Free Stranded by Amberly Woodruff

the quick by his seeming
callousness, but he put a finger to her lips then drew her into his arms. She
acquiesced for a moment, held against his heart, hearing its steady rhythm.
When she tried to pull free again, he held her tighter, kissed the top of her
head, then trailed his lips down her throat to her breasts, where he captured
each peak in turn, lathing them with his tongue, rousing the familiar fire that
leapt so readily between them, massaging her naked back, running his fingers
through the silken strands of her hair, then pulling her tighter against him,
plunging his pulsing length into her hot, damp centre, moving slowly and
tenderly till the honeyed sweetness that ebbed and flowed within her began to push
all other thoughts from her mind. But at the moment of absolute surrender, when
her body seemed to open like the petals of a rose to draw him deeper, a voice
within her said that this would be the last time, and as she came, a storm of
weeping shook her. He held her after, stroking her hair from her face, wiping
her tears away with his thumb, kissing her brow.
    Then they were getting up, washing, eating breakfast. The morning melted away, and all too soon she heard the steady
hammer of the approaching helicopter, then it was coming into sight, filling
the horizon - her nemesis - not a small vehicle but enormous, long, like a
troop carrier. It hovered over the flat ground beyond the Hermitage, scattering
the chickens and making the goats bleat with panic. One after another, pieces
of equipment were lowered - cans of petrol, tents, a spare tyre for the Land
Rover, then boxes of food. Tamsin watched it all, her mind numb and her heart
sinking.
    Finally the craft itself landed and the rotors were still.
Jed went out to meet it, waving as the door of the cockpit opened and a burly,
red haired man in jeans and leather jacket stepped down. Tamsin watched their
greetings and then heard Jed say, ‘ You ’ve got a
passenger for the return trip. The radio’s fucked, or I would have let you know.’
He beckoned to Tamsin, and she reluctantly went to meet the pilot, finding a
smile and holding out her hand as Jed said, ‘ This is
Tamsin Smith. Pretty hard to believe, but the storm last week washed her up
here. Tamsin, this is Greg Stewart. He’ll take you back to the mainland.’
    But as Greg gripped her hand in greeting, the cockpit
opened again and a young woman stepped down, looking confidently around her.
She was petite and blonde, hair reaching to her waist, and was dressed in a no nonsense
manner with a thick, dark green sweater under an olive parka, her long legs
clad in tough leather boots. Tamsin heard Jed’s intake of breath and turned to
him. A look of absolute longing had crossed his face and he started forward.
‘Fi!’ he said, holding a hand out towards the newcomer.
    After that things seemed to speed up. They all went back
into the Hermitage for coffee, during which Fi announced that she’d decided to
come over early, taking Harvey’s place, (whoever Harvey was, thought Tamsin bitterly).
From the looks Fi kept casting at Jed, it was obvious that the sub-plot was
that she’d decided to give their relationship another go. Tamsin couldn’t bear
to look at either of them and was glad when Greg announced that they needed to be
on their way.
    Then Jed was handing her up into the helicopter, his hand
firm on her arm, his lips brushing her cheek in farewell. She was still wearing
her borrowed sweater and boots and was empty handed, so little had survived her
misadventure in the sea. It was as if she had brought nothing with her and was
taking almost nothing away. Then, within moments it seemed, she was sitting
clutching her hands together in her lap over her seatbelt as the craft lifted
off, the thunder of its rotors thudding though her body in time to the thumping
of her heart. She looked down as they rose vertically and swung around, the
Hermitage roof just below them, Fi and Jed waving, their bodies