Free The Castaway Bride by Kandy Shepherd Page B

She stood with her hands on her hips, unaware of how her stance made her breasts thrust outward.
    Matt couldn’t help notice—again—how firm and round they were and remember how responsive they’d been to his touch. She was barely covered by her torn-off dress. He forced himself to look away as she spoke.
    “You don’t scare me with that one, either. I’m not afraid of frogs. In fact I think they’re kinda sweet.”
    “I like frogs, too. But not to drink.”
    Grateful for an excuse to get away and cool down from the sight of her, Matt turned back toward the door. “I’ll go and check why we’re not getting any water.”
    But his ploy didn’t work. “I’ll come with you,” said Cristy from behind him.
    Matt gritted his teeth. Didn’t she realize the effect she was having on him? How much more of it could he take before he did something he might regret?
     
    C risty followed Matt outside. The ground near the hut comprised softer sand with a scattering of spiky fallen brown, palm leaves. It was still uncomfortable under her bare feet.
    But she didn’t admit to it—she was afraid of what she might do if Matt picked her up again and held her close. Like press herself wantonly against him and demand that he take her back inside to that bed and finish what they’d started in the surf.
    She blushed. Had she really thought that? What had being shipwrecked done to her normally under-control libido?
    But was it shipwreck—or was it Matt? Matt with his great body and devastating smile.
    She followed him around to the side of the small building, relishing the sight of his powerful buttocks moving under the damp fabric of his shorts, his strong, muscular legs.
    He was so hot! The way he’d swept her up into his arms and carried her through the undergrowth as though she were as light as the seagull feathers that drifted with the wind along the beach. Those muscles weren’t just for show. Then he’d carried her over the threshold.
    Cristy paused as the irony of the situation hit her. On her wedding day to Howard she’d been carried over the threshold by another man—and had enjoyed every second of it.
    Guiltily, she glanced down at the engagement ring gleaming on the third finger of her left hand. She hadn’t given Howard a thought since she’d set sail on Matt’s boat. How had he explained the whole fiasco to his guests? Was he looking for her? Her lips tightened. That was Howard’s problem—Howard’s and Miriam’s.
    Matt turned back and caught her examining her ring. “So your rock survived the swim?”
    “Yes, thank heaven, it’s worth a fortune.” She wondered why Matt’s face tightened to a frown. The ring meant nothing to her. But she would safeguard it until she could mail it back to Howard.
    “Well you’d better look after it then,” Matt said gruffly, looking at the ring as if it were something loathsome.
    He turned the corner of the hut and stopped in front of a large, round corrugated iron tank sitting on top of a wooden stand. He pushed aside some undergrowth and leaned down to find a faucet. He gave it a hard twist. “Not turned on. That’s why there’s no water inside the hut.” His voice was cool and impersonal.
    Cristy cleared her throat. “No, frogs, huh?”
    “Doesn’t look like it. The water is flowing okay now. You can have your drink.”
    Why was he suddenly so grumpy?
    “Matt, is there anything the matter?”
    He turned to face her. The shutters were down again over the green eyes and that sensual mouth was set in an unyielding line. “No. Apart from the fact that we’re marooned on a deserted island and—”
    She faced him squarely. “I didn’t mean that.”
    “Didn’t you? Isn’t that enough to worry about?”
    Cristy didn’t have an answer. She’d have sworn something else bothered him; he’d seem to change when she’d talked about her engagement ring. But she must have imagined it. Of course he was right—all that would concern him was how to get them off