Nerd in Shining Armor (Nerds, #1)(23)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

Instead he’d toddle down to the surf and heed nature’s call. But when he tried to stand up, he let out a yelp of pain and promptly sat down, not caring if he got sand in his privates. The soles of his feet hurt like hell. Examining them one at a time, he discovered that he had several busters the size of quarters on both feet, compliments of keeping them so close to the fire while he carried on with Gen. Well, he had no regrets about the blisters, either, but he really had to pee, and going in the water was the gentlemanly

thing to do.

So he’d crawl down to the waterline. Why not? Gen was asleep and the island was, well, deserted, which was why they were in this fix in the first place. The crawling took a while, but eventually he reached wet sand. Deciding that might not feel so bad on his blisters, he eased himself to his feet.

Sure enough, the cool sand felt kind of good. Not wonderful, but better.

Inching down closer to the incoming waves, he stood with the water caressing his toes and aimed his stream out over the waves. Actually this was kind of fun, being nature boy and peeing into the ocean. Except for the bottoms of his feet, he felt like a million bucks. Oh, he had a few stiff muscles here and there, but he wasn’t going to complain about the workout. He’d forgotten how great sex could be. No, that wasn’t accurate. He hadn’t forgotten, because sex had never been this great, which was why he hadn’t made it a priority in his life.

If he had Gen to have sex with, it would become a top priority. He might have serious trouble meeting his deadlines at work. He’d have to make sure he worked when she worked, because whenever she was free, he’d want to be in bed with her. Of course, she might not feel the same way. Well, she probably didn’t feel the same way. She’d probably had sex with him all night because there was no TV and the sleeping arrangements weren’t exactly top drawer.

Thinking about how Gen viewed all this put a damper on his good mood, so he decided not to think about it. The sky had taken on a deeper shade of what he had to assume was blue, and as he watched, the first rays of sunlight flickered on the water. The air smelled salty and fresh, and his blood sang happy songs this morning as it rushed to all parts of his body, proud to be pumping through such a studly specimen as he was.

So this was what dawn was like. He wasn’t all that familiar with sunrise, or sunset, either. In order to hit it right you either had to be lucky or have some sense of time. When he was deep into writing code, he lost that. He’d probably also discounted the importance because he was color blind, so sunrise and sunset weren’t such a big deal to him.

But as he noticed how the water sparkled with the rising sun, he wondered if maybe it should be a bigger deal. He lived in Hawaii, for crying out loud, but he might as well be living in Cell Block 46 for all the benefit he’d derived from his location. Maybe he couldn’t see the tropical colors, which was ironic considering that Hawaii was all about color, but he could watch the shifting light and breathe in the aroma of paradise. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his shoulders and the tickle of surf dredging the sand out from under his feet.

He could, but he hadn’t bothered. Now it was the only game in town, so maybe once he set himself in front of his monitor again he’d lose this newfound urge to experience his natural surroundings. Once he didn’t have dyn**ite sex with Gen to wake up all his nerve endings, he might go back to living in his head. But this morning, as he stood nak*d by the ocean, he didn’t want to let that happen.

The air reverberated with the high-altitude drone of a jet, and he glanced up to watch it draw a white line across the sky. He had the silly thought of jumping and waving his arms, although he knew the jet was too high and commercial airline pilots wouldn’t be on the lookout for anyone in the first place. The fact that he was nak*d didn’t dawn on him until later. He probably should crawl back up to the hideaway, put on some pants, and start thinking of the best way to attract the attention of rescuers.

He should, but he hesitated. Standing here bare-assed in the surf made him feel connected to all that had happened last night. Putting on his pants might be a kind of signal that their Fantasy Island interlude was over.

Continuing to have sex with Gen or trying to get rescued. It was a tough choice. True, the condoms would run out eventually, but they hadn’t run out yet. Still, now that they’d gone all this time without any sign of Brogan or his pickup boat, they could reasonably expect he’d left the area, so they were free to attract major attention. Working on that program was the sane thing to do.

With a sigh of resignation, he turned around and saw Gen coming toward him, the beach towel wrapped around her like a sarong. He didn’t have much practice at the morning-after routine, so he wasn’t exactly Mr. Smooth when it came to this particular social skill. Usually the sight of a woman he’d been to bed with the night before tended to inflate his penis. Because of the incredible sex he’d had with Gen, the flag went up even faster.

Being nak*d with her in the dim hideaway was one thing, but facing her in the bright sunlight wearing only his morning wood took more guts than he had. He backed quickly into the surf, lost his footing and plunged into the water, landing on his butt in the shifting sand as an incoming wave crashed over him. Instinct made him grab his glasses.

Coughing and sputtering, one hand holding his glasses against his face, he scrambled to his knees. Come to think of it, she didn’t have the glasses, so she might not have seen his erection. As he was contemplating his overreaction, a second wave caught him from the back and knocked him down again. Not quite the manly image he was trying to project, but at least the erection problem had been solved. Nothing like complete humiliation to douse the flames of passion.

While trying to right himself a second time, he felt something grab him by his right elbow. Expecting his arm to be severed by the chomp of razor-sharp teeth, he nearly fainted. Then he pulled, and his arm came free, or he hoped it had as he scrambled out of the water, still clutching his glasses in his left hand. Maybe endorphins had kicked in, making him oblivious to the fact that his arm had been severed at the elbow and he was going to hemorrhage all over the lovely white sand.

At last he was out of reach of the waves. With a sense of dread, he sat up and looked at his right arm.

All there. Then he looked around for Gen. Not there. The shark!

"Gen!" he bellowed, tossing the glasses aside as he staggered to his feet, prepared to go back into that water and pull her from the jaws of death or die in the attempt.

"Right here!" Her head bobbed where she was treading water several feet beyond the surf line.

"Gen, get out of there!" He dashed into the waves. "Something’s in the water! It grabbed me!"

"That was me! I was trying to help you, but you wouldn’t let me."

His forward momentum had carried him right up next to her by the time her explanation penetrated his panic. What was deep water for her was only chest deep for him. "That was you?"

"Yeah." Her hair was all slicked back from her face, and although she was a little blurry, she looked wonderful. Kiss-able. "Sorry if I scared you, Jack, but you looked like you were having problems, and I knew you didn’t want to break your glasses, so I thought maybe I could help. Then I decided I was more hindrance than help, so I left you there and came on out into the water."

"Why?"

"I… um . . . because."

Then it occurred to him that she’d have the same needs he had the first thing in the morning, and as a woman, she couldn’t exactly stand on shore and aim out into the water. "Oh." His cheeks grew warm. "Right."

She edged a little closer to him and lifted her face. "I was flattered that you were so glad to see me this morning."

His blush got worse. She’d noticed his morning wood.

"Don’t be embarrassed, Jack." She grabbed hold of his arm and pulled herself in close, dose enough that he could feel her br**sts bobbing against his diaphragm, which was chugging in and out like a fireplace bellows. "It’s a compliment to get that reaction first thing in the morning, knowing I must look like a bag lady after all we’ve been through."

His tongue felt thick, and so did the recently deflated penis. "You look beautiful.”

"So do you." She wound both arms around his neck. "Lift me up, Jack. I want to kiss you."

He wrapped his arms around her and she wrapped her legs around him. A little wiggling on either of their parts and he’d be positioned to connect up all the relevant parts. "Gen, maybe you’d better not—"

"Oh, we’re not actually going to do it." She lifted herself up and over his now totally rigid penis. "But there’s nothing wrong with a few water aerobics, is there?"

He groaned as she settled her delicious behind right on top of him. He fit perfectly in that little groove.

"Good morning, Jack," she whispered, pulling his head down for a kiss.

Of course he had to kiss her. With her mouth hovering so close, kissing her was a given. Then using tongues seemed the next logical step. Soon all sense of his surroundings faded, dissolved by the heat of her mouth and the suggestive motions of her tongue.

Gradually he became aware of another part of her moving. Buoyed by the water, she was sliding her bottom back and forth, gently riding his penis and adding to the subtle current that already swirled around his balls. Holy Oceanic Orgasms, Batman. As long as she’d started the program, he decided to participate. Cupping a cheek in each hand, he urged her on, a little faster, and a little faster yet, until they were churning up the water like an outboard motor.

She shifted her hips, bearing down a little more on the front part of his shaft, and he figured she might be getting some action, too. Sure enough, she started to whimper, the sound muffled by their intense lip-lock.

When she came, he managed to keep them from capsizing, but when he came, they both went under. As they both floated lazily to the surface, he decided this was another Hawaiian thing he’d been missing—water sex. He wondered if condoms stayed on under water. Maybe they should test it.

He cradled her gently while he grinned like an idiot. "What a way to start the day."

"Mm." She stroked the drops of water from his beard. "Your bristles are softer already."

"Oh, God, I didn’t give you a rash, did I?" He peered down at her face, which looked a little pink, but not too bad.

"You’ve been very considerate." She continued to stroke his face. "Probably too considerate, seeing as how I’ve had fun pretending you’re a pirate."

He liked that. Glowering at her as fiercely as he knew how, he tried to think how a pirate would talk. Rough and tough, that’s for sure. "Aye, and a randy pirate I be, too, lassie," he said in a gravelly voice. He clutched her breast. "Methinks I’ll carry you off to my cave and have my way with you."

"Again?"

"And again, and again! I can’t get enough of you! You drive a bloke crazy!" Then he plunged his face into the water and sucked vigorously on her nipple as she shrieked. When she continued to shriek and struggle, he held her tighter, lifted his head for a breath and went for the other nipple.

"Jack!" She yanked on his hair, hard.

"Hey!" He jerked upward. "I’m trying to play pirates, here."

"Shark, Jack!"

With one mighty heave, he threw her as far toward shore as he could. Then he leaped after her without looking behind him. As they both scrambled onto the packed sand above the waterline, panting but unharmed, he revised his views on water sex. From now on, he was only doing it in a swimming pool, and that was final.

Chapter 14

Annabelle didn’t really want to sleep and take a chance on having bad dreams about Genevieve, but she had to admit the cozy little bed and the slight rocking of the boat was powerfully soothing. She kept herself awake by thinking of Matt in the very next room, probably wanting to come in here and keep her company. He wouldn’t, of course. He had more common decency than any man she’d ever laid eyes on.

But Matt had sex on his mind—she wasn’t blind to that fact. They’d passed some time last night playing gin rummy, and Lincoln had tarred and feathered the both of them. All during the game, Matt had been watching her with that certain look in his eye. Annabelle knew that look. On some men it gave her the willies, but on Matt it gave her tingly feelings.

Despite all her efforts to stay awake, she must have dozed off sometime after three, because the next time she looked at the small digital clock beside the bed, it was after five. She’d had no dreams that she could remember, no nightmares and no messages that would help lead her to Genevieve.

She’d showered before going to bed, bumping around in the tiny space and nearly tripping over the ledge when she climbed out. This morning all she had to do was dress, wash her face, brush her teeth, and comb her hair. She’d left all her makeup at home, just bringing lotion. A search and rescue wasn’t the place for makeup, and it wasn’t like she was trying to attract a man.

Well, she’d attracted one anyway. He didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t wearing lipstick or mascara. To a woman of forty-one who thought she needed a little help to look pretty, his interest in her plain old self felt nice.

Once she was ready, she peeked out the door. The tiny galley was empty. Beyond that, she heard a twin set of snores. Lincoln and Matt were still sawing logs.

Antsy as she was to get under way, she thought maybe they needed a little more sleep. The three of them had stayed up until one in the morning playing cards, as if nobody had wanted to face bad dreams. A few more minutes of peaceful rest would be good for Lincoln, who was a growing boy, and Matt needed to be alert to steer the boat.

But she desperately needed her morning coffee. Within three minutes she had it perking in the galley. Soon afterward she poured herself a full mug, tiptoed between the two bench seats where Matt and Lincoln slept, opened the cabin door, and climbed the steps to the small deck in the back of the boat. The stern of the boat, she reminded herself, wanting to get the words right.

Not another soul was about in the gray mist, and the cool, damp air smelled fishy. Annabelle leaned against a little cupboard that Matt had called a hatch and stared down the line of docked boats as she sipped her coffee. It was Kona coffee because she’d insisted on bringing her own, not trusting Matt to provide a good brand. She firmly believed that anything in this life could be faced if a person had a strong cup of coffee before starting the day.