Your hand was creeping from her tit to her pussy, not mine, you lousy son of a bitch.”
“I see how it is. You’re allowed to touch her, but I’m not. She sure as hell wasn’t telling me to stop.”
That was the problem nagging at Heath’s brain—Heléna hadn’t asked either of them to quit kissing or touching her. In fact, she seemed to like having both of them vying for her attention. Her moans hadn’t been from pain or discomfort.
She wanted us both.
He bent to pick up a rock he’d missed earlier. Suppressing the urge to heave the thing as far as could, he tossed it in the air and caught it before dropping it back on the ground. “I won’t share her.”
“Neither will I.” Grabbing his boots, cap and goggles, and scarf, Owen headed south toward the dogleg bend of the cay.
Heath’s gut twisted. Almost twenty years of friendship in the toilet because of a dame. She wasn’t just any woman, though—evidently not for either of them. How had that happened?
Staying out of reach of the outgoing tide, Heléna sat down as he kept a close watch to make sure she didn’t go in the water. The moon’s light cast an eerie glow around her, as if to gauge her mood. Pale blue-green mist encircled her. Would she choose him over Owen? Would she choose at all?
Her stiff posture suggested choosing wasn’t in her plans. She’d walked away from them both, after all. Had she viewed their reactions as a blanket rejection, with no exceptions?
Rubbing at his tight chest, Heath shook his head. They were trapped on their own little piece of hell in paradise with no more than a few days to live, and instead of working together to survive, they’d already gone their separate ways.
Owen possessed the only dry matches to light a fire, but he knew nothing about catching fish. Although he was a good hunter, Heath wouldn’t be able to cook whatever he caught. Heléna's skills included seducing men in their sleep, trying their patience, and triggering their need to protect her.
He yawned, the dilemma too complicated for his tired mind and body. Based on the moon’s position, dawn was still several hours from now. Not that he’d be able to sleep with his dick drooling like the hound dog it was. What kind of spell had Heléna cast over him?
Facing south, he caught a glimpse of Owen stomping toward the spot they’d come ashore after the miracle landing. Without his superior ability to fly, the plane would’ve become a sinking ship in deep water. He’d stretched every inch out of their altitude and speed, staying calm when the experimental engine had sputtered out. Luck had been on their side.
If I live through this, that penny-pincher Kilpatrick is getting an eyeful of my fist.
The design had been flawless, the labor meticulous. The parts, on the other hand, had been made from secondhand junk. Then again, the prick most likely hadn’t given a damn since he wasn’t risking his own life. He also wouldn’t make a plug nickel off a sale to the U.S. government, especially with the plane at the bottom of the Atlantic and the plans nowhere but in Heath’s head.
Owen disappeared behind a scrubby pine. He didn’t so much as sneak a backward look toward Heléna or Heath. In all the years that they’d been friends, Owen hadn’t once lost his temper with Heath, and they’d never shown interest in the same girl. What about Heléna had changed that?
She now sat hunched forward with her forehead on the crossed arms resting on her knees. Did she regret allowing them both to touch her? If he and Owen could share an attraction to her, maybe she was genuinely attracted to each of them. But why would she encourage them both? Together?
Maybe with mortality staring her down, she saw no reason to choose. No one beyond the three of them would ever know what happened during their exile on Hawksbill Cays.
Her obvious innocence defies logic.
An inexperienced woman wouldn’t go in for kink. Would she? The sexual possibilities of two men