The Castaway Bride Read Online Free Page B

clambered up the narrow stairway to the cockpit. She halted just before she reached the top.
    Her rescuer had his back to her as he stood at the helm. He was framed by a magnificent view of glistening aquamarine waters and clouds scudding across impossibly blue skies.
    She should be looking out for frolicking dolphins or scanning the horizon for a glimpse of a whale. But all she could do was stare in fascinated appreciation at the rippling play of the muscles in this man’s powerful arms and back as he steered the boat.
    This was how a male body was meant to look. When God had created Adam this was the blueprint.
    She swallowed hard and shook her head to rid herself of the too-disturbing thought. She still felt unnerved by the shivers of pleasure that had coursed through her body in reaction to his examination of her foot. And mortified by the positively wanton way she’d stripped off her stocking.
    Stress . That was it. Stress is what had caused her extraordinary reaction. She pushed the other errant thought away—fought it, pummeled it, tried to banish it from her mind. It wasn’t—it couldn’t be—because she was attracted to him.
    This man, with his untamed pirate good looks, was the same wildly appealing type as the man who had not just broken but pulverized her heart when she’d been a trusting nineteen-year-old.
    In the nine years since, she’d lived her life according to her own personal motto you can’t trust lust . Lust—that thrilling, aching need for a man that overrode good sense and caution like a fever—was not in her game plan.
    Lust had gotten her pregnant to her first-ever lover. Lust had seen her abandoned when she’d refused a termination. Lust had lead to her empty and aching and alone after she had miscarried. Through her tears she’d vowed that she would never endure that kind of anguish again.
    For nine years she’d tamped down her sensuality. Had run from men who physically thrilled her and dated only the safe and suitable. Her strategy had culminated in her decision to marry a man who was just a good friend. She now believed herself truly immune to the appeal of men like this hot Australian buccaneer.
    All the same, as she thought about how his hands had felt on her foot—her foot for heaven’s sake!—she was glad she wouldn’t be on his boat for long.
    She lifted her full skirts and awkwardly completed her climb up the narrow stairs. The cockpit seemed large and luxurious. Below deck, behind her, a panel of instruments blinked, flashed and quietly beeped.
    As her skirts rustled near, her rescuer stepped back from the wheel. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on her. When they did they hardened and narrowed. His mouth set in a cynical line as if his thoughts had not been pleasant.
    At the sight of his expression, Cristy felt a sudden lurch of fear deep down in her stomach. She knew absolutely nothing about this man she had so rashly entrusted with her safety. Had so foolishly provoked. For all she knew, he could be a serial killer. Running away with him could have been a deadly mistake.
    The silence that fell between them was tense and awkward. She swallowed hard against the fear she was finding impossible to ignore. How did you ask a possible serial killer where he was taking her and how long would it take, please?
    She cleared her throat and tried to speak but only a squeak came out.
    “Yes?” he said.
    “I’m C… Cristy Walters,” she finally managed stutter. “We… uh… haven’t gotten around to introductions.”
    “Matt Slade.”
    Matt. The name suited him. But then axe-murderers often did bear normal, attractive-sounding names.
    She decided to placate him, just in case. She forced herself to stretch her mouth into a polite semblance of a smile. “Matt, I… I appreciate your help. Thank you.”
    He nodded curtly, watching her.
    She continued, still not sure of what she should say. Whether she should start backing down the stairs. Or start calculating her