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The next morning, Charlie woke to bright sunlight and the cheery tweets and calls of birdsong.
She sat up to find Tyler gone. Her hair was filled with sand and she ran her hands through it, trying to shake the fine grains out. She winced as her muscles seized, needing to be stretched out after a night on the relatively hard sand. Rolling her neck and stretching her arms, she squinted through the bright sunlight toward the beach.
Where was Tyler?
Her throat was so dry she struggled to swallow. One of the coconuts they’d carried back from the pool sat, propped up against the tree. Getting to her feet, she headed over and picked it up. A little of the fresh water remained, but a couple of decent sized mosquitoes floated on top, drowned after having tried to get a drink for themselves. Was she desperate enough to drink it anyway?
Charlie wrinkled her nose. Her parched throat hurt as she tried to swallow once more. Her tongue felt swollen and stuck to the roof of her mouth, her lips glued to her teeth. Yes, she decided. She was.
She hooked a finger in and scooped out the dead insects, flicking them away and then wiping her finger on her shorts. Then she lifted the makeshift cup to her lips and gulped down the remaining water. The water was warm, bits of grit sliding over her tongue, but at least it was liquid.
Her clothes stuck to her body, and she felt clammy and dirty. She looked out over the ocean and her mind immediately conjured up how cool the water would feel upon her skin. Perhaps she could have a paddle, splash her skin a little?
She remembered her middle of the night argument with Tyler about how all of this wasn’t a setup, and she glanced at the trees lining the beach behind her. He’d seemed pretty insistent. She couldn’t see anything that might be a camera hidden in the trunk, or in the branches and fronds. But they were supposed to be hidden cameras—wasn’t that the whole point? The production company wanted to catch her doing something that would make good television, catch her when she wasn’t thinking about what she was doing. They wanted to film her when she’d let down her guard and forgotten about the cameras.
Well, she’d stripped down to her bra yesterday, so she didn’t think her bra and panties would make any difference. What she really wanted was to take the whole lot off, wash out her clothes and let both them and herself dry in the sun.
But you can do that if this is real ...
Small comfort, and anyway, she reconfirmed in her mind, this isn’t real. It’s all a stage, you signed the paperwork yourself. They’re just trying to mess with your head.
They’ve gone an awful long way just to get some good television, a little voice spoke up in her mind.
She pushed it away.
Charlie left the shelter of the trees and headed down to the shoreline. Even this early in the morning, the sand was already hot from the sun and she had to do a strange running hop to get down to the waves without burning her feet.
She let out a sigh of pleasure as she stepped onto the damp sand and the first small swell of waves broke over her feet. The water was cool, but not enough to make her tense with shock. She couldn’t wait to get in.
Charlie turned her head and glanced back up the beach. There was still no sign of Tyler. She hoped he was all right. The idea of being stuck here without him was close to terrifying right now. But no, he was a strong, practical man. He was just out doing something useful, she was sure.
Quickly, she stripped off her t-shirt and shorts, throwing the items away from her, so they landed on the dry sand, out of reach of the waves. Self-consciously, she glanced around again, her arm across the front of her body. Then she reminded herself that she’d appeared on the front of magazines not wearing much more. A bra and panties was basically the same thing as a bikini.
She turned from the beach and headed deeper into the swell. The ocean was completely clear, tiny, colorful fish darting around her feet. The water reached her thighs and then her stomach, until it was deep enough for her to swim. Charlie took a deep breath and dived beneath the waves.
A couple of strong strokes powered her along beneath the water. Though she wanted to open her eyes, she didn’t want the salt to sting. Her lungs started to burn and she burst from beneath the breakers, already feeling more awake and refreshed.
She looked across the beach to see Tyler standing beneath the palms, his hands on his hips. At his feet sat a little pile of coconuts, and a couple of the bottles they’d found the previous day.
Her throat constricted with thirst and her stomach rumbled. Breakfast.
Without thinking any further, she hurried from the water, eager to get some of that sweet flesh and cool coconut milk into her mouth and down her throat. She was still dehydrated and so hungry her stomach felt hollow, like it was crawling up the back of her throat.
She stepped out of the water, grabbed her t-shirt and shorts from the sand, and hurried back up the beach.
Tyler stood, staring at her. The material of both her panties and bra were soaked, clinging to her skin and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her nipples, puckered from the cold of the ocean, poked through the lace of the bra. Even the small patch of curls at the apex of her thighs was easily distinguishable in the underwear.
His jaw tightened, his voice coming out in a low growl. “You shouldn’t be walking around like that, Charlie.”
“Why not?” She scowled. “I thought there weren’t any cameras here I needed to worry about.”
“It’s not cameras I’m thinking about.”
A shiver ran through her, but this time it was one of pleasure, tightening at her core in a throb. Was he saying what she thought? That he wouldn’t be able to control himself?
She couldn’t help the rush of excitement at the idea of Tyler losing control of the tough façade he seemed to hide behind all the time, of him just reacting, pushing her to the ground and forcing himself on her.
But she was too hungry and thirsty to think much more about sex now. “I just wanted some water and coconut.”
He glanced down at the pile, frowning slightly, seeming to have forgotten they were there. “Oh, right. I’ve got water boiling on the fire, and I’ll get the coconuts open. Just for God’s sake, cover yourself up, woman.”
Her underwear had already started to dry in the hot sun and tropical breeze which wafted through the trees, stirring the palm fronds above her so they sounded like the waves. She didn’t want to put her dry clothes on over the top of her damp underwear, but didn’t want to make Tyler uncomfortable either. Actually, she thought, screw that. She was perfectly happy making him uncomfortable—especially if he was feeling awkward about having her half-naked in such close proximity.
But all of his attention was now focused on getting the coconuts open and she didn’t want to distract him from that particular job. Standing around in her underwear when he’d specifically asked her not to only made her appear desperate for his attention.
With a sigh, she pulled on her dirty clothes.
Tyler used a combination of the sharp stick he’d skewered the crab with and a piece of rock that looked like flint. He used the stick to poke a hole where the eye of the coconut was at the top. Holding the nut between his knees, he twisted the stick back and forth, his brow furrowed in concentration. Charlie couldn’t help admire the tensed form of his biceps as he worked.
Suddenly, the eye gave way and the stick slipped down.
“Here,” he said, passing the coconut to Charlie. “Drink the milk from the hole and then I’ll crack it open.”
She lifted the shell to her lips and took deep, sweet gulps of the liquid contained within. She forced herself to stop before she’d drained the coconut.
“You have some too,” she said handing it back.
He took it with a smile that made her insides flutter. “Thanks.”
With the nut drained, Tyler used the sharp edge of the rock to hit it on the seam. The shell cracked open. Still using the rock, he scooped out the white flesh and they shared it between them.
Instantly, she felt better.
“The water just needs to cool down,” he told her, “and then it’ll be drinkable. I’ve got the next lot boiling, but we’re going to need to keep it on a rotation so we don’t run out. We’ll have to trek back up to the pools soon and get some more.”
“Is that where you went this morning?” she asked, glancing over at him.
“Yeah. I woke up a couple of hours before you, so figured I might as well do something useful.”
She tried not to feel stung at the implication that she’d been asleep and therefore useless.
With their stomachs full, and thirst sated for the moment, they sat together on the sand, looking out to sea.
Feeling content, she risked a glance at Tyler’s profile, but he didn’t share the expression of tranquility she’d felt sure was on her own features. Instead, he frowned and squinted at something farther down the shoreline, where the bay curved to vanish onto another part of the island—the opposite direction to where she’d gone the previous evening to catch the crab.
As she watched, he lifted a hand to shelter his eyes from the sun, craning his neck farther forward.
She didn’t like his expression. Something about the seriousness unnerved her. “What? What is it?”
“Something has washed up on the beach.”
Tyler pushed himself to his feet and Charlie followed. A deep dread settled in the pit of her stomach, though right at that moment she couldn’t have given the exact reason for it.
A large shape bumped up against the shore, only to be pulled out again by the movement of the ocean, and then washed back onto the sand.
“What is that?” she said, the hairs on her arms rising, despite the heat. “A seal or something?”
Tyler gave a slow shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”
Her heart rate picked up, panic slowly rising inside her. She started to walk across the sand, and then broke into a run, her stomach in her throat.
“No, Charlie, wait!” His voice came from behind her, and she heard his feet hit the sand as he gave chase.
She landed on her knees, the hot sand burning her skin as she skidded to a halt. But Charlie didn’t notice the pain. This close, there was no mistaking the shape. She’d seen it a hundred times on numerous crime and horror movies and television shows she’d watched, the way it lifted and bumped against the sand in the swell.
“Oh, no. Oh, please no.” She reached out and caught hold of the material floating around the thing, and pulled it out of reach of the breakers. With trembling hands, she gave it a shove, and rolled the body over.
Agatha’s blank, milky eyes stared back.
“Oh, God!” The stench hit her—rotten meat combined with seaweed and fish. She twisted away and found herself in Tyler’s arms, pressed against the expanse of his broad chest. The strength went out of her legs and she would have fallen had he not caught her. A strange keening sound emitted from her throat. This was real. It was real. Agatha and probably everyone else on the airplane were dead! She and Tyler were stuck here, alone, on a desert island.
His arms wrapped around her, his big hand stroking her hair. The world seemed to spin around her, the sand loose and mobile beneath her feet. Surely this wasn’t happening?
“Shh,” he soothed her. “It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right.”
She cried against him, unable to dispute the truth of their situation, something she now understood she’d been lying to herself about for the past twenty-four hours or more. God, Tyler must have thought she was such an idiot!
“Do you believe me now?” he asked gently, prying her from his body, his dark eyes searching her face. “This is real, Charlie.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded frantically, not trusting herself to speak. She’d left a damp spot on his shirt from her tears. She couldn’t bear to look down at Agatha, wishing the body would just disappear.
Poor, poor Agatha.
Charlie found herself relieved that at least the other woman didn’t have a husband or children at home who would be devastated by the news of her death. Not that Charlie would be the one to deliver the news if they never made it home.
Or, she reconsidered, perhaps she should be sad Agatha didn’t leave people behind. In fact, Charlie realized, other than her father, who would be sad to learn of her own death? She was too young for children—barely—but she’d always liked to think they’d be part of her future. A husband, a couple of kids, a cute dog to take out for walks. Was it too much to ask? Suddenly, the possibility of that future no longer existing for her sank in.
They might not get off this island alive.