Authors: Mellanie Szereto
Szereto, Mellanie - Two from the Triangle [Bewitching Desires 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (2 page)
“Together.” Owen joined him in another attempt to displace the water pressing in from the outside.
A river gushed in around the seam, and the floor shifted beneath them. Heléna grabbed for the wall to steady herself. “I can swim.”
“Good, because you don’t have a choice. One more time, Owen.”
The men grunted as they rammed the door again. It flew wide. Heath snagged her hand, pulling her through the rising water. A swell lifted her off her feet and covered her face a moment after she gasped. Another hand closed around her free one to pull her forward, fighting the current trying to push her back. Her eyes stung when she blinked, so she blindly let Heath and Owen lead her toward the surface.
Can I hold my breath long enough?
Kicking her legs only tangled her soaked skirt around her calves and weighed her down. Her lungs burned from lack of oxygen, not having been prepared for the onslaught. Unable to stop the need to breathe, she inhaled, getting a nose full of salty brine as the pair of pilots hauled her face above the water. She coughed at the burning in her sinuses.
“You okay?” Owen came into focus. “We’re about two hundred yards from shore. Can you make it?”
Land? Thank the Goddess.
She nodded. “How deep?”
Brushing the wet strands of hair from her cheek, Heath met her gaze. “Only about twelve to fifteen feet.”
“Okay.” She’d swim until she could walk the rest of the way to land—if she could manage to strip off her skirt without losing it.
Slipping her hands from the men’s grasps, she clutched at Owen’s shoulder as she worked the elastic waistband past her hips. The weight of the fabric almost pulled the skirt from her legs, but she held on by trapping it between her knees. She captured the length, easing her feet free and donning the garment like a scarf. With her body now liberated from the tangles, she fell into a rhythmic pace of stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, breathe.
Heath and Owen flanked her as she focused on the task of reaching land. Both men slowed after she’d counted thirty alternating arm motions, and the sun peeked through the scuttling clouds to shine on a stretch of beach no more than the width of the Macska seasonal herb garden away.
“Almost there, doll.” Heath stood, gentle waves hitting him in the chest. “A little closer and you should be able walk the rest of the way.”
Owen moved in front of her as she treaded water. “Hold onto my shoulders. I’ll tow you in.”
She hooked her palms on either side of his neck, trying to hold onto the slick leather of his drenched flight jacket. Although she hadn’t swum far and the sea was hardly cold, her muscles ached. Being thrust into the stifling storage closet from the bitter cold of home had caused knotting cramps in her calves. The stress of crash- landing an airplane in the ocean had only added to the problem.
He set off toward the shore, and less than a minute later, her toes touched the soft sand under the surf. Her knees buckled when she attempted to stand, and Heath swung her into his arms, continuing to the narrow strip of white beach. She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Exhaustion threatened to overtake her. She didn’t dare close her eyes, or she’d surrender to sleep.
The sky brightened as they came ashore, gray fluffs separating and becoming thin white wisps in the breeze. Warmth from the summery air seeped into her soaked sweater.
Heath set her down on an exposed rock. Removing her skirt-scarf, he spread it in the sun. “It shouldn’t take long to dry.”
Peeling off her sweater, she laid it beside the skirt. “Thank you.”
He nodded, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on the sand with Owen’s. “You’re welcome—but only if you tell how us how the hell you got on that plane.”
Chapter 2
Heath Ulrich tugged off his boots, vacillating between shaking his and Owen’s stowaway or laying her out on the beach and fucking her until they both collapsed. Watching her shimmy out of her skirt underwater had been one thing. He’d even survived carrying her up the beach. The second she’d stripped off her sweater to reveal a perfect pair of small, firm tits, his dick had gone from snoozing to standing at attention. Pert nipples poked at her scant camisole, emphasizing her barely there panties and shapely legs.
And those sexy little naked feet.
Damn, he’d love to strip off the rest of her wet clothes and enjoy some sex in the sun.
Then again, with her tiny stature, lack of makeup, and dark innocent eyes, she could be all of fifteen or sixteen years old.
Seemingly ignoring his request, she slipped the elastic from the end of her braid and unwound her dark waist-length hair. The long strands flowing down her back added to his desire to touch her. “I, um, I’m not sure how I got on your plane.”
She fiddled with thick waves, combing her fingers through the damp locks and nibbling on her lower lip.
“Somebody put you in the locker without you knowing?” Women had hidden away in his car after several air shows, claiming they’d wanted to sleep with a pilot, but he’d never found one inside the plane he was flying. His ex-girlfriend had ditched him after the last incident, not giving him the benefit of the doubt or letting him tell his side of the story.
“I was at home, and then I was...there.” The girl’s averted gaze told him she wasn’t being completely honest with him.
Sarcasm warred with horniness. “Somebody made you appear on the plane with some sort of magic spell?”
Her eyes widened, and she crossed her arms in front of her delectable tits.
“Back off, Heath.” Owen dropped his white scarf on top of his boots. “We’re all on edge because of the accident. Let her be.”
Raising his eyebrows at his flying partner and best friend, Heath flicked open the top button of his shirt. “I just want to know how she—”
“Does it matter at this point? We’re damn lucky to be alive.” Owen tossed his leather cap and goggles in the sand, raking his fingers through his flattened hair. “I think we need to worry about where we’re going to find supplies and how long until somebody rescues us.”
Heath worked the last button free and slipped off the shirt. “Fine. We’ll take care of food and shelter first, but I’m not letting her off the hook. I want answers. It’s too damn coincidental if you ask me.”
Squatting next to the lady in question, Owen patted her bare knee. “Don’t pay any attention to him, honey. He’s pissy about the engine problems. I’m Owen Vance. The grouch is Heath Ulrich.”
She seemed to study the sand at her feet, and her teeth came out to nibble on her lip again. “I’m Heléna Macska. Where are we?”
“I’m not a grouch.” Spitting out the denial, Heath glared at his friend. The urge to punch him in the nose for feeling up Heléna had Heath flexing his jaw and balling his hands into fists. “My best guess is one of the cays east of Little Abaco.”
She glanced up at him with a frown. “I don’t know where that is.”
“North end of the Bahamas.”
Her expression didn’t change. “What’s a cay?”
Her skimpy underclothes distracted him for a moment, and he held in a frustrated growl. “Kind of like an island. Made of sand or part of a coral reef.”
“Oh.” She sighed.
At twenty-three, he had enough experience with women to know that her sigh wasn’t any ordinary exhale. Was she upset that her plan to seduce him or Owen had been derailed by the unscheduled landing? Or maybe she wanted first-class accommodations for her island getaway. He’d had his fill of selfish, spoiled women. Not that she was a woman yet.
Stripping to his underwear, he willed his dick to wilt. “What are your parents going to say when you don’t come home? I’m sure glad I don’t have a teenage daughter.”
She jerked her head up, a flash of anger sparking in her eyes. Grabbing her clothes, she rose and stomped toward the far end of the beach. After half a dozen steps, she whirled around. “Teenage? I’ll have you know I’m twenty-one. And—and... Oh, never mind.”
Her skirt trailed behind her as she marched away, her luscious round ass drawing his gaze with every sway of her hips. The breeze carried hints of mumbled insults back to him.
Did she just call me a waste of pussy juice?
No, he had to have heard wrong. Women didn’t talk like that.
Owen gave him a shove. “You’ve got some way with the ladies there, Heath. You start by ogling her. Then you conduct an inquisition and talk to her like a kid instead of asking if she’s okay.” Shaking his head, he followed her. “We’ve got no fresh water and no food, and you’re worried about how she got on board.”
He walked the path of tiny footprints she’d left in the sand, his longer strides closing the distance between them by the time she slowed near the water at the south end of the cay. She sat on her skirt, folding her knees to her chest and lowering her head. Was she crying?
Heath’s gut twisted at that thought. He hadn’t intended to hurt her feelings, but so much of his life had gone to hell in the past year. His love of flying had turned to hate. The female attention had only been the beginning, and the unexplainable engine trouble on the test route was the last straw. He’d finally reached his limit with the failed flight today. Even if they managed to somehow return to civilization, he was done with aviation.
Owen sank to the sand beside Heléna, his arm draping around her narrow shoulders. A stab of jealousy forced Heath to look away.
Her slight build and angelic face never would’ve suggested she was twenty-one years old. She couldn’t be more than five-foot-two and a hundred pounds. Her innocent nature spoke of someone who hadn’t been exposed to the harsh realities of his world. Why was he attracted to her when he normally preferred more experienced women?
Owen was right. What did her motive matter when they likely wouldn’t survive more than a week or two if they weren’t found? Considering the secrecy of the project, the chances of his employer searching for anything other than the plane itself were slim. To stay alive, they’d have to save themselves.
* * * *
Settling next to Heléna, Owen couldn’t resist wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Nothing brought out the protective instincts in him more than a crying woman. Although she made no sound, her whole body trembled.
“It’s okay, honey. We’re all shaken up from the rough landing.” He smoothed her wet hair from her forehead. “Heath’s kind of superstitious about the area we had to fly today, and he was already about to blow a gasket before he found you on the plane. Damn full moon. Don’t let his temper get to you. He’s a nice guy most of the time.”
She stopped shaking, but she didn’t lift her head from her knees.
“Merry Christmas, by the way.” A rueful laugh escaped. “Some tropical vacation we’re having, huh?”
“I don’t celebrate Christmas.” She shifted out of his hold and pushed to her feet, facing the now deceptively calm Atlantic. “The full moon. I can’t get away from it. I thought I’d at least...”
“At least what, Heléna?”
She shook her head, sending her hair swishing back and forth. “It isn’t important.”
The hopelessness in her tone made his chest ache, and he stood to slip his hand around hers. “Whatever’s on your mind—if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”
Her jaw tensed. “I can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”
He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he’d do his damnedest to fix whatever was bothering her, but she wouldn’t believe him—especially if the certainty in her voice was anything to go by. Her determination to deal with her problems alone rankled less than he expected. As much as he liked the idea of a woman depending on him to take care of her, they were all better off with no weak link in the situation.
“Maybe, Heléna, maybe not. The offer stands.” Urging her back toward the spot they’d come from, he scanned the surf for a glimpse of wing or propeller. Since no yellow showed in the shallow turquoise water, the current had probably dragged the airplane off the limestone shelf and into the depths of the sheer drop-off. “We need to find some shade. You’ll end up with a bad sunburn if we don’t.”
