12

I PROMISE, I’m going to find a way to keep us alive.

With everything inside him, Ian intended to keep that promise.

Sierra had clung to him in the sand as if she might never let him go, and for a long moment, he’d just wanted to stay there.

Safe, in their surreal paradise.

Except, they weren’t safe, as evidenced by the still-red welts ringing Sierra’s leg. She’d been fighting hard against the pain, but he heard her whimper when he’d carried her up the shore to the protective rocks he’d chosen for their temporary camp.

On the very end of the island, the rocks formed a natural wall, protecting them from the surf. He climbed up on the outcropping, found the rock dry. A safe place to build a signal fire, perhaps.

He then salvaged the raft, dragged it to shore, and took inventory of their supplies.

Three flares, a mirror, a rope, an MRE packet, two water packets, and a blanket, along with the contents of his cooler. He’d hoped for a PLS, but he guessed the personal locater, along with the knife and all the other supplies, had fallen out when the raft flipped in the water.

Still, he could start a fire, build a shelter with the tarp, and feed them.

He rigged the tarp from the rock down to the sand, a very temporary shelter where Sierra could get out of the sun.

“I’m not an invalid,” she’d said as he helped her inside.

“Humor me,” he said, eyeing her swollen leg. “If that gets any worse, I just might listen to the old wives’ tales and—”

“Please don’t . . . that’s so gross.”

He grinned, and she rolled her eyes.

“Stay put. I need to get the lay of the land.”

“Aye, aye, Crusoe.”

He shook his head but knelt next to her when he noticed that her smile seemed forced. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Another promise. They were piling up. But he intended to keep them all.

Once he’d settled Sierra and their supplies into the nook under the tarp, he left her there long enough to do a quick reconnaissance of their situation.

The island was shaped like a boot, with the foot up, forming a steep rise. Entangled with bamboo, the mountain seemed nearly impassable, thick with vegetation and perhaps even animals—wild boars and no doubt bats. If they weren’t found within a day, he’d climb to the top and get a good view of the sea, but from his vantage point, he saw no other islands.

More, it felt like they’d landed on the only habitable place on the island. Steep, razor-sharp limestone cliffs barricaded the heel of the boot. If they’d washed ashore on the other end, he couldn’t imagine pulling himself out of the water without needing stitches.

He discovered, back from the shore and near the rise of the boot, a cave with a wide mouth, but it seemed too far from the beach to be useful. In case they saw a boat, he’d need to scramble to light a signal fire.

Towering palm trees allowed for cool pockets as he hiked back to the beach area. He noticed a few coconuts, some dead and littered on the ground, others green and alive. He picked one up and heard the sloshing of liquid. Coconut water. Probably full of nutrients, if he could get one open.

More, stands of bamboo gave him a few ideas for shelter. But first, he gathered an armful of dead bamboo stalks and hauled it back to their camp, dumping the supply on the rock near their campsite.

“What’s that for?”

“A signal fire. There’s a lot of dead coconut husks laying around too. Good for kindling.”

He’d already found a supply of loose boulders, and now made a ring with them on the rock. “If there is a shipping lane out there, then this is the best place for someone to see a fire.”

“Will this help?”

She’d come out of the tent while he worked, and had created a pile of coconut husks.

He glanced at her leg, still reddened, still swollen. “Sierra—”

“We’re a team, right?”

Oh, those words found soft soil, burrowed in. He managed a nod.

She sat on the rock, her injured leg outstretched, and pulled the fibers from inside a coconut, forming a pile.

He stood up and set a bamboo shoot on a rock, then broke it with another rock. Taking the tinder pile, he set it in the center of the fire ring. Then he added dried sea grasses, brown and curly palm fronds, and finally made a tepee with the bamboo shoots.

Then he retrieved the pile of discarded flip-flops he’d scavenged from the beach. “This should create black smoke and alert someone to our presence. And if we really want to create attention, we’ll build three fires . . . that’s the universal signal for distress. But . . .” He glanced at her. “The sun’s going down. We need to choose between a fire at night or the smoke at dawn.”

“We can’t have both?”

“We’ll need to tend it, if we want to keep it going.”

“Tomorrow, then,” she said, offering a smidgen of a smile.

“Okay. Then I’m going to build a shelter.”

“What’s wrong with the tarp?”

“That’s just temporary. We need something off the ground, away from the sand bugs.”

He couldn’t help the strangest sense of satisfaction when she nodded, so much trust in her eyes it made him feel—well, not unlike those early days, when she looked at him like he could do anything. Fresh from his success designing his patented oil pressure system, he’d come to Montana, bought the old ranch from Ruth and Chet King, and restarted his life.

A life that took on sunshine the day Sierra arrived for an interview and stayed. She’d helped him build his empire, made sure he ate and slept and packed the right clothes and kept his emails from overwhelming him and . . .

He would build her a freakin’ palace.

“I’ll be back,” he said and tromped off again toward the mouth of the forest.

He’d seen a place just beyond the beach where a palm tree had fallen, splintered at shoulder height and held parallel by the debris of the trees it took with it.

He just needed a floor, another wall, and he’d have a cozy lean-to.

How he wished for a knife—he’d never longed for anything more in his life.

He did, however, have lashing cords, a rubber base, a tarp, and paddles.

After clearing out the debris beneath the downed palm tree with a nearby rock, he hiked back to shore, picked up the raft, and dragged it to the staging area. The roof had fallen, torn along one side, but he could drape the tarp over the palm tree, carry it down along one side, and secure it to the ground to make a lean-to.

Okay, maybe not a palace, but the rubber bottom would protect them from the bugs, and the tarp would keep them out of the sun and rain.

The sun was falling into the far horizon by the time he finished tying off the tarp. He also ripped the tent off the top of the raft and, using the paddles, made a barrier from the wind, protecting a small ring he’d constructed for their fire.

Dinner by the fire, the sunset turning the sky to striated lava . . .

He carried the rest of their supplies, including the cooler, to their new digs, gathered bamboo and palm fronds for the fire, opened a power bar, grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler, and felt like a hero when he returned to Sierra, supper in hand.

She sat with her back against the rock, her injured leg outstretched.

“See any ships?”

She shook her head.

He sat down beside her, longing to put his arm around her as she stared out to sea with a forlorn look on her face.

He wanted to pull her close, but he didn’t want to assume that the panic that had caused her to curl into him this morning gave him license. It might have simply been relief that made her cling to him. Besides, just having her sit beside him, her soft shoulder against his burned skin, seemed enough.

“Power bar?” He split it in half and handed it to her.

She took it, astonishment on her face. Especially when she eyed the shelter he’d made.

“Nice,” she said.

He felt more than a hero. He was Robinson Crusoe, and invincible at that.

The tide had started to come in, and waves splashed up onto the rock. The finest haze of seawater drifted in the air.

Sierra shivered.

Oh man. He couldn’t help it—he lifted his arm, and yeah, she nestled right in beside him.

Because they had to survive together, right? Only, it lit a blaze right through him.

She smelled of the sea, and he closed his eyes, turned his face to her hair.

“We’re going to be okay,” she said then.

“Mmmhmm.”

“Thank you, Ian.”

He lifted his head and looked down at her. “I told you—I’m going to keep us alive.”

“I know you are. I’m sorry I didn’t help.”

“Are you serious? You’re hurt.”

“But—”

“For Pete’s sake, Sierra. You’re always rescuing everyone else . . . it’s your turn to be rescued, okay? Please let me.”

She frowned. “But that’s not your job.”

“Sierra, look around you. We’re not—I’m not your boss here. I haven’t been for a long time. And frankly I wish I never was.”

Her eyes widened.

He couldn’t believe his own words. Except, yes. That was exactly what he wanted to say. “Hiring you was the best thing and the worst thing that I ever did, Sierra.”

Her eyes clouded. “I thought you . . . we worked well together.”

He gave a dark, almost angry laugh. “Yeah, we worked very well together. And that was the problem.” Maybe it was the sunset, cascading gold and rose along the horizon, maybe the whisper of the waves across the shoreline, the smell of the sea.

The fact that here, nothing stood between them. Not his wealth, not Dex, not even Esme.

Just Sierra, tucked into his arms, her eyes luminous, wide, and breathtaking.

His voice lowered. “You can’t seriously not know how I felt about you. How . . . how I still feel about you.”

She swallowed, and he knew that probably he was bowling her over, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I longed to ask you out—I would have, if it wasn’t for, well, the fact—”

Her eyes widened, as if shocked. Maybe even horrified.

Shoot. Somehow, even here on a deserted island, he’d managed to drive her away. “I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes, sighed.

The he felt her hand on his face, turning him to face her.

When he opened his eyes, a tiny smile played on her face. “Sheesh, Ian. Since when do you give up?”

Then she kissed him.

He couldn’t breathe.

Because he’d dreamed of kissing Sierra—again—so many times, the reality came crashing over him with a jolt, and he just froze.

Sierra. Kissing him.

Then, his pulse, the heat inside kicked into flame. He turned, his other arm curling around her, and pulled her to him. With the roar of the ocean rising around him, wave upon wave crashing against the shore, sprinkling the air with the smells of the night, he kissed her back.

He’d turned into a thirsty man, the kind who’d held his parched breath for so long, he’d forgotten the taste, the touch of water. He remembered her lips, soft and molded under his, but this time, he tasted an urgency in her touch, something he hadn’t quite felt before.

No, before he’d simply leaned in, and taken.

This time, it was all Sierra, and he scrambled to keep up. She pressed her hands to his bare chest, and the feel of it heated his bones, ignited sparks through his aching, sunburned body.

She tasted of sunshine and her fragrance mixed with the sweet breeze off the ocean, and as she sank against him, her surrender only surged a deep, long-abated hunger inside him.

The twilight had begun to blanket them, the heat of the day relaxing, the waves languid and whispering as they caressed the shore.

Yeah, okay, um . . .

Alone on a desert island. They had too much desperation, too much longing between them for him to be practically inhaling her, setting them both on fire. With nothing between himself and Sierra except the man he wanted to be.

So he slowed them down a little, gentling his kiss, touching his hand to her cheek, running his thumb across her cheekbone in a caress.

Sierra.

She made a little noise in the back of her throat; with that, nope, there wasn’t a chance of him slowing down. So he broke away. Swallowed. Probably wore a little look of alarm on his face.

She raised her eyebrows, touched her hand to her lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that for five years. Since the day you first asked me to watch the sunset with you.”

His voice emerged raspy. “Yeah, well, me too.”

She curled her hand into the well of his chest, bit her lip. Sighed. “I . . . Oh, Ian . . . there’s something I need to tell you about Esme—”

“No,” he said suddenly, sitting up and catching her hand. “I’m done searching for Esme. I decided it a couple weeks ago.”

“Yes, but—”

“Stop.” He closed his eyes. Pressed his forehead to hers. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over. In the past. She’s built a life that doesn’t include me, and that has to be okay. It is okay.” He kissed her lips, sweetly, as if taking her words from her mouth. “I don’t want to think about Esme. And I don’t want to talk about her. Okay?”

She swallowed. Nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He let his gaze roam her face. “You’re so beautiful. I remember that night, that first sunset. And I kept thinking . . . why did I hire this woman when all I wanted to do was ask her out?” He swallowed, stared at that beautiful mouth. “When I just wanted to kiss her.”

“Kiss me now.”

Yes. But as he bent his head, a gust of wind sent a wave crashing over the rocks, littering them with spray. “We need to get off the rocks and into the shelter. I want to build you a fire.” He stood up, and before she could climb to her feet, he bent down and scooped her up.

“I can walk, Ian.”

“Mmmhmm.” He carried her down the rock and across the beach, into the forested alcove, and set her down in the rubber raft.

“I like it,” she said. “Very palatial.”

“Only the best for you, baby.”

She laughed, and the sound of it wove through him even as he climbed out and went to fetch the first of the flares. He lit it and stared out across the beach into the deepening night. Overhead the moon had risen, the stars intermittent between the clouds. But they seemed to be winking at him.

And as he started the fire burning, ridiculously he really didn’t care if they were ever found.

Ian had built her a palace.

Okay, it certainly wasn’t a room at the Ritz or some five-star hotel, but frankly, given what he had to work with, it seemed downright palatial. Aside from being rescued, Sierra didn’t want to wish for more, perhaps put a chink into this fragile, beautiful, surreal night.

A crackling fire, a roof over her head, the embrace of Ian Shaw.

She might be dreaming it all, except for the smell of him, part sunshine, part sweat, a little ocean, and a boatload of Survivorman.

He’d been proud of himself as he carried her to their hut; she saw it in his face, against the flicker of the fire as he’d lit the torch, then brought the kindling to flame.

Resourceful, but then again, that was what she expected of Ian.

He never went down without a fight.

“How’s your leg?” He’d torn a strip of his shirt and wet it with the potable water, then heated it over the fire and wrapped it around her injury. Now he leaned up and lifted the edge of the wrap.

The pain could make her eyes roll back into her head, but she eked out a smile. “Better.”

“You’re such a liar.” He grinned, and she tried not to let his words burrow in and find the truth.

Oh, yes she was. But what if he’d meant his words? “I’m done searching for Esme.” Telling him that she’d found her would only stir the pain back to the surface, right?

He resettled the wrap on her leg, then leaned back. Put his arm around her again, pulling her close.

If she had it her way, they just might stay here forever. Because here, on their island, in this forbidden, surreal pocket of time, the past couldn’t find them, the future couldn’t destroy them. She wasn’t his assistant. He wasn’t her boss.

She hadn’t lied to him. He hadn’t broken her heart.

Here, they were simply castaways.

Survivors.

She couldn’t believe she’d kissed him. What was she thinking? She blamed it on the scenery. And what was a girl to do when he softened his voice, said those words? “You can’t seriously not know how I felt about you. How I still feel about you.”

At that moment, she’d lost any hold she had on herself, the emotions simply rushing over her. She’d done the craziest thing she’d ever imagined.

But the moment she touched his lips, the moment she surrendered to the tide of feelings, she’d stopped thinking, stopped worrying, stopped planning.

Just stopped.

For the first time in her life, she simply . . . did.

She’d practically thrown herself at Ian. Pressed her hands to his amazing chest like it belonged to her, and . . .

And he’d caught her.

For a moment, he seemed stunned. She nearly pulled away, began a litany of apology.

Then, everything changed.

How it changed. She went from leaning up, to him turning, catching her up, pulling her against him.

He’d kissed like . . . well, she’d never been kissed the way Ian Shaw kissed her. Like she’d been swept up by a wave, the power, mystery, and the depth of the ocean in his touch. He smelled of the salt of the sea, and there was almost a wildness in the way he practically inhaled her.

Giving her everything that was Ian Shaw, the focus, the take-no-prisoners persona that made her love him.

Oh, how she loved him.

And, heaven help her, she kissed him back just the same, sparked by the desperation of the past year.

Ian. Finally holding her in his amazing arms.

It was quite possible she was still on the raft at sea, delirious and hallucinating.

Lost at sea. Yes, please.

“Tomorrow, I think I’ll see if I can catch a fish,” Ian said quietly, his gaze on the fire as it flickered. The wind coming off the sea worried the barricade he’d made of the paddles and tent fabric. But the fire burned, unaffected.

He was such a genius.

“I found a fishing line and hooks in one of the side pockets.”

She looked over at him. “If I didn’t know better, I would accuse you of having a good time.”

He smiled then, slow and sweet. His eyes held a smidgen of danger.

She realized his intent a moment before he leaned down and kissed her. This time, no rush, not the urgency of before, as if he were trying very, very hard not to take them to a place where the beautiful, star-strewn romantic night might lead them.

Oh, Ian. He was such a good man.

He was breathing a little hard as he leaned back and looked at the stars.

“I . . . this could be a very long night,” he said. “I’ve been dreaming of kissing you for so long, it’s a little intoxicating.” He pressed her hand to his chest, where she felt his heartbeat pounding.

“I’m no saint, Sierra. But for you, I’m trying to be.”

Oh boy.

“I’m not a saint either, Ian. And believe me, kissing you is . . . intoxicating too. But I can’t give myself away like that again.”

She felt his breath catch.

“What?”

She sighed. “I was engaged before I started working for you. A hockey player who broke my heart.”

Ian sat up then, and she was afraid to look at him. But when she did, his gaze held concern. “What happened?”

“Back then, I was a different person than I am today. You know how I grew up, my crazy hippie mother, not having a father—well, except for Jackson, but he was Willow’s father. And when my mom kicked him out, I had no one. Jackson tried to stay connected, but my mom was bitter and wouldn’t let him see me. I was hurting . . . and that’s when I met Rhett. He played hockey for the Whitefish Wolverines, and I did the same thing to him that I did to you.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I took over his life. I washed his hockey gear, I showed up to his games. I made him my entire world. And when he left me, I lost too much of myself. I never wanted to feel that way again.” And then I met you. But she couldn’t tell him that she’d already given away her heart to him too.

But that was her problem. She gave her heart away to the exciting, dangerous men who couldn’t really love her back. Not when they were consumed with themselves.

Hockey. Esme.

“I don’t want to think about Esme. And I don’t want to talk about her.”

Except maybe this time it could be different.

Ian met her eyes. His mouth gave a quiet twitch. “I thought you were going to say that you made him fall in love with you too.”

She stared at him. “What?”

Ian leaned down, touched his forehead to hers, softened his voice until it joined with the waves on shore, the gentle rush of the wind. “Sierra Rose, I love you. I have for years.”

And what could she say to that? Because she simply ached for it to be true.

But this couldn’t last. This pocket of just Ian and Sierra, no past, no future—it would crash in the moment they were rescued.

Because in the real world, there was no room in Ian Shaw’s life for anyone but Ian Shaw.

Or, there hadn’t been . . .

“Rhett wasn’t in love with me. I was just a convenient girlfriend until he landed a tryout at the Minnesota Blue Ox. The minute he did, he left me so fast I got windburn.”

Ian’s expression hardened. “Maybe I need to buy his hockey team and release him back to the minors.”

She couldn’t help but laugh as she reached up, trailed her hand around his face, curled it around his neck. “You don’t have the money.”

He made a face. “Yeah, well, I guess I should be glad he walked away, because you came to me for a job.”

“And then you fired me.”

“Twice.”

She grinned. “I should have stayed away.”

“Yeah,” he said, moving his mouth to hers. “You should have.”

His kiss nudged her mouth open, and he settled her back into the soft cushion of the rubber edge of the raft, his body warm and protective as he curled his arms around her.

She’d never felt so wanted, so desired.

Even when he pulled away. Groaned. “Yeah, long night.”

She sat up, her own heart beating hard. “You know that’s one of the reasons I admire you, right? Because you’re everything I’m not. I have to have a strategy and a schedule. And even then, I’m afraid to jump in. You jump into something and hold on until you make it happen.”

“I’m not going to make anything, um, happen here, Sierra.”

She gave his shoulder a shove. “I know. But the fact that you built us this sweet shelter and promised to take care of us . . . it’s why I love you.”

He looked over at her, his beautiful blue eyes twinkling. “You just said you loved me.”

She smiled. “Crazy, I know.”

The breeze kicked in and knocked over one of the paddles holding up the tent fabric that protected the fire. The fabric fell into the blaze, and in a second, Ian had hopped out and pulled it out.

He tossed the burning fabric in the sand. Stood looking out into the ocean. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” She listened but only heard the crash of the waves, the wind gathering in a distant roar. The wind had kicked up and she hadn’t even noticed.

“I thought I heard someone shouting. I guess not. But I do smell rain.”

She glanced up at the tarp. “It can handle a little—”

A terrific, razor-sharp wind sliced through camp, whipping at the tarp. As she watched, the wind sheared the tarp away from the ropes. Sent it flapping.

Ian lunged for it and grabbed the edge.

At that moment, the sky opened up.

“Are you kidding me?” Ian fought to tie down the tarp under the whipping wind as rain bulleted down.

Sierra crawled to the edge of the raft, grabbed the tent fabric before it blew away. But the raucous wind, now unabated, scattered the fire, and the cinders spit as the rain doused it.

The wind tore the tarp from Ian’s hand, sent it scurrying wildly into the air, and it sheared free of the other rope.

“We’re losing it!” Ian jumped to grab it, but it had tangled in the palm tree.

The downpour lashed Sierra to the bone even as she watched the fire die.

“We need shelter!” Ian shouted.

She opened her mouth to agree when she felt his hands under her arms, her legs.

Then he was lifting her to his chest. “Hold on.”

Then he was plowing through the forest like Tarzan, as if he knew exactly where he might be going. The rain had turned them sodden, and she started to shiver.

He too trembled, nearly fell once, and she screamed.

“Let me down, I can walk!”

But when he acquiesced, her leg gave out.

“Climb on my back.” He bent, and she looped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist.

He charged through the dense woods like a rhinoceros, pushing aside bamboo and palm fronds, stumbling, catching himself.

Please, God—help us!

The wind roared around them, trees cracked, and lightning split the sky.

“There!” Ian said behind a roll of thunder.

She had no idea where he might be looking until she felt him crouch to let her down. He swung an arm around her waist. “Get inside!”

Inside—oh. The ground had turned hard and rocky, and as she crept forward into the folds of darkness, she smelled the cool breath of a cave. She touched the floor, found it damp, but as she ventured deeper, dry. Still, she wasn’t going blindly into a cave in the pitch of night.

Except Ian curled his arm around her waist and now pulled her against his chest, wrapping both arms, both legs around her. She leaned back against his sopping, chilly skin, felt his warm breath on her neck, and wrapped her arms around his solid biceps.

“We’re okay,” he said, his voice raspy. “We’ll be okay.”

She turned her face into his neck, breathing in the warmth of him as they huddled in the belly of the cave.

Talk about a long night. She closed her eyes, and with the rage of the storm outside found words boiling up inside her. “We cry to you, Lord. We say, ‘You are our refuge, our portion in the land of the living. Listen to our cry, for we are in desperate need.’”

She felt Ian’s lips on her hair and now turned fully in his arms, curling up against him, shivering. “Set us free from our prison, that we may praise your name. Then the righteous will gather about us, because of your goodness to us.”

She nested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes.

“Amen,” Ian said softly.

They sat there, listening to the wind howl, the debris of the forest shredding outside the cave.

“Ian?”

“Mmmhmm?”

She started to tremble, and she clung to him tighter, jealous for the heat that steamed off him. “I think I’m ready to be rescued now.”