, making sure she was ready to stand on her own before he released her. “I never get tired of beautiful women throwing themselves at me. I only wish I’d showered in recent memory.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “There’s a shortage of hot water on the island, and we’re all a bit rank.”

      She couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t smell bad.”

      “Really? I thought I smelled like bird crap and B.O.”

      Laughing, she shook her head. “Bird crap, maybe.” The faint odor of ammonia filled her nostrils, but it was coming from the island, not him.

      “I’m Jason.”

      “Daniela,” she said, grasping his hand. As quickly as it came, the sexual tension between them dissolved. He was still smiling at her in an appreciative, masculine way, and she was smiling back at him, unable to deny his considerable appeal, but there was no intensity to their mutual admiration.

      With his easy charm and handsome face, he probably had a way with the ladies. She’d known men like him before. Her ex-husband, for one. Women had always dropped at Sean’s feet, and he’d done little to discourage them.

      Feeling СКАЧАТЬ