Genevieve knew she should be worried about her perilous circumstances, and she hated to think how upset Mama was by this time. But other than worrying about Mama, she was having more fun than she’d had since the days of playing in the mud down by the crick. In the Hollow she’d only had other kids to boss around, but here she had Jack, who did pretty much whatever she wanted him to.

She stood back and admired the three-sided shelter they’d decided to build using the cliff face as one wall and the overhang as a roof. They’d managed to find enough driftwood and lava rocks to put up two more walls. Well, she’d found the materials and Jack had hauled it all over. He’d wanted to do all sorts of elaborate calculating before they started building and kept using words like schematics, but the clouds rolling in had finally convinced him to just let her tell him how to do it.

Jack folded his arms over his chest and nodded. “Not bad. Not bad at all. Should provide a fair bit of protection from the elements.”

She got a kick out of his man-triumphs-over-nature attitude. A half hour ago he’d been complaining that this would never work. “I’ll bet you never built a hideaway when you were a kid in Nebraska.”

He paused and adjusted his glasses, as if trying to remember.

“If you have to think about it, then you didn’t. I can tell you exactly what my hideaway was like. We dug it out under the roots of this giant tree right beside the crick. Every year we dug out more and added rooms. We had frog races down there and everything. It was great until the year the crick overflowed.”

“You’re right, I didn’t have anything like that. One summer I wanted to put up a tent in the backyard, but I gave up the idea when my grandmother wouldn’t let me run the extension cord outside so I could plug stuff in.”

She shook her head. “You’re not supposed to have electricity, for pity’s sake.” Not that she always had that option in the Hollow, anyway. “You’re supposed to act like you’re completely on your own, with no grown-ups. You can’t have a blessed cord running from the house to your hideaway. That’s a dead giveaway as to where you are.”

“So what?” He seemed totally mystified.

“So if the grown-ups can’t find you, you can do all the things they would tell you not to.” She was beginning to wonder if Jack had taken a single chance as a kid. “That’s how I learned to start fires with my glasses. Do you think my mama would have wanted me out in the woods doing that?”

“Guess not.”

“Bet your britches she didn’t. But I did it anyway, and now I can make us a nice fire, lickety-split.” She walked over to the small pile of driftwood chips she’d been hoarding during the construction. “Let me have the glasses.”

“There’s no point in starting a fire when it’s going to rain pretty soon.”

“That’s why we’ll start it now, when we still have some sun, and then we’ll transfer the fire inside the shelter.”

“You can’t have a fire in there! You’ll incinerate us both!”

“Of course we can have a fire in there.” She was patient with him because he was such a beginner at the outdoor life. “There’s a nice little gap between the overhang and the wall, so the smoke can get out. And we’ll build the fire on sand up against the cliff and put rocks around it, so it can’t spread.”

“It’ll be hot in there,” he muttered.

“Not once the rain starts.” She gazed at him. “It’ll be cozy.”

“We’ll die of carbon monoxide poisoning.”

“No, we won’t. Trust me. It’ll be real nice.”

“Humph.” He handed over the glasses, although he still looked worried about the project.

Or maybe he was worried about being tucked into that tiny spot with her, since he had his crush going on and might be afraid he’d forget himself and give in to it. She could see that happening. She should be worried about the same thing, but she wasn’t.

Without being real obvious about it, she’d kept her eye on Jack as he’d wrestled with the heavy pieces of driftwood. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a chance to watch a muscular man stripped to the waist doing physical labor. Clyde Loudermilk had looked good without his shirt, but Jack looked a heap better.

That picture of Jack lifting a piece of driftwood to the top of the wall stayed with her as she knelt on the sand and held the glasses at the right angle to catch the sun. She was a little like this pile of kindling, now that she thought about it. For some time she’d turned down any dates that came her way, thinking she needed to be saving herself for Nick.

What a waste that had been. But the upshot of all that self-sacrifice was that she hadn’t done the hokey-poky with a man in a coon’s age. Now here she was stranded on a desert island with Jack.

If anybody had told her yesterday she’d be stuck with a guy like him after her long drought, she’d have laughed herself into a case of the hiccups. But after catching his manly display of muscle, she wasn’t so sure being plane-wrecked with Jack was such a disaster.

She was beginning to feel very tender toward him. Finding out that he was color blind and ashamed of it touched her. Plus he was an orphan, a fact that always made her want to cuddle that person for all they’d missed. Jack was worth cuddling, too, because he had a good heart and he was very brave. Yesterday she hadn’t known any of that about him.

Besides, they needed to find things to do to take their minds off food. She’d already started craving another energy bar, and they couldn’t eat those yet.

For another thing, if she had a little fun with Jack while they were on the island, no one would have to know. She could trust him not to tell anyone, and she certainly wouldn’t. And the third and best reason for having sex was that she’d be doing him a favor by teaching him how women liked to be treated in bed. He might not know any more about that than he did about making cozy hideaways.

Having sex for Jack’s sake instead of her own made the idea seem noble and worthwhile. He might be terrible at it, which would leave her no better off than before. She was taking a big risk, come to think of it, and he should be mighty grateful for the chance to educate himself at her expense. Now that she knew him better, she expected he would be grateful.

A wisp of smoke curled up from the dried leaves and driftwood chips. Genevieve moved the glasses and leaned down to blow gently into the pile.

“I can’t believe you’re actually getting it to burn.”

She blew harder and tiny flames wiggled upward. “You’re lucky you have me around, Jack.” Leaning back, she waved her hand over the flames until she could feel their heat. “I hate to think of what would become of you if you’d been marooned on this island all by your lonesome.”

When he didn’t have a comeback to that, she glanced up at him. He was inspecting her the way she imagined he inspected a computer screen that had started flashing warning signals. Well, he’d never get a girlfriend standing around looking like that. He needed a confident smile on his face, not a worried frown. Maybe she could put that smile on his face before they were rescued.

But first she had to get the inside of their hideaway all situated. “Could you tend this fire?” She stood. “I need to fix the pit inside.”

“What should I do?”

“Goodness, you don’t need an instruction book to—” She stopped when he started to blush. “You really never tended a fire before?” She could see the answer in his eyes. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to make you feel poorly about it.” She kicked herself for undermining his confidence when she wanted to do the exact opposite.

“I went to a Boy Scout meeting once. We were supposed to learn how to tie all these knots. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I needed to tie anything except my shoes, so I walked back home.”

“You taught yourself to fly a plane, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful. Tending a fire’s as easy as shooting cans off a fence post. You just—”

“You can shoot?”

“I’m pretty good with a squirrel gun, although I never shot a squirrel, or anything alive. Just cans.” She could see she wasn’t helping Jack’s confidence level bragging on her shooting, either, so she threw in a story on herself. “I tried Uncle Rufus’s sawed-off shotgun one time and sprayed lead everywhere. Aunt Maizie had some clothes on the line and I accidentally turned her favorite dress into a peekaboo style.”

Jack looked as if he felt a little better after that story. “I’ll remember not to hang around when you’re toting a sawed-off shotgun. So what should I do with this fire?”

“Just add little pieces of driftwood, but do it one at a time and make sure each one is burning before you put on any more, or you’ll smother it.”

“I should be able to manage that.” He hunkered down next to the tiny blaze and rubbed his hands together.

“Why did you do that?”

He looked up in surprise. “Do what?”

“Rub your hands.”

“Huh.” He spread his palms and looked at them. “Well, now that you mention it, I guess I rub them like that before I start working at the computer, so it was just force of habit. It’s probably a concentration thing, plus it gets the blood circulating in my fingers so I can manipulate the keys better.”

By all rights, that shouldn’t have sounded sexy to her, but it did. “Oh. Well, I’ll go fix up the fire pit.” Still thinking about his hands manipulating the computer keys, she grabbed several of the smaller pieces of driftwood she’d collected during the time Jack had lugged the big ones for the wall.

It was the dexterity that had made her think of sex. She deposited her armload of wood inside the enclosure and went back to find a few small rocks. A man who could type well had good control of his fingers, and that kind of skill could be transferred to other matters. Jack might be a little short on experience, but if he had dexterity, all was not lost.

As she gathered rocks and tossed them in through the opening of the hideaway, she peeked over at Jack tending the fire. He picked up a cigar-shaped piece of driftwood. She didn’t have to use much imagination to decide what that looked like. According to something she’d read in a magazine, a man’s thumb was supposed to give an idea of how big he was. She took a gander at Jack’s thumb as he laid the chunk of driftwood in the middle of the fire.

Could be old’ Jack had something besides dexterity going for him.

* * *

By the time Gen was ready to transfer some glowing coals to the fire pit inside the enclosure, Jack had figured out how they would do it. He might not have a lot of practical knowledge, but give him a problem to solve and a little time to think it through, and he could usually come up with a solution.

He let Gen consider the problem first, though, in case she’d already thought of something. When she admitted she was stuck on that particular point, he left her guarding the fire and walked down to the beach. As he searched the sand for what he wanted, the last of the sunlight disappeared. Sheets of rain swept the horizon, moving closer to the beach.

They needed to take shelter soon. He felt a rush of adrenaline at the idea of sharing that small space with Gen while the rain came down. Maybe she’d show him how to whittle. They’d need something to do, or he would become way too aware of her and might try something stupid. He had the feeling her thoughts might be going in that direction, too.

That could be a real disaster. Right now he had her friendship, at least. If he tried to take it beyond that and the result was mediocre, any chance of friendship would be gone forever. Whittling was the answer. He’d get her to teach him while they waited out the rain.

Of course, there was still the night to get through. But he could let her sleep in the enclosure and he’d stay outside. She’d be impressed with his chivalry and would never know he was a complete coward.

At last he found what he’d been looking for, what he’d vaguely remembered seeing while he’d been trolling for driftwood—a piece of a conch shell the size of his palm. Smooth and pink on one side, the curved shell would make an excellent scoop. Then he realized that if he had several of these, they could collect water when it rained and they’d have something to drink besides guava juice. He was getting pretty damned good at this survival business. In fact, he—

A man’s bark of laughter made him drop the shells. Brogan!

He spun around, his gaze darting everywhere. Nothing. Goosebumps covering his whole body, he started backing slowly up the beach toward Gen. When he was close enough, he called her name softly.

“What?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. I heard something.”

The bark of laughter came again, making the back of his neck prickle.

“That?” Gen asked.

“It’s him.” Jack began to shake. “And now he’s really crazy.”

“Oh, Jack,” she murmured gently. “That’s only seals out in the water.”

Instantly he knew she was right, and he felt like an idiot. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Seals.”

“Yes.” Her gaze was warm with understanding. “But after what we’ve been through, it’s natural to let your imagination play tricks on you.”

“I guess.” But he didn’t think a real hero would freak like that. “Um, I’ll be right back.” He quickly returned to the waterline.

After gathering the shells he’d dropped, he carried them back to Gen. “One’s for scooping up the coals, but we can set the others so they’ll fill up with water when it rains.” He hoped that bit of creativity would make her forget that he’d been spooked by a bunch of seals.

It seemed to do the trick. She gave him a big smile. “That’s brilliant, Jack! And since you thought of it, I think you should be the one to scoop up some coals and carry them inside.”

“Okay.” He’d figured he would. “First let’s set the other shells around. I washed them in the surf before I brought them up here.”

“Great.” She helped him distribute the shells around on the sand, propping them so they’d collect the most moisture possible. “That should do it. Wonderful idea.”

“Thanks.” Feeling better about himself, he crouched by the fire to get his shell full of coals.

“Be careful. Don’t burn your fingers.”

“Right. We don’t have any mustard.”

“You remembered I told you that!” She sounded very pleased.

Well, duh. He remembered every single conversation that he’d ever had with her, but he couldn’t let her know that and reveal how pathetic he was. As for this hot coals transference, he had that down. He’d planned it all while he was tending the fire.

He’d learned something as he was staring at the little flames. Watching a fire could help him think almost as well as watching the shifting patterns on his screen savers. When he got back to Honolulu he might start using the little fireplace in his living room during the winter, if he could remember to buy wood for it. Then again, with his record, he might get involved in work, forget he’d built a fire, and burn the house down.

“Be very careful now." Gen hovered over him, obviously worried about whether he could pull off this important maneuver. “Want me to do it?”

“Nope.” Using the piece of shell like a dustpan, he picked up a stick of driftwood and used it to guide several glowing coals up onto the surface of the shell. “I’ve got it.”

He stood carefully, watching to make sure he didn’t spill the coals as he carried them into the enclosure. One coal was dangerously close to his thumb and the heat from it was bordering on pain. He had to duck to keep from beaning himself on the overhang. Then he stayed in a crouched position as he turned toward her neat little semicircle of rocks connecting to the rock face of the cliff.

Gen came right in behind him. “Just lay them real easy-like on that pile of kindling.”

“Right.” He felt like he was in a Hollywood version of the discovery of fire. No wonder somebody had dreamed up the idea of matches. This method was a pain in the butt. Still, he managed to dump the coals on top of Gen’s little pile of chips and dried leaves. Then, in the absence of mustard, he stuck his thumb in his mouth.

“Now let me blow on the coals.”

He backed off so she could kneel down and blow life into the smoldering coals. Looking at her pursed lips while he continued to suck on his seared thumb reminded him of her boast in the plane, when she was trying to convince Brogan to land and give her a chance to show off her talent for oral sex. Considering she’d lost her virginity at thirteen, maybe she’d been telling the truth. Sex might have been the main source of entertainment in her neighborhood.

Being marooned on this island helped him understand how that could be so. Try as he might to avoid thinking about the subject, he’d been fixated on sex himself. Even learning how to whittle might not save him.

“There it goes!” She sat back on her heels and admired the little burst of flame she’d created. About that time a gust of wind swirled in through the open side of the enclosure and snuffed the flame. “Tarnation!”

“Here, let me work on it.” Jack dropped to his knees beside her.

“Thanks. I’m as dizzy as if I’d been inhaling fumes from Uncle Rufus’s still.”

“Then relax for a minute.” Jack was feeling a certain ownership of this fire now, and he wasn’t about to let it go out. Rain had begun pelting the hideaway, so he doubted their little fire outside would be giving them any more live coals. He leaned down and blew the way he’d seen her do it, slow and gentle.

“That’s good, Jack.” She ran her hand up his back.

He nearly fell face-first into the kindling. “Th-thanks.” He kept blowing, but it wasn’t easy as she continued to stroke her hand up and down his bare back. If he told her to stop, he’d come off as some nervous virgin type. But if she didn’t stop, he was going to get an erection. With no good solution at hand, he kept blowing on the coals.

At first she stroked up and down his backbone, but then she extended her territory and began making little figure-eights up and down his back. Only one thing could feel better than what she was doing. Well, maybe two things. Okay, three things, and all of them involved his increasingly stiff friend who wanted to get out of his jeans and party.

“I think that’s enough blowing.”

“Oh.” He opened his eyes and stared down into the fire he’d created. “Guess so.” He’d been so absorbed in the way she was stroking his back and the resulting effect on his penis that he hadn’t even felt the heat on his face. If she hadn’t said something he would have singed his eyebrows clear off in another minute.

“Here.” While continuing to rub his back, she reached in with her free hand and gave him a bigger piece of driftwood. “Put this on.”

“Okay.” His throat was clogged and he cleared it as he laid the wood across the flames. They licked the wood, which made him think of what else could be licking something critical right now, if he had the guts God gave a goldfish. “How’s that?” Except for lifting his head up so he didn’t catch his hair on fire, he didn’t move an inch.

“Great.”

“Are you…ready to teach me to whittle?” The instant the words were out, he knew that wasn’t what a guy named Jack would say at a moment like this. A guy named Jack wouldn’t give a damn about whittling. Instead he’d casually put his hand on her knee, which was right within reach, and give her an encouraging squeeze.

“Is that what you want to do?” She’d begun kneading the muscles in his back now. “Whittle?”

“Uh, well…it’s an idea.”

She handed him another piece of driftwood, a bigger one this time. “It’s ready for more.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She massaged the back of his neck.

His hand shook as he laid the second piece on. The heat from the fire was making him sweat, but moving away would end the status quo and a decision would have to be made—to whittle or not to whittle.

Then she said his name sort of slow and drawn out, with a question mark at the end.

“What?” His voice squeaked.

“Remember what I told you about hideaways, how they’re good for doing secret things?”

He gulped. “Uh-huh.”

“Whatever we wanted to do here, we could, and nobody would ever have to know.”

“But us.” And hers was the only opinion he was worried about.

“Well, naturally we would know, but I can keep a secret if you can.”

He took a shaky breath. “I know what you’re talking about, Gen.”

“I surely hope so, Jack. Otherwise, computer genius or not, I’d think somebody dropped you on your head in the turnip patch.”

He had troubled assimilating the information. Genevieve Terrence, the goddess he had worshiped from afar since the day he hired on at Rainbow, was coming on to him. This was the kind of scene he’d fantasized for months, yet like an idiot, he was hesitating. Jack the Confident had left the building, and only Jackson the Insecure remained to face the challenge.

She stopped rubbing his back. “I…I thought you were attracted to me.”

He turned toward her then, not wanting her to doubt herself for a minute. “I am.” Oh, wow, her nipples were making pucker marks in the material of her dress. She wasn’t kidding about this. He forced his gaze up to her face. Sure enough, she looked upset. “I am attracted to you,” he said again. Major understatement. His equipment was programmed and ready to roll.

“So?” Two little creases formed in her smooth forehead. “What’s the matter?”

He could either tell her the truth or have her feel rejected. He settled for the truth. “What if I’m not as good at this as you are?”

The small wrinkles smoothed out of her forehead and she smiled gently at him, almost as if he were some little kid she was humoring. “I wouldn’t expect you to be.”

“You wouldn’t?” He wasn’t sure he liked her assumption that he’d be lousy at sex. “I mean, I might be good at this.”

She stroked his bristly cheek with the tips of her fingers. “Probably not, Jack. Be realistic. People improve with practice, and I can’t believe you’ve had very much practice.”

Her fingertips drove him wild. He wanted to suck on her fingers, her toes, anything that presented itself to him. “So how much practice have you had?” he asked a trifle belligerently.

She seemed taken aback. “Well, not that much, but more than you, that’s for darned sure.”

He thought again about the blow job discussion. He was truly an imbecile not to let her have her way with him. Who cared if he showed himself up as less than studly? At least he didn’t have murder in his heart like a former boyfriend he could mention.

“Since I figure you could use the practice,” she said, “you can practice on me.”

He blinked. “Practice on you?” He had an image of a CPR class where everybody perfected mouth-to-mouth resuscitation procedures on mannequins. “What does that mean? You’re gonna just lie there?”

“Of course not. But I can give you pointers, Jack. That way, when you get a serious girlfriend, you’ll have a better idea what to do.”

He jerked away from her and almost landed in the fire pit. “The hell with that! I thought you were looking forward to having some fun, not engaging in tutorial sex!”

“We would have fun!”

“Did you plan to draw a few diagrams in the sand first? Or maybe you could write a few instructions on yourself in lipstick. You know, with little arrows pointing to the spot in question.”

“Now, Jack, you’re getting yourself all riled up over nothing.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re the proclaimed expert and I’m the proclaimed sexual dunce. Look, I may not be the best lover in the world, but don’t feel you have to sacrifice yourself so that I can brush up on my technique!”

“I only thought—”

“That you could teach Jack a thing or two? Well, maybe you can, Gen. Then again, I might surprise you. Believe it or not, in my own bumbling, inept way I have actually succeeded in giving a woman an orgasm. Several times. I suppose she could have been faking, but from my limited experience, I don’t think so.”

She sank back on her heels and gazed at him, her expression filled with dismay. “I’m sorry, Jack,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

And just like that, his anger disappeared. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t see him as a possible boyfriend herself. He’d overreacted because that’s how he wanted her to see him, but the fact was, she didn’t. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sure you’re a wonderful lover.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

She sighed and gave him a tiny smile. “No, you wouldn’t, because you’re a naturally modest person. And that means if you tell me you’re a good lover, you’re probably a great lover and I have no business trying to teach you a blessed thing.”

“I wouldn’t say that, either.” He was beginning to regret that he’d lost his temper. She looked very appealing sitting back on her heels, her cheeks flushed and her eyes trying to bring him into focus across the short distance separating them. She’d spread her beach towel out across one wall, probably for them to use as a bed.

Her suitcase sat nearby, no doubt to keep the condoms handy for the activity she’d planned. His penis twitched in frustration. If he’d played along, he might have learned a thing or two, relieved some of that frustration, and had a hell of a lot of fun in the process.

“Jack, I can tell you’re just trying to be nice, when the truth is, I’ve taken a belly flop in the hog pen and ruined the chance of us having sex.” She glanced at him. “Want to learn to whittle?”

Nobody was an idiot all of the time, not even him. “No.”

“No? I thought you said you’d like to learn?”

“I would.” He cleared his throat and gathered his courage. “But I’d rather have sex.”