Free The Castaway Bride by Kandy Shepherd

that she was a foreigner, ignorant of the intricacies of Australian geography.
    “Many of them are uninhabited. Like this one. This island is slated for development but—”
    “So there are people living here?” Cristy’s voice rose in hope.
    “When I said uninhabited I meant uninhabited.”
    “You mean… we really are shipwrecked?”
    Matt nodded. “Until a rescue party comes after us. And I’m sure that won’t be long,” he added reassuringly.
    “Uh, how long?”
    Matt shrugged, seeming not at all concerned. “A day or two maybe, when someone notices we’re missing. The beacon I stuck on the boat will lead them to us.”
    A day or two stranded on an island alone with this handsome hunk who sent her hormones rocketing into orbit?
    Cristy swallowed hard against an impulse to panic. Even harder against an impulse to give into the unholy excitement that surged through her at the thought of being alone with Matt.
    Just him and her. And hardly any clothes.
    “You mean we have to shelter in a cave or something?”
    Matt laughed, but the sound did nothing to reassure her. “Not quite.”
    “What do you mean, ‘not quite’?”
    “Not far from here, there’s a surveyor’s hut. A survival shack. Basic accommodation for the guys who come here to survey the island and prepare reports for the resort developer who owns it. Fishermen sometimes use it, too.”
    Cristy’s heart plunged to knee level. So much for her fantasies of a luxury hotel room. “A survival shack?”
    Thank heaven she hadn’t confided in him her dreams of a shower and room service.
    “I haven’t been here for a while but from memory it’s comfortable enough. Though I’m not sure how long since it’s been used.”
    Cristy’s feet seemed rooted in the sand. No hotel, just some old shack? She sneezed again. She didn’t even have a tissue. Hang on, wasn’t there an antique lace handkerchief tucked in her frilly blue garter? Miriam—traitorous Miriam—had given both handkerchief and garter to her; the “something old” and “something blue” bits of her wedding regalia.
    Cristy hauled the remnants of her skirt up to the top of her thigh, paused at Matt’s quick indrawn breath. She looked up but he abruptly turned away. She felt around her garter. Yes, here it was. A ridiculously small scrap of fine linen and lace. But of course it was soaking wet. She wrung it out. Maybe there’d be somewhere to dry it in the shack.
    “Do you know where this survival shack is?” she asked. Although it was still only early afternoon, and the day was hot, the sky had darkened and the air felt heavy. She thought she heard the distant rumble of thunder.
    Matt’s eyes narrowed as he looked around them. The sand led into rainforest-type growth, behind that the green-clad mountain reared above them. “Not far. Through the trees there.”
    Peering through the undergrowth, Cristy could see the faint remnants of a track.
    “C’mon,” Matt said, taking off toward it.
    She hesitated, concerned about her tender, bare feet.
    “Too tough for you?”
    “No. You’re talking to a hippie chick here, remember. I camped wild with my parents all the time. Although it… uh, was quite some time ago.”
    She’d wimped out enough for today. Fainting at the sight of a dolphin, for heaven’s sake, how would she ever live that one down?
    Gamely, she struck out behind him. She winced as a sharp piece of coral jabbed into her foot. “Ouch!”
    Matt laughed. He laughed!
    “It’s okay,” she said hastily, pretending it didn’t hurt, taking another tentative step.
    “It’s not okay with those city-tender feet,” Matt said. “You don’t want to get coral cuts. They’re easily infected. Let me—”
    Uh uh. She wasn’t going to let him fool around with her feet again, not when she remembered how his touch on the boat had thrilled her. “I’m fine—”
    “No you’re not,” said Matt, and she found herself swung into his arms.
    Cristy struggled. She pounded