Tempted By The Hero

“I’m trained for combat and water rescue. You’re not.”

She didn’t think it was only a matter of training. He was a hero by nature. She wasn’t. She’d been frozen with fear during the attack, and for hours after. The same thing had happened when she’d witnessed her grandfather’s death. She’d been catatonic, unable to move or speak. Unable to help.

She wasn’t calm in emergency situations. She didn’t like taking risks, or stepping out of her comfort zone. Whenever she did, she regretted it. This situation was a prime example. Her first attempt at a one-night stand had resulted in her kidnapping. It couldn’t get any worse than that! She didn’t embrace danger, like Logan. As grateful as she was to be under his protection, his presence set off major emotional warning bells for her.

She had to be careful with him. She was still trying to move on from her last romantic disaster. He was clearly a no-strings type, and a magnet for adoring females. He’d caught the eye of every woman on the cruise. She couldn’t afford to get attached.

But keeping her distance wasn’t an option, so she pushed aside her misgivings and settled against him. He made a warm, steady wall behind her. She felt safe in his arms. Although the chemistry between them was still there, she wouldn’t act on it. They weren’t going to finish what they’d started on the dance floor.

That ship had sailed—literally.

Their almost-hookup had been a once-in-a-lifetime thing. A perfect storm of physical attraction and opportunity that couldn’t be re-created. Even if she’d wanted to take the risk, there was nothing remotely sexy about their current situation. They were in a bat-infested cave. She was covered in mud. So was he.

She closed her eyes, determined to ignore the exciting male contours of his body, and the dull throb of cuts and bruises on her own. She tried not to worry about what might befall them tomorrow. He’d advised her to focus on the present, and think positive. Tonight they were alive. She was exhausted, but unharmed.

Then a dark blanket of fatigue settled over her, and she drifted off.

Chapter 7

Logan woke in the same condition as the day before, with one exception.

He’d grown accustomed to the dry mouth and nagging headache that had plagued him every morning. He was sore from lying on the hard ground. His stomach ached from emptiness. The only new development was an uncomfortable erection. Maybe he hadn’t been hydrated enough to pitch a tent until now. He’d been weak and nauseous from the concussion. Today he was back in full form, so to speak.

Cady’s proximity probably had something to do with it. She was curled up on her side next to him with her bottom snuggled against his crotch. There was no denying that she had a world-class ass. It was soft and supple and beautifully shaped. He had a vivid recollection of how those lush curves felt in his hands.

Damn.

Speaking of hands, his right one was cupping her left breast. She was smaller on top, but no less perfect.

Damn.

He smothered a groan and rolled onto his back, chagrined. He hadn’t meant to grope her in his sleep. His stomach clenched with unease. He waited for her to jump up and slap him silly. She stayed motionless, her chest rising and falling with even breaths.

She didn’t stir. She hadn’t felt it.

Inching away from her, he studied the interior of the cave with bleary eyes. Last night he’d imagined a gaping cavern of snakes and pitfalls. In reality, it was a shallow, abandoned bat nest. The walls had crumbled, leaving a pile of guano-covered rocks less than five feet from the entrance. There could be an intricate network beyond that, but the path was blocked. That was why this cave was empty, with vines covering the mouth.

Also, it smelled bad.

He rose to his feet with a wince. His knee was stiff, among other things. He lumbered toward the cave’s entrance and shoved aside the foliage. Light flooded the interior. Cady sat up and blinked at him owlishly. She looked like a forest sprite. Her hair was a tangled halo of dark curls with leaves in it.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was...invading your space.”

She rubbed her eyes. “What?”

“Never mind,” he muttered, and went out to water the nearest tree. She followed a moment later. He already had his pants unzipped, so he turned his back to obstruct her view. His knee buckled as he sidestepped. Cursing, he regained his balance.

She walked into the jungle and crouched behind a bush to do her own thing. By the time she returned to the front of the cave, he had his body under control. He didn’t ask how she’d slept, because he already knew. They’d both been awake half the night. She had dark circles under her eyes. Getting a good rest on hard ground was difficult, even for him. He needed to build a shelter today.

“How are you?” he asked.

She touched her throat. “Thirsty.”

“Your feet okay?”

“No, they hurt.”

He nodded, unsurprised. All of the hiking they’d done would slow the healing process. He knew she wanted him to be honest with her about the challenges they faced, but he was more concerned about keeping her morale up. There wasn’t much he could do for her cuts. With his bad knee, he couldn’t carry her.

“Do you want to stay here and rest?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Rest, in that hideous cave? I don’t think so.”

He smiled at her honesty. “As soon as we get to the beach you can take it easy.”

“How far is it?”

“Not far.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“The island is only about five miles long. I think we’re close to the coast.”

She inclined her head east, toward the sunrise. “That way?”

“Yep.”

She gathered the extra fabric from her skirt to use as a shawl. As he collected his eggs and breadfruit and aloe plant, his stomach clenched with a sharp pain that surprised him. He’d been hungry before, but not like this. He’d never felt true hunger pangs.

“My stomach hurts,” she said.

“Mine, too. We’ll eat some more coconuts at the beach.”

They hiked all morning. The waterfall he’d spotted from the summit didn’t materialize. Neither did the white-sand beach he’d hoped to see. It was baking hot, with no breeze. The foliage that blocked out the sun also seemed to hold in heat. Sweat slicked his skin and tickled his mosquito bites. His damp shirt clung to his back.

In contrast, his throat felt like sandpaper. He was losing too much fluid to perspiration. Staying hydrated under these conditions was almost impossible.

Cady trudged along with a zombie-like stoicism that concerned him. Although she was stronger than he’d expected, he was afraid to push her too hard. When he found another cluster of liana vines, it was none too soon. She collapsed in the shade, her face pale. They drank until her color returned. Then they drank some more. She used the aloe on her lips, which were healing well. He did the same. His sunburn felt better. This environment was challenging, but it was nowhere near as harsh as the open ocean.

After a short rest, he stood and offered her a hand. She rose to her feet too quickly. Her lashes fluttered, and she swayed backward. He caught her before she fell, holding her upright. She didn’t faint, which was a good sign. She stared at him in surprise. His heart pounded against hers, half relieved, half...something else.

“I got light-headed,” she said.

“I can see that.”

She clung to him for a few seconds. Her fingers were curled around his biceps, her slim body pressed to his. He liked the way she felt in his arms, despite the circumstances. He’d liked the way she’d felt this morning, too.

“Okay now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He released her slowly, struck by a wave of guilt. He was having a hard time keeping his hands off her, and his thoughts were completely inappropriate. She was weak from exhaustion. He should be taking better care of her.

His desire for her was awkward, but manageable. What really bothered him was the sense that he was letting her down. He was failing her, the same way he’d failed his comrade in Telskuf. If Logan hadn’t been injured, Hud would still be alive.

The loss of his teammate weighed heavily on Logan, and it made him feel even more protective of Cady. She was his team now, and she needed him to survive. She shouldn’t be hiking like this. He cursed himself for not being able to carry her. She could get heat exhaustion, and then they’d really be in trouble. There were a thousand ways to die here. She could contract dengue fever, or pick up a nasty intestinal bug. She could succumb to an infection, just from the cuts on her feet.

“I’m going to scout ahead,” he said.

“No,” she said, grasping his arm. “I can walk. Take me with you.”

He raked a hand through his hair, torn. She was afraid to be alone in the jungle, which was understandable, but he really needed to find the shore. He glanced around and spotted a seagull flying over the tops of the trees. They were close.

He nodded his agreement, and they started walking again. She seemed to have recovered from her dizzy spell. They followed the bird’s flight path to a clearing. From there he could see swaying palm trees, loaded with coconuts.

They’d made it. Thank God.

There was no gradual transition from inland to coast. The foliage just ended where the beach began. He stumbled forward and fell to his knees in the sand, basking in the change of scenery. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed fresh air and sunshine. The thick canopy had felt suffocating and oppressive.

This beach was paradise. Pure paradise.

It was all soft white sand and crystal-blue water. There were coconut palms for days. The tide pools promised a plethora of tasty seafood, and the underwater reef would offer even more. His chest swelled with emotion. He couldn’t see the waterfall from here, but a tall rock formation rose up in the distance like a monument of hope.

Cady didn’t stop on the dry sand. She raced straight into the surf and collapsed there, letting the gentle waves lap over her. He laughed at her antics, his spirits soaring. They were going to be all right.

He hadn’t allowed himself to feel relief until this moment. He also hadn’t dwelled on the dangers they’d faced so far. The days at sea had been dark, to say the least. The odds of arriving at an island like this were astronomical. He’d had brushes with death before, but they were the flash-bang kind, over in the blink of an eye. Slow starvation wasn’t his cup of tea. They were incredibly lucky to be alive.

He wanted to join her in the waves, fully clothed, but he couldn’t afford to get his fire-starting materials wet. So he shucked out of his pants and pulled his shirt over his head before he dove in. The water felt deliciously cool on his overheated skin. He submerged his entire body, getting his hair wet, rinsing away the dirt and sweat and jungle funk.

It was glorious.

She was right there with him, laughing and splashing around in the waves. He hadn’t seen her this happy since the night at the bar. She looked like a tropical goddess in her red dress, eyes dancing.

He drew her into his arms and kissed her. He couldn’t help himself. His relief overflowed, and his instincts took over. He pulled her on top of him and kissed her beautiful mouth. Then he rolled on top of her and did it again.

He didn’t put much thought into his actions. He just let his impulses take over and went along for the ride. They’d been through a lot together, and he felt a deep connection with her. He told himself it wasn’t even sexual—but he wouldn’t have done this with anyone else. He didn’t kiss his comrades after a successful mission. He didn’t grab random women and plant one on them when the mood struck.

She kissed him back with the same joyful ebullience, twisting her arms around his neck. It was all innocent fun, as frothy as the foam-specked surf. She laughed into his mouth as a wave crashed over his back. Then the water around them bloomed bright red.

He lifted his head, his heart pounding. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” She studied the cloud of crimson around them. “My dress is bleeding. It’s dry-clean only.”

He didn’t know dresses could bleed. The sight of red dye spreading across the water chilled him to the bone. It was like a portent of doom and a bad flashback rolled into one. He remembered the last time he’d seen a woman in a pool of blood. The interpreter’s wife, in Syria. That moment had been difficult for his entire team. They’d failed her.

Logan blinked away the memory, his gut clenched with unease. Cady resembled a shark attack victim, and he was on top of her. He didn’t believe in visions or premonitions, but he did believe in gut feelings. His gut told him that he was putting her at risk. He shouldn’t be touching her like this. He’d dropped the ball the night they’d met, and now here they were. He couldn’t repeat that mistake.

His behavior was also unbecoming of a SEAL. Hunger must have turned his brain into mush. He had to stop acting like a lovesick schoolboy and start acting like a professional. She was depending on him to keep her alive.

“Sorry,” he said in a stiff tone. “I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

She stared at him in confusion, as if he’d turned into someone she didn’t recognize. Another wave struck, swirling her dress around her thighs. The wet fabric clung to her breasts, outlining every curve in exquisite detail.

He disentangled himself from her and rose to his feet, suddenly aware of his own attire. Water streamed down his body. He was soaked to the skin, and half aroused. His hand dropped to the front placket of his boxer shorts to make sure it was closed. Her gaze followed his motion. He adjusted himself and turned away, flushing.

Although the chemistry between them was red-hot, his excitement was more of a byproduct than a driving force. He hadn’t kissed her because she was sexy. He’d kissed her because he was overwhelmed with emotion. That had never happened to him before. It was an unexpected complication, but now he’d be on guard. Forewarned was forearmed. He’d squash whatever feelings needed to get squashed.

He waded out of the surf, determined to hold himself in check. He had to stay in control, and concentrate on survival.

His first task was combing the beach for coconuts. There were about a dozen mature ones strewn across the sand. Fresh coconuts were less abundant. They didn’t fall off the tree when they were green. They had to be shaken loose or picked by hand, and climbing a coconut tree was a great way to fall and break your neck. After a short search, he found two.

He also gathered several different types of wood. He wasn’t familiar with any of them, so he had no idea what would burn well or make the best bow drill, which was his preferred method of starting a fire.

Cady didn’t sit idle while he wandered the beach. She explored the area as well, and returned with a nice score: a bunch of ripe bananas. His stomach rumbled with hunger. “Where did you find those?”

“There’s a cluster of banana trees right over there.”

He followed her gaze to the edge of the beach. There were several banana trees laden with green fruit. Grunting his approval, he directed her toward a shady spot under a palm tree. They sat down and shared the feast. He devoured three bananas, one after the other. When he reached for a fourth, she stopped him.

“You’ll get sick if you eat too many.”

“Bananas are good for you.”

“Only in moderation.”

He was still hungry, but he deferred to her greater knowledge of food and nutrition. He couldn’t afford to regurgitate his only meal of the day. They switched to coconuts, draining every drop of juice.

He lifted one of the empty shells. “We can use these to collect water.”

“Later,” she said, leaning her back against the tree trunk. She pressed her palm to her flat belly, as if it was uncomfortably full. “I can’t move.”

“Fine,” he said easily, because he’d promised her a break. The waterfall wasn’t going anywhere. There were liana vines in the rain forest, less than a hundred feet away. He had plenty of other tasks to accomplish. “Stay here and rest.”

“Where are you going?”

“Not far. I have to collect some materials to start a fire.”

“Why do we need fire? It’s a million degrees.”

“It was cold last night.”

“How far will you go?”

“I’ll be within shouting distance.”

She waved a hand in the air to grant him permission. It was a regal, graceful gesture. Queen of the Island. His lips quirked into a smile. The trauma of the past few days had wrung some of the attitude out of her, but not all. Her resilience was reassuring. He needed a strong partner, and she had a lot of potential.

The best place for a shelter was near the edge of the beach, where the tide wouldn’t reach them. He decided on a spot between two massive palm trees. There was plenty of shade, a nice breeze and a natural windbreak. First he dug a shallow depression in the sand. Then he made a fire ring with about a dozen volcanic rocks. He tossed some sticks and branches inside the pit. There was a bench-sized piece of driftwood nearby, so he dragged that over to sit on.

After the stage was set, he worked on a small hut for the fire. He had to keep the pit dry or he’d be starting over from scratch every time it rained. He harvested palm fronds from several different trees, and ventured into the forest to chop down a sapling. Using its slim, sturdy branches, he formed a simple A-frame and covered it with palm fronds. This would protect the fire from the average afternoon shower.

The third step was constructing the bow drill. He needed a flat wooden base, a bow-shaped tree branch, a spindle and some rope or cordage to create friction. If one of the pieces was flawed, there would be no ember, so he chose his materials carefully. He carved the flat base out of driftwood and shaped the spindle from a sturdy stick. When that was done, he went in search of a top rock to hold the spindle in place. He found a flat stone with a curved depression in the center.

The last thing he needed was cordage—and he didn’t have any. He’d left their only rope with the deflated raft. That was poor planning. He blamed the flub on dehydration and a concussion. He didn’t have any shoelaces; he had no shoes. His belt wouldn’t work. Sighing, he ventured into the jungle for more material.

Young liana vines made excellent cordage, so he cut down several. He sliced the vines into long strips and braided them together for extra strength. This process was time-consuming and labor-intensive. When he was finished, he was soaked in sweat again. It was blazing hot, even in the shade.

Cady hadn’t moved from her spot under the palm tree. Her dress fluttered around her thighs like a red flag.

He rolled his pants up to the knee and took the fire bundle from his pocket. It was dry, and still smelled like gasoline. He set it next to the pile of kindling in the fire pit. As soon as he had an ember, he’d transfer it to the bundle. When he had a flame, he’d add kindling. He felt confident about executing his plan, but making a primitive fire wasn’t an easy task. It required skill, patience, upper body strength and perseverance.

He moved the bow back and forth in a rapid sawing motion, visualizing a hot coal. Waiting for the telltale smoke.

It didn’t come.

He continued to work the bow. His foot held the base in place. The vine cordage didn’t move as smoothly as rope or a shoestring, but it was all he had. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He sawed faster. The only thing that started burning was his forearm muscle. His injured knee hurt like a son of a bitch. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain.

Was that smoke?

He stopped to check his progress. There was no coal, which was disappointing. Maybe the driftwood wasn’t hard enough to generate an ember.

He carved a new base from another piece of wood he’d collected on the beach. Then he tried again, sawing his heart out. His hand ached from the repetition. Blisters formed on the inside of his palm. His knee throbbed in protest. Smoke curled up from the notch where the base met the spindle.

Almost there...almost there...

Snap.

The cord broke in half.

He tossed aside the top rock and the bow, swearing. There was a sooty black spot at the notch in the base. It wasn’t a coal. It was nowhere near a coal.

Goddamn it.

He leaped to his feet and cursed at the sky. He said things his mother wouldn’t be proud of. He threw the wooden base across the beach, calling it every dirty name in his vocabulary. Then he sat down in the shade, seething. He’d learned how to make fire several different ways in an outdoor survival class. He’d practiced this method a dozen times. He’d even taught it to his comrades. But he’d never tested his skills in a tropical setting with unfamiliar materials, or in a real-life emergency. The pressure was getting to him.

If he didn’t make fire, they were going to be in serious trouble. Fire was the ultimate morale booster. They needed fire to stay healthy, mentally and physically. Without fire, the nights would be miserable. They couldn’t stay warm or fend off mosquitos. They couldn’t make use of most of the island’s resources. They couldn’t cook without fire. They’d probably die without fire.

Logan’s gut clenched at the thought. He wasn’t prone to mood swings or negativity. He knew better. Focusing on the worst-case scenario could get you killed. But he’d also learned that a positive mind-set wasn’t bulletproof armor.

He’d stayed positive in Telskuf, and everything had gone to hell anyway. Months later, he still couldn’t come to terms with what had happened. He remembered chaos and confusion. Their communications system had malfunctioned. Then a simple misstep had resulted in his injury. He couldn’t complete the mission. He couldn’t even walk on his own. Samir had to support him. Instead of retreating with them, Hud had continued into the building.

He’d never gotten out.

Logan felt directly responsible for the loss. He’d agonized over it, second-guessing every action he’d taken that night.

Seeing Cady in a pool of crimson had taken him to the same dark place. It had affected him on a deeper level than any of the blood he’d shed, on desert sands or in the open water. He’d calmly killed men with a variety of weapons, including his bare hands. He’d watched the corpse of the man he’d gutted get torn apart by sharks with relish.

That was pretty messed up—and he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to cry over a good kill, done in self-defense. What bothered him more was the idea of failing.

Failing to get a fire started.

Failing to provide for her.

Failing to protect her.

Failing to keep her alive—the same way he’d failed his teammate in Telskuf, and the interpreter in Al-Hasakah, and the interpreter’s wife.

Making a sound of frustration, Logan rose to his feet to get more cordage. His knee almost gave out, and black spots danced across his vision. He leaned against the tree to regain his balance. His arms quivered uncontrollably.

This was the price he had to pay for overexerting himself.

He focused on taking deep breaths until his muscles relaxed. Instead of walking into the jungle, he sat down again. There was no sense in continuing to work on the fire right now. His hands ached, his palms were blistered and his biceps felt like jelly. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed a break.

So he stretched out in the shade and closed his eyes for a few minutes, giving his body time to recover.

Chapter 8

Cady took pity on Logan and brought him a fresh coconut.

It was their last one. There were plenty more on the trees, thirty or forty feet high, but she had no idea how to get them down. The bananas were off-limits until tomorrow. They contained nutrients that were toxic in large amounts.