Dangerous Passions

She finished applying the second piece of tape. Then she glanced up, her eyes locking with his, and he saw the desire that raged through him reflected in the dark-green depths of her gaze.

He heard her sharp intake of breath, noted the slight parting of her lips.

If he leaned toward her now, would she pull away?

Or would she meet him halfway?

He stepped back, away from Shannon, out of reach of temptation.

She closed the first-aid kit, put it away, then slung the bag over her shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

She sighed. “I’m guessing since Rico and Jazz left us here, there isn’t anyone else on this island.”

“That’s right,” he admitted. “We’ve landed on our very own Gilligan’s Island, and the first order of business is to find water and make shelter.”

“Make shelter?”

He nodded.

“What do you plan to do, Gilligan? Build a little hut out of palm fronds?”

His eyes narrowed. As if her sarcasm wasn’t enough, now she was insulting him. “Gilligan?”

She shrugged. “You were the one who brought up the show.”

“But—Gilligan?”

“Believe me, I’d be much happier if you were a professor who could miraculously fabricate some kind of communication device out of coconut shells and vines.”

Right now that would make him happy, too, but it wasn’t going to happen. And although he had certain survival skills that no doubt would be useful in this situation, that wasn’t one of them.

“You’re the scientist,” he reminded her. “I’ll leave that up to you.”

She looked around. “Well, I’m a little out of my element here.”

“Then we’ll have to give you another role.” He decided turnabout was fair play. “Ginger or Mary-Ann?”

“Neither,” she snapped.

But the idea was too intriguing to let go.

He let his gaze skim over her long, shapely legs, the softly curved hips, trim waist. He lingered for a moment on her full breasts, remembering the weight of them in his palms, the taste of her rosy nipples. His body responded predictably to the mental image as he continued his survey.

He took in the graceful line of her neck, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the tempting lushness of her lips. And the dark-green eyes that were currently spitting fire. Then there was the hair. He grinned. “Definitely Ginger.”

She glared at him.

“She was so hot.”

Shannon didn’t say anything.

“Of course, there’s something to be said for Mary-Ann’s sweet innocence. And the way her curves filled out those little shirts and short shorts.”

“You’re a pervert.”

“Just a healthy red-blooded man.”

“Same thing,” she muttered, pushing past him to lead the way.