Heart's Paradise Page 11

  She wholeheartedly agreed with her partner about wanting easier food, but she wouldn’t risk breaking the long contract she’d signed to do the show. By the time she’d initialed every page she’d felt like she’d offered up her soul. Maybe she had? Cybil often said she’d sold her soul for her music. Phoebe had offered hers for a spot on a cheap reality show.

  Phoebe let out a big sigh and munched on a sugar apple. The juice slid down her chin, and she rubbed it away with her forearm. A ham and cheese omelet sounded good. Her mouth watered over the thought. She closed her eyes and lost herself to the food fantasy. Bubbly cheddar cheese oozing from the omelet center. Huge chunks of ham and green peppers mixed in. A big cup of hazelnut flavored French roast coffee on the side.

  She shoved the rest of the fruit in her mouth, hating the flavor. She stared at a log, thinking about the grubs and worms the wood might provide, then dismissed the thought as quickly. She’d put bugs off until life or death demanded it.

  After the meal she worked a while on the shelter, weaving a few more fronds along its walls before putting down fresh ones on the ground inside. The old ones had gotten ripped and bunched during her and Jonathon’s love play. The memory left her pussy tight; she longed for Jonathon’s arms, his lips, tongue, and hands. No one had ever driven her so crazy with lust. He had an ability to hit all her hotspots and had found many more.

  A man with experience. How many of those tricks had he learned from other women over the years? He’d slept with many before her while she’d only had a handful of partners to look back on. The ugly little demon of envy crawled through her blood. Who would he go back to after they left the island? Sure, he’d said he wasn’t seriously involved, but Jonathon Breck wouldn’t go long without a woman on his arm to showcase to the paparazzi.

  “It’s none of my business,” she mumbled. He could sleep with all of the women he wanted, because after Paradise wrapped up they’d go their separate ways.

  Chapter 13

  Jonathon hiked into the growth, hacking his way through with his machete, hoping he might spot something else to eat. An excuse to put time and space between him and Phoebe. Maybe he could go back to the beach on his own? At least for a few days and gather extra food. Then again, he’d already proven how useless he was at catching fish. It seemed a waste of energy to go so far for a few crabs and clams and have to hike back in.

  He blew out a hard breath. It would’ve been nice to run away from his island mate. Which he wanted to do most of all at the moment.

  A faint peeping noise caught his ear. He paused, listening. It came from near a tree, and he carefully walked toward the sound. It took a few moments to find the source buried within a clump a ferns—a baby bird. An ugly, bottle-ended thing with the sprouting of pin feathers and a gaping, hungry mouth. Nearby lay a nest, and Jonathon peered up the tree. A long, satisfied looking snake stretched along a limb. Jonathon frowned. Chances were the other baby birds had become dinner.

  He stared back at the tiny creature, which couldn’t have been more than a week old. Not much meat on its scrawny body. He reached down and picked it up, cupping it in his palm. It wobbled and peeped loudly, opening its mouth wide again, begging for food. His own stomach growled.

  “Damn it.” What would he do with a baby bird? He started to put it back down and let nature take its course, but didn’t have the heart after another round of its pathetic cheeps. “Damn it.”

  He snatched up the nest, possible tinder for another campfire, and decided to return to camp. When he arrived he found Phoebe next to the fire, poking the coals with a stick. She looked up when he approached, her eyes red-rimmed. Guilt stabbed him in the gut, he’d been the one to make her cry. Jonathon held out his offering.

  “What’s that?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together before shooting up. “Seriously? A baby bird? You want to eat a baby bird?” The baby bird peeped, flashing its wide mouth, its oversized head nodding back and forth. “We can’t eat this,” she continued, frowning. “I mean, look at it. I’m all for survivalism, but I don’t want to kill something so small. It’s a baby.”

  She stared at him like he was a monster, and he felt ashamed he had, for a few seconds, considered how many calories it might provide them.

  “I didn’t bring it here to eat,” he said. “A snake had made a meal of the rest and I couldn’t leave it to die.”

  Phoebe worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “We can’t feed ourselves, how are we going to keep a baby bird alive?” she asked, reaching out and stroking the top of its head.

  He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Grubs, worms. It’s worth a try I think.”

  He’d always had a soft spot for animals, dragging in strays as a kid. Cats, dogs, wild baby rabbits—his mother had spent half his childhood rehoming his finds, or returning them to the wild while he’d slept.

  “Chances are it’ll die by morning.” She opened her hands. He handed the bird over, and she cupped it in her palms. She let out a big breath. “We’ll have to find a way to keep it warm, and find food. Poor little fellow. At least it’ll eat good.”

  He couldn’t help but smile as she nuzzled it with her nose, her mothering instinct shining in her eyes.

  “I’ll dig up some grubs,” Jonathon said, leaving her to attend his find.

  He walked along the edges of camp, digging and searching until he came up with a couple of worms. He brought them back. Phoebe held the bird while it gobbled them down and begged for more.

  “It’ll have to eat every couple of hours,” Phoebe said. “That’s my best guess, since human infants have that schedule.” Phoebe flashed a big grin, and her face softened as she watched the ugly little thing nestle into the warmth of her hands, its eyes drifting closed in contentment. “It needs a home.”

  Jonathon put the nest in his bag then placed it on the ground near the campfire. “We’ll keep it in here,” he said. “Should be warm and safe.”

  Phoebe gently set the baby bird in its new home. It peeped a few times then fell asleep. “There, snug as a bug,” she said. “Find some more worms, enough to get it through the night. We’ll have to take shifts to keep it fed. I guess whenever one of us wakes up through the night we’ll feed it.”

  Jonathon headed out for the grub hunt, while Phoebe went on another foraging mission.

  “I’d kill for a pizza right about now,” Jonathon said as they later settled around the fire with their fruit. “Sausage, pepperoni, extra cheese…”

  “Lots of black olives,” Phoebe added. “And green peppers.”

  The baby bird peeped. Phoebe stuffed a grub inside its mouth, and the bird huddled back into its nest.

  Jonathon grinned. “You’re a good mother.”

  She met his gaze. “I hope so.”

  Her warm eyes caught sunlight streaming through the trees, and he was sure he’d never seen such a beautiful shade of brown. Recognition again tugged at him, the ever-present mystery she held close. Their previous fight lingered in his thoughts. Is she a hired actress that’s playing me for a fool?

  “Can you tell me why you decided to go into survivalism?” he asked. Perhaps he could weed out an answer or catch on to deception.

  “I studied biology in college, and I’ve always loved the outdoors. Camping, fishing, boating, that sort of thing, so I fell into it I guess. It’s a competitive field though, and women aren’t held in the same esteem as men, so that’s why I agreed to do this crazy show.”

  He weighed her answer—an honest enough one. “How was it being the child of a famous pop legend?”

  Phoebe shifted on the ground, pulling her knees to her chest as if hiding behind them. “Hard. I love Cybil, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never been the outgoing person she is. I’d rather be out in the wilderness than in the midst of her adoring fans.”

  He let the conversation lapse, not quite sure if he was satisfied with her answers. After eating, they sat in a reasonably companionable silence, and as the evening stretched into night, they
took turns feeding the bird. When bedtime came, he stoked the campfire higher before putting down a pallet of palm fronds for a bed.

  “The bird needs the fire, and we can’t leave it out here alone,” he explained before Phoebe could comment. Last night they couldn’t keep their hands off one another, but tonight would be nothing but awkward should he try to sleep next to her.

  She watched him a while. The firelight cast dancing shadows over her face, leaving him wondering if she really was as sad as she appeared to be. She finally turned in.

  He cat-napped the first part of the night. He fed the bird each time he’d find himself wide awake from the sound of the wind or Phoebe rolling over in her sleep. Toward morning he fell into a dream-filled slumber. He was young and in his college home again. Phoebe was with him, and in his arms, her soft pleas of desire filling his ears. But it wasn’t Phoebe beneath him—the girl was blonde and had on too much makeup to be the woman he adored. Yet her eyes are the same. Huge, brown, trusting…

  He awoke with a start, the dream shattering into fragments while he tried to place what had woken him.

  “Sorry,” Phoebe said from nearby. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m trying to break wood up for the campfire.”

  Jonathon rubbed his tired eyes then checked in on the bird. It stared up at him, before opening its huge mouth. He grinned, happy to find it alive.

  “I gave him the last grub this morning,” Phoebe said. “We’ll have to find more, the little bugger likes to eat. I’ll do that, and you can look for meat again. We need a new water source as well.”

  Yet another opportunity to fail. Jonathon shook loose the feeling of defeat, and headed out in a new direction for the day.

  Twenty minutes in and he couldn’t believe his good luck. A large, cool, spring-fed pool twinkled in the sun. He found the spring source, and took a big drink of the fresh water. Sweet, without the muddy flavor he’d grown accustomed to while drinking from rain puddles. Champagne had never tasted as good. He quickly stripped off his briefs and jumped into the chilly water, washing the sand and sweat away.

  Frogs lived along the edge of the pool. He’d never been a fan of frog legs, but suddenly they sounded like manna from heaven. After his swim, he chased frogs until the sun drew high overhead. When he had a decent amount in his bag he headed for camp, whistling. On his way back he found a flowering bush full of exotic orange flowers. He plucked several, and returned to camp.

  Phoebe had just finished feeding their little one when he stopped next to her and extended the flowers. She reached out and took the bouquet.

  “Are they edible?” she asked, looking them over.

  Her look of confusion made him chuckle. “I don’t know if you can eat them, but we can eat these.”

  He handed her the bag and she peeked inside. A wide smile crossed her face. “Oh, thank God. This will be a feast.”

  “Here.” He took one of the flowers and carefully tucked it into her hair above the camera band. “Perfect.”

  The vivid orange set off her chestnut hair and tanned complexion. She was beautiful, as exotic as the flower in her hair. She met his eyes, and time stopped. He craved her. Had to have her. He leaned in and took her lips. Her soft gasp greeted him, then she moaned as he deepened the kiss. Her tongue met his, stroking, tasting, driving his lust hotter. He grabbed her hips, pulling her closer, and her arms wrapped around his neck. God, his head swam with her, every heartbeat was meant for her and only her as he took her with his lips again and again.

  “We can’t do this,” she said against his mouth.

  “Oh but angel, I think we are,” he replied, trailing kisses to her ear. She shivered when he caught her earlobe between his teeth. Groaned when he suckled it.

  Phoebe braced her hands against his chest and shoved him away. He staggered back and stared at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said between ragged gulps of breath. “I can’t do this, not with you. What we did before… We can’t do it again.”

  Frustration had him grinding his teeth. “What’s wrong with me?” he finally managed.

  She dropped her gaze to the ground. “It’s not you…” She trailed off, sparing him the rest of the lame excuse.

  But he couldn’t let it go. “Why, Phoebe? Is it Sarah?”

  Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a hard breath. “W-what about Sarah?”

  He rubbed his hand over his hair. “I don’t know, are you worried about introducing her to one of your boyfriends, or is it me you don’t want her to know? I realize I have a reputation, but Jesus, she’s a kid. It won’t matter to her one way or another.”

  “What…” She licked her lips and swallowed. “What do you think is between us?”

  Fuck. He deflated. “I honestly don’t know.”

  He turned and left her for the second time that day, following the trail he’d cleared to the pool. The water closed around him as he swam a few laps, but he quickly tired thanks to lack of food. He waded back to shore, staring but not seeing anything but Phoebe. A high-pitched wail startled several birds in a tree above him. Jonathon tilted his head, listening. Another wail, and he realized it wasn’t a bird.

  “Oh my God.” He charged through the growth, limbs tearing at his legs, chest, and arms. “Phoebe!” he yelled. “I’m coming!”

  He crashed into the campsite. Phoebe had her machete, hacking at the ground. He ran over to her then looked down. A long snake lay near the fire—at least what was left of one.

  “What the hell? Are you okay?” He grabbed her in a hug, grateful she seemed unhurt. “Did it bite you?”

  She trembled in his arms and shook her head. “No. It crawled onto my leg, I think it was after Itty Bitty.” Her voice shook as she spoke, and she buried her face in his chest.

  He stared at the reptile, another wolf snake. He stroked his hand over her back. “It’s dead,” he said. “Wait, who’s Itty Bitty?”

  “The baby bird,” she said against his skin. “I know it’s stupid to name it, but I can’t keep calling it ‘it’.” The bird was still safe and sound in its little nest, oblivious to the fact it’d been rescued. “I couldn’t let the snake eat him.” She shuddered. “That’s a terrible way to die.”

  She stepped away from him. He grabbed a stick and lifted what was left of the carcass. “We can salvage part of the meat,” Jonathon offered.

  Phoebe frowned. “I can’t eat another snake, I don’t care how hungry I am. I’ll eat worms first. I’m going to bury this. Put the frog legs on to cook.” She took the snake and left the campsite.

  He skewered the legs and balanced them near the fire. “I found fresh water. It’s a spring-fed pool,” he told her when she returned.

  “Thank God,” she said. “Something’s gone right today.”

  * * * *

  Days passed. Awkward, uncomfortable days until it was time to hike to their next drop. They collected their meager belongings. He carried the baby bird, and filled water bottles, she the bag with the emergency phones, and flint. Phoebe took the lead. The way was slow going in the suffocating humidity. The air clung to his skin, leaving him sweating.

  “I see it,” Phoebe said. She walked to a neon pink bag and tugged it off a branch. “There’s a good clear spot through that grove.” She pointed her machete toward it.

  He spotted his bag. “I’ll meet you over there,” he said.

  He grabbed it down and peered inside. A small cooking pot like he’d requested. After his last stop he was almost afraid of what the producers might throw at him. With rains gone and their fresh drinking source a mile and a half away, being able to boil water would be invaluable. Jonathon walked toward the clearing, eyeing his cooking pot. It was Phoebe’s quick gasp which drew his head up. She’d vanished.

  “Phoebe?”

  No reply.

  He called louder. “Phoebe!”

  Fear shot through him. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. He dashed into the clearing, dropping the bag with the cooking pot.

  “Phoe
be!” he screamed.

  It only lasted a moment—the strange and unexpected sensation of falling. The earth opened wide, an ancient, gaping maw carved out of coral eons past, and the roof worn too thin by natural forces. It took a matter of seconds for Jonathon to realize he was falling, before the cave floor came up and slammed into him, knocking the world into black.

  Nearby Phoebe sprawled. Silent. Unmoving.

  Chapter 14

  Agony. Phoebe tried to remember if she’d ever known such all-encompassing pain. She’d gone through natural childbirth with Sarah, and not even that could compare to the pulsing stabs lancing from her leg into every part of her. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t. They felt swollen. What happened? Slowly, she formed the mental map leading her here. Finding her bag, walking into the clearing…

  Then nothing.

  What the hell had happened?

  She reached down and lightly palpated her upper thigh where the worst of the pain centered. A hard lump pushed up beneath her skin. A fracture, her leg was broken. Another try and her eyelids popped open. The light stung, her eyes watered.

  “You okay?”

  Phoebe blinked away the tears and focused toward the voice. She found Jonathon lying a few feet away.

  “Yeah,” she lied. “You?” Her teeth chattered as a chill crept through her limbs. “I’m cold.”

  “Phoebe…”

  He sounded hurt. She tried to crawl to him, only to have a surge of agony wrench a cry from her throat.

  “God…Phoebe. Don’t move. Your leg.” Jonathon crawled to her and cradled her head on his lap. “Your thigh is turning purple. I’m so sorry, I should’ve went into the clearing first.”

  “I appreciate your chivalry.” She had to take a deep breath. Exhaustion made it hard to keep her words straight, and she had to concentrate as she formed each syllable. “But chivalry’s dead, didn’t anyone tell you that?”