Free The Castaway Bride by Kandy Shepherd Page A

her fists on his shoulders. She told him she didn’t like his cave man tactics.
    Not for a moment did she think of the dangers of being stranded on a tropical island. The danger was right here as she fought the bliss of being held close by her fellow castaway as he carried her into the rainforest.
     

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    Matt kicked open the door of the hut, conscious every second of the soft, delicious warmth of Cristy in his arms.
    Why in hell had he thought it was a good idea to pick her up and carry her? Once she’d quit pummeling him, she’d snuggled in close. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her arms twined around his neck. That scent of roses from her was even headier now, sharpened with the tang of salt. He was intoxicated by her scent, aroused by her closeness.
    Hell. He hadn’t stopped being aroused by her closeness since the surprising moment she’d climbed on top of him in the surf.
    He carried her across the threshold of the hut. There was a canvas bed ahead of him and all he wanted to do was throw Cristy down on it, strip her of her remaining finery and gaze at her body before getting naked himself and—
    But she squirmed out of his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me this place was so cute?” she asked, looking around her in delight at the one room, cabin-like structure.
    He looked around him at the shabby, spartan furnishings, the primitive facilities. “Cute?”
    “It’s like Snow White’s cottage in the woods—but without the gingerbread carvings.”
    “Say again?” He couldn’t share her enthusiasm. It was just an old hut, something worthy only of demolition.
    She tutted impatiently. “Didn’t you notice? The way all those big palm trees look like they’re protecting it? That gorgeous pink bougainvillea that climbs over the verandah. The corrugated iron roof. It’s so… so rustic.”
    “It’s rustic all right,” said Matt dryly. “There’s not even a bathroom.”
    “No bath—?” Cristy’s face clouded momentarily.
    She looked around her. “I guess it’s not quite as cute inside as it is outside,” she conceded. “But it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.”
    Matt hadn’t been here for a while. “It’s not in bad shape,” he admitted. “The tropics can be tough on uninhabited buildings; mould, insects, you know that kind of thing.”
    “Insects?”
    “Cockroaches, spiders, other creepy crawlies.”
    “Spiders?”
    Cristy blanched and Matt immediately felt shot by remorse at teasing her. She might have a spider phobia as well as a fear of sharks for all he knew.
    Then the color rushed into her face and she tilted her chin defiantly. “You don’t scare me, Matt Slade. I won’t pretend I like spiders but I can assure you that I won’t faint at the sight of one.”
    He laughed, enjoying her feistiness and glad she accepted the crude nature of their shelter in such good spirits. If Julia or one of her crowd had found herself in a situation like this they would be hysterical by now. Miss Perfect was continuing to surprise him—and he liked it.
    “Now come on, stop teasing me about bugs,” she said. “I’m thirsty. Any chance of a drink in this place?”
    Matt walked over to a wooden bench under the window where an old enamel bowl served as a sink. He turned on the ancient faucet. Nothing.
    “I’ll check the tank connection,” he said.
    “Tank connection? Pardon my ignorance, but what do you mean by that?”
    “There’s a big tank outside that collects rain water. The connection to the hut has either been turned off, or it’s blocked by a dead frog.”
    Again Matt observed the way Cristy’s struggles with her emotions showed on her face. This time, disbelief vied with wariness.
    “Frogs. You’re kidding me, right?”
    Barely able to suppress a laugh, Matt shook his head. “No. Frogs are attracted to the water in tanks and sometimes they’re unable to get out.”
    Cristy obviously still wasn’t sure whether to take him seriously or not.