Doc tried to picture it and got stuck on the all-important question of...who will spoon whom?
He wasn’t very enthusiastic about the idea of Romeo spooning him or him spooning Romeo. He’d been down that road before when they’d gotten cut off from their unit and had spent a night tangled together in a hole they’d dug out of the sand while the desert temperatures plummeted around them.
If memory served, Romeo slept like the dead. And snored.
But the alternative was to sleep boy-girl-boy-girl, and that meant Doc stood a good chance of being snugged up nice and tight next to one Camilla D’ Angelo. That was a sure-fire recipe for a terrible night’s sleep. One plagued by prurient thoughts, an incessant boner, and—
“That will also keep us off the sand and out of those crabs you’re concerned about,” Romeo added, cutting off Doc’s thoughts. “And I don’t think we need to spell out S.O.S. because the flare gun will be more effective at signaling any passing boats or low-flying planes. But one of us should take a walk around the island to get the lay of the land and see if anything useful might have washed up over the years. I mean, a net made from palm fronds sounds badass, but I’m not sure how effective it would be. A tarp or piece of plastic that we could use to catch rainwater if a storm passes would be better.” His expression turned contemplative. “I guess we could use the life raft for that but—”
When Cami interrupted, her tone was dubious. “How long do you think we’ll be stranded here that we need to catch rainwat—”
“Says the woman who wants to build a tree house,” Doc couldn’t stop himself from interrupting.
Sheer annoyance fired in Cami’s eyes. To his annoyance, it caused an answering heat in his blood.
He didn’t want to like Camilla D’ Angelo. But more than not wanting to like her, he sure as shit didn’t want to want her.
Not that there hadn’t been women since Lily. There’d been more than a few. But they’d been conveniences, an easy way to scratch an itch and drown some sorrows. Not something he craved or needed or desired.
To crave or need or desire a woman felt like a...betrayal.
To crave or need or desire a lawyer? That almost felt sinful.
And maybe that’s why he’d gotten completely and utterly soused the night before. Maybe he’d recognized the stirrings of true passion and had subconsciously sabotaged himself.
Wouldn’t be the first time he’d made a split-second decision that had completely torpedoed everything he thought he was after. Everything he’d been working toward.
“I’m sorry.” She dragged him from his musing and harangued him for cutting her off by saying, “Did the middle of my sentence interrupt the beginning of yours?”
So much sass.
“Now, don’t get your back up,” he attempted to soothe her. “I was just pointing out how silly it is to say we’ll be here long enough to need a tree house but not long enough to worry about fresh water.”
“First of all”—she narrowed her eyes—“telling an annoyed woman not to get her back up is about as effective as baptizing a cat. Second of all, I don’t know why, maybe it’s the letdown of the adrenaline, maybe it’s the slight headache I have, but I find the sound of your voice particularly grating right now. Do you think it would be at all possible for you to zip it?” She pantomimed zipping closed her own lips.
He didn’t answer. Instead he felt the corners of his mouth twitch.
Sooo much sass.
Romeo cleared his throat and got them back on track. “Mia and I will look for the best spot for us to spend the night, get the life raft put in place, and start cutting down fronds to make a lean-to.”
The first time Doc had met Romeo was when they’d been assigned to the same SEAL Team. His initial impression of the dude’s eager-beaver, gung-ho attitude had been that Romeo was a guy who had a bit of an inferiority complex. Someone who felt he needed to do twice the work to prove himself half as good. But as the years had gone by, Doc had come to realize that Romeo was simply that self-sacrificing. His nature was to serve. Sitting around while there was work to be done never even crossed his mind.
“Doc?” Romeo gave him a searching glance. “I know your head has to be killing you, and your arm probably hurts twice as bad, but would you be willing to walk around the island to see if—”
“Consider it done.” Doc lifted his hand, not letting Romeo finish. He was happy to have something to do that would allow him to be alone in his misery.
“I’ll go with Doc,” Cami said, and Doc barely refrained from groaning. “You shouldn’t be alone,” she told him firmly. “You have a head injury. What if you pass out, fall face-first into the surf, and drown in an inch of water?” She screwed up her lips. “Although now that I’ve said that aloud, it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”
“Oh, ha, ha.” He faked a laugh. “Not sure why you settled on the law. You’d have made a great stand-up comedian.”
She gave a little bow. “I’m here all week.” When she realized what she’d said, she grimaced. “Wait. I take it back.” She looked around as if trying to placate whatever higher power might be listening. “I really don’t want to be here all week.”
“If you’re coming, then come on.” He waved his arm, welcoming her to precede him up the beach. The sooner they got started, the sooner they could stop and she would go do something else, anything else, but continue to stand next to him and...tempt him. “We’re burning daylight.”
“Gimme a sec.” She balanced on one foot and then the other to pull off her wedge sandals. After dropping them into the bottom of the life raft, she shrugged her purse from her shoulder and let it fall beside her discarded shoes. Next went her linen suit jacket. It landed on top of her purse in a flutter. Finally, she bent to roll up the legs of her slacks.
Looking far more fit for the role of castaway, she straightened and blew out a satisfied breath. By contrast, he suddenly couldn’t breathe, because her blouse was still a little damp and it clung to the round swells of her breasts.
If he looked closely, which you better believe he did, he could just make out the shape of her nipples through the cups of her bra. They were a little bigger than half-dollar size, and the centers poked up like pencil erasers.
“That’s much better,” she declared, unaware that she was killing him. She pointed in the direction he’d gestured and asked, “This way?”
“Don’t reckon it actually matters,” he wheezed. “Seeing as how we’ll be doing a circle either way. Lady’s choice.”