The Trouble With Paradise

TWENTY

Night Two on deserted island

without modern conveniences,

which sounds much more romantic

than it really is.

For some time now, Dorie had had this recurring dream. It changed a little each time, but it came in some variation of finding herself seventy-something years old, complete with gray hair and white orthopedic shoes, moving up and down the aisles of Shop-Mart, still shelving for an even older, meaner Mr. Stryowski.

This time she was in the geriatric aisle trying to reach the Depends, and Mr. Stryowski was coming after her waving his cane.

When she awoke with a start, she was covered in sweat. “I am not going to be shelving adult diapers when I’m seventy,” she said out loud, then shut up because her head hurt like hell.

“Well, that’s good.”

She gulped in air but kept her eyes closed. His voice was low, already unbearably familiar, and just the sound of it, French as ever, was so comforting she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes.

“Dorie? Look at me.”

“No, thanks.”

“Dorie.”

Fine. She’d look at him, even if doing so always, always, did something to her belly, and it wasn’t completely pleasant. She opened her eyes. Pitch-dark under their shelter, and pitch-dark outside except for the glow of the ever-burning campfire.

Turning her head, she focused on Christian crouched at her side. Behind him, she could hear Brandy breathing deeply and evenly. Cadence was behind her, most likely asleep as well, though she wasn’t making a sound. Andy, she knew, was closer to the beach, but was still in plain sight, or had been when they’d all gone to sleep.

She knew Denny had settled near Andy, with Ethan as well, who’d returned with no news. She could only assume that Christian had slept with the guys.

When he wasn’t waking her up, that is.

He’d been waking her up every few hours. She had no idea what time it was, but guessed dawn was still a long way off.

“How many of me do you see?” he asked.

“Same as the last time you asked me that question, and the time before.”

“Dorie.”

She sighed. “I see one of you. Do you have an evil ex-wife?”

“What? No.”

“Just checking, because you’re always looking at me like you’re waiting for me to bite you or something.”

“I’ve never been married, and I’m definitely not afraid of a bite. What’s my name?”

“Grumpy Doctor. Which reminds me to ask you, why are you a doctor anyway, if you grew up hating being dragged around the world with your father?”

“I never said I hated it, and what happened to the gorgeous part?”

“Huh?”

“I thought the nickname was Gorgeous Grumpy Doctor.”

She rolled her eyes. Big mistake, because that hurt like hell. “Okay, why do you look like you hate being a doctor?”

His gaze cut to hers. “What I hate, if anything, is-was-being on a sailboat and healing paper cuts and sprained ankles.”

“And splinters.”

A very small smile curved his lips. “Actually, that was a nice perk.”

“That’s my butt you’re talking about.”

“Like I said, a perk.”

“Well, thank you. I think.” She studied him a moment, and he let her. In reverse, she’d be squirming, but he wasn’t much of a squirmer. He was extremely comfortable in his own skin, an appealing trait, she had to admit. “Why aren’t you working at a hospital then, healing much more serious problems?”

He looked away.

Interesting. He’d never hidden a thing from her, not his annoyance, his arousal, nothing.

“Christian?”

“It’s complicated.”

She understood complicated. She lived complicated. “Like working at Shop-Mart instead of designing clothes because you’re afraid kind of complicated?”

“I’m not afraid. Of anything.”

Somehow, she believed that. “Then what?”

He drew in a deep breath as if reaching for patience, and it occurred to her, he was trying to scare her off. Except after being shipwrecked and concussed, she’d learned something about herself.

She didn’t scare off easily. “Spit it out.”

He shot her a half-amused/half-incredulous look. “Spit it out?”

“American saying for ‘get to it, buster’.”

“Ah.” He looked into her eyes, checked her pupils. Then slid his talented hands through her hair to feel the goose egg on her head. “Are you in pain?”

“No. You’ve fixed all my sprains and splinters and aches, thank you very much.” A big, fat lie. Her head hurt so bad she could hardly breathe. “Good thing you’re not billing me-I couldn’t afford you.”

“Your head still hurts.”

“Okay, yes, it hurts like hell. Now get back to the subject. The subject of you.”

“Isn’t there anything else we could talk about?”

“Humor the patient, Doctor.”

He sighed. “Fine. I’m here because I’m indebted to Denny for another year. After that, I’ll go back to France, or wherever I end up, and practice where I’ve always wanted to, in an ER.”

“Indebted? What do you mean, indebted?”

His fingers were at her temples now, and began some sort of massaging motion that felt so incredibly soothing and pain-relieving, she actually moaned. “Oh my God.” His hands were the most amazing, talented hands that had ever been on her. And it didn’t matter that he wasn’t touching her sexually, she felt that happy little switch inside her click on. Basically, he turned her on by just looking at her.

How embarrassing was that?

She squeezed her thighs tight and tried to come up with ways to distract herself. She thought of her unpaid bills at home, for instance. And then the fact that she was hungry but if she tried to eat, she’d probably toss her cookies. “Tell me about the indebted.”

“One-track mind.”

“I’ve been told. Are you paying off school debts?”

“Not really. My father’s mission in life was to help impoverished villages by making doctors available. He went wherever he felt the calling the most, using connections for donations.”

“Connections?”

“He was a master at getting what he wanted. With one hand he worked with the villagers, while with the other he cultivated friends in high places.”

“That’s quite a fence to straddle.”

“Yes, it is. Especially when not all those so-called friends were on the up and up. He ran into financial trouble a few years back and a friend had to bail him out.”

“Denny,” she guessed. “Oh my God, your father sold you to Denny to cover his debts?”

“It’s the twenty-first century, not the Middle Ages,” he said dryly. “And it wasn’t Denny, but the owner of the Sun Song, Denny’s partner.”

“So you’re working to pay off your father’s debt?”

His silence was her answer. She couldn’t help it-the thought bowled her over. Her own parents were a little bit clueless when it came to her-okay, a lot clueless-but she couldn’t imagine them ever expecting her to step in and help them fulfill a debt they’d incurred. Unless… “They were going to rip off his kneecaps, right? That’s why you had to step in and work on the Sun Song?”

“Shh.” He dug his fingers in, deepening the massage, and it felt so good she nearly passed out. She wanted to concentrate on him, on what he’d just told her, and how it completely changed the way she saw him. He’d given up two years of his life to help his father, had put everything on hold to honor a debt that wasn’t his. But he kept at the massage, and it was putting her brain cells into a pleasure coma. “You’re doing this on purpose, luring me into a state of ecstasy.” Her words were actually slurred because of the bliss coursing through her.

“Stop squirming and relax.”

“Are you kidding? I can’t relax when your hands are on me.”

His fingers went still for one telling beat. “What did I tell you about saying things like that?”

“That you could take advantage.”

“That’s right.”

The thought of him doing just that made the tingling worse. Not that he was amoral, or dangerous, at least not to her physical being. But he was a man who could push her to the edge of her comfort zone without even trying, and though he’d stop if she asked him, the bigger concern here was… would she ask him to? The answer to that was a big, fat, humiliating no. “I’m not the one who decided that this thing between us was… what did you call it? Oh, yes. Asinine.”

He sighed, then rose to his feet. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”

“Yeah. Okay, great.” She lay there listening to him walk away until Brandy rolled over and slid her sleep mask up to her forehead.

“You should have gone for it again, hon. I wouldn’t have watched. Okay, I might have peeked, but that’s all.”

Dorie let out a huffing laugh. “Oh my God.”

“Hey, I’m not here to judge.”

Dorie turned over, and found Cadence gone from her pad.

“Uh, Brandy?”

Brandy came up on her elbow. “Huh. Looks like someone else is going for it.”

“So much for the penis embargo.”

“Honey, sometimes a woman just can’t help herself.”

Unfortunately, Dorie could identify with that.

It didn’t feel like she slept, but the next time she came awake, she sensed it was much closer to dawn, though the sky was still dark.

Only a week ago, her nighttime fantasies had run along the lines of, say, Matthew McConaughey, but now as she lay on the long, golden stretch of beach, staring past their shelter to the star-riddled night sky, she fantasized about chocolate chip cookies.

Make that double chocolate chip cookies.

Sorry, Matthew, but priorities were priorities. Stuck on a deserted South Pacific island without cookies? Serious suffering going on.

All around her came the sounds that people tended to buy those nature CDs for: the waves gently hitting the shore, crickets chirping, an exotic bird squawking…

Her stomach growling.

She put her hand on her belly, thinking she’d give her right arm for an entire bag of cookies all to herself. Maybe even her left as well.

“How’s the patient?”

Ah, there he was, the bane of her existence. She knew this because just his voice made her nipples go all happy.

Damn nipples.

She felt him sit in the sand at her side but she didn’t look at him. Nope, looking at him was a really bad idea because then her brain would begin that painful tug-of-war.

Want him.

Hate him.

Want him.

Hate him.

She sighed. “Go away.”

“Ah. You’re feeling better.” He lay next to her so that his arm brushed hers, the one she would definitely sell for that bag of chocolate chip cookies.

“Question,” she said.

“Hit me.”

“Do you ever think about chocolate?”

He turned his head and looked at her. He was all hard, lean, sinewy lines to her soft, curvy ones. She imagined if she pointed out how different they were, he’d say he liked those differences very much. “I think about other things,” he said.

“Like?”

“Things.”

His arm shifted, just barely pressing into the side of her breast. And more than just her nipples got happy. Bad. Bad body. “I’m tired.”

“Here’s something to wake you up.” Instead of taking the hint and leaving, he rolled to his side, facing her. “Our bet.”

Oh, no. “We are not going to talk about the bet.” No way.

“That’s because you lost.”

“You cheated.”

He was silent, letting that lie live a life of its own as she remembered the details…

As if she could forget.

“You could just pay up,” he suggested.

That thought shot tingles of excitement directly into certain areas of her anatomy that had no business getting excited. She closed her eyes, a bad idea because her other senses took over. How did he manage to smell like heaven on earth while on a deserted island? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He just laughed softly.

Bastard.

“You didn’t hit your head that hard,” he said. “You know.”

“You’re not going away. Why aren’t you going away?” she asked desperately, knowing exactly what he was talking about, exactly what bet she’d made, and what she now owed him, which involved her.

Dancing.

Naked.

Beneath this very starlit sky. “If you were nice, you’d go.”

He lifted a broad shoulder. “Never claimed to be nice.”

Also true. Damn it.

“Plus we’re stuck on an island,” he pointed out. “Just how far away do you think I can go?”

Keeping her eyes closed, she sighed again. She really hated it when he was right.

The next time she opened her eyes, the sky was just beginning to lighten in the east, and she was left to wonder. Had his visit been a dream?

“You okay?” Brandy asked, looking at her from her pad.

“You mean other than we’re shipwrecked and I have sand in parts where no sand should ever be?”

“It’s good for your skin.”

“You said sex was good for the skin.”

“Sex is great for the skin.” Brandy looked Dorie over from head to toe. “And if we had a mirror, I could show you your reflection and prove it.”

She felt her face heat. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Yes, you do. A tall, earthy, passionate, amazing man came over you.

And beneath her… “Brandy?”

“Yeah?”

“I have to ask.”

“Shoot.”

“Well… Cadence’s worried about her job. Andy’s worried about getting hurt and losing his contract. I can’t stop thinking about the life I should have lived instead of the one I am living, but you…”

Brandy’s smile turned serene. “Yeah?”

“You don’t seem worried about much.”

Brandy looked away, and something within Dorie tightened. She hadn’t forgotten, not for one minute, that one of them had hurt Bobby, and that it could be any one of them.

Including this woman.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Brandy finally said.

“Try me.”

“My life in Vegas? Not quite my dream life. I mean I make plenty of money, don’t get me wrong, but I turned twenty-nine this year.” She grimaced. “Okay, thirty. I turned thirty. Three years ago.” She sighed. “And I’m not going to look this hot forever, you know.”

“Are you sure? Because you’re pretty hot.”

“Ah, thanks, hon, but it’s all downhill from here for me. And I’m tired of trying to keep up. Out here, I don’t have to try at all.”

Dorie stared at her. “Are you telling me you like being here?”

Brandy lifted a shoulder.

“You do,” she marveled. “You like being here.”

“What’s not to like? It’s warm and very beautiful…”

“And deserted.”

“Right. And because it is, money doesn’t matter.”

“Deserted. Did I mention deserted?”

“I know you think I’m crazy, but trust me, in Vegas, I’m on borrowed time. I don’t want to dwell on regrets here, but on an island like this, who cares about lengthening mascara, or how high I can kick on stage?”

Dorie thought about working for Mr. Stryowski for the rest of her life. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

They were both quiet a moment, and Dorie lay there listening to the surf, her thoughts drifting.

“I think someone pushed Bobby,” Brandy whispered.

Dorie’s heart stopped. “What makes you think that?”

“I went to his room to find him, and I saw-”

“What?”

“Blood.” Brandy closed her eyes. “Lots of it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Same reason you didn’t. I was afraid. Still am.” Brandy’s gaze was steady when Dorie looked at her. “You saw. I can tell you saw.”

“Are you looking at everyone,” Dorie asked quietly, “wondering who did it? Who hurt him?”

“Yeah.”

“For whole moments at a time I can actually convince myself I imagined this whole nightmare.”

Brandy let out a low laugh.

“I know. I blame my upbringing. My whole family is this together, organized, successful unit. I’m the black sheep, the romantic. The illogical one.”

“The dreamer,” Brandy said quietly. “Nothing wrong with that.” She shook her head. “I guess I was born cynical.”

“No one’s born cynical.”

Brandy’s smile was somber and just a little sad. “I’ve decided it’s not you, you know.”

Dorie appreciated that, she really did. And she knew Brandy’s expectant silence said she was waiting for Dorie to repeat the favor to her. But she couldn’t help but remember how comfortable Brandy had looked brandishing the knife that no one had even known she carried.

Extremely comfortable. Almost as comfortable as she’d looked while recalling how she’d wanted to cut off her ex-husband’s family jewels. “You really thought I hurt Bobby?”

Brandy lifted a shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, I considered Cadence, too. But she jumps at her own shadow, so I can’t see it being her. Christian takes his doctor duties far too seriously to ever break the physician’s oath, and then there’s Andy.”

“Who can’t handle the sight of blood,” Dorie said quietly. “Yeah, I noticed that today.”

“Sort of shrinks our options, you know? Because there just aren’t that many of us left now, are there?”

“No.” She hated this. She sat up, then held her head while it swam for a moment. “Not many options at all, except for the remaining crew. The very people Bobby trusted the most.”

“Trusted?” Brandy shook her head. “I don’t think they trusted each other at all. They work together, that’s it.”

Dorie looked over at Cadence’s empty pad. “And right now, Cadence is with one of them. Probably alone.”

“Yeah.” Brandy stood up, then offered Dorie a hand.

Dorie let her pull her up, then stood very still waiting for her world to stop spinning. “We’re going to check on her.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Even though she’s undoubtedly busy. Very busy.”

“Honey, she’s undoubtedly naked. We’re still going to check on her. It’s what friends do.”

Friends. Dorie wanted that to be true. They walked to the beach, and got yet another unwelcome surprise.

The Sun Song? Gone.