Sweet. So very, very sweet. I had kissed Mr Rikkard Ambrose so many times already. So many lip-locks. So many unforgettable memories. And yet...
None of them could compare to this.
Sweet, seductive, and simply irresistible. His lips mingled with mine, caressing me with a fervour that made my blood boil and my mind go blank. Somewhere, distantly, I was aware that I probably had more important things to do than kissing the daylights out of him, but my lips didn't seem to agree.
"We..." I swallowed, tasting the sweetness once more. But...was it the sweetness of the fruit, or of him? "We should stop. We should...look for...shelter...food..."
"Indeed," he agreed, his voice gruff. "We should."
Then he kissed me again, and I shut my mouth. Metaphorically speaking, at least. Because, an instant later, his tongue parted my lips, invading my mouth with overwhelming force, spreading sweetness everywhere. I hadn't realized until then how horribly parched I'd been. Both for water and for him. Only now, as he soothed my dried lips with soft caresses, did I realize how much I'd needed this. Needed him. The taste of him gave me new life and hope. It almost...almost tasted better than...
No! That's blasphemy!
But it was true. It almost tasted better than solid chocolate.
"Well?" he whispered against my mouth. Dipping one finger into the milk, he lazily trailed it down the side of my face, over my cheek and to the corner of my mouth. "Do you agree now you need to drink? Do you want another taste?"
Unable to squeeze out a single word, I nodded.
"Well, then..." He raised his finger, a single drop dangling from it—then lifted his finger to his own mouth, and licked. "I shall oblige you."
And, once more, his lips came crashing down on mine. A flood of sweetness invaded my mouth once more. Before I knew what was happening, Mr Rikkard Ambrose captured the back of my neck in his grip and, slowly, inextricably, lowered me down till I felt my hair brush against the sand.
This...this is a little more than just a kiss, right?
We should really stop. We were shipwrecked on a bloody island, for heaven's sake! We had a thousand things to do if we wanted to survive, and—
And his lips claimed mine once more. His grip on me tightened, and he guided me the rest of the way down to the ground. Like a beast on the prowl, he bent over me. I could see the desire shining in his cold eyes, the unquenchable need.
Dammit! We shouldn't be doing this! We should be focusing on survival!
But I couldn't stop him. I couldn't even stop myself. Because deep, deep down, I wanted this. I wanted to forget about everything that had happened, and lose myself in the arms of the man I loved. There was nothing I could do to stop this. There was nothing anyone could do to stop this.
He bent forward to kiss me, and—
Suddenly, he was stopped in his tracks.
Oh.
Anyone except one, apparently.
I tried not to smirk. I tried very, very hard—and failed utterly. Above me, Mr Rikkard Ambrose leaned forward again, intent on ravishing me—only to once more bump into a little problem. Bumped into a bump, to be precise.
"What is it?" I enquired, my eyes innocently sparkling. "Is there a problem?"
"Indeed, Mrs Ambrose," he growled, trying to twist his body this way and that, attempting to get to me—with little success.
"Can't get it up? Don't worry." I patted his arm. "I hear that sort of thing often happens to business moguls shipwrecked on Caribbean islands with their wives."
"The problem," Mr Rikkard Ambrose spoke, enunciating every single word very clearly, "is not that I cannot 'get it up' as you choose to put it. Rather..." Reaching out, he poked my belly. "...it is that I cannot get down because something is in my way."
My smirk only widened. My kid wasn't even born yet and was already getting one over on its daddy. I was so proud!
"You know," I mentioned in a conversational tone, "this kind of buffer could be rather useful at balls and stuff. Too bad I didn't have something like this a few years earlier."
A growl erupted from my dear husband's throat. "You can count your lucky stars that you didn't acquire a bump such as this earlier! Earlier as in before you met and married me!"
"Why, Mr Ambrose, are you jealous of my past suitors?"
Coolly, he cocked his head. "There is no need to feel jealous of people whose companies have demoted them and shipped them off to distant outposts in Australia."
"Those companies wouldn't happen to have been acquired by a certain someone with the initials R. A., would they?"
"No comment." Reaching out, he captured my chin in his hand. "In fact, I think we've talked more than enough. It's time for action."
Eyes blazing, he leaned down towards me—and once again bumped against a certain bulge. He stopped in his tracks.
There was a moment of silence.
An intense, prolonged moment of silence.
It was quite impressive what a superb facsimile of cursing Mr Rikkard Ambrose could manage to produce without saying a single word.
Taking a deep breath, he made a renewed attempt. He tried to come at me from the left, then from the right, then in any number of positions that would make the authors of the kama sutra break out into a fit of giggles. I, meanwhile, of course, maintained perfect decorum as a proper lady. I didn't laugh at all.
Finally, he froze, snarling in frustration.
"Having problems?" I enquired, my voice growing progressively more innocent with every word. "I could think of a solution, you know."
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Which is?"
I grinned. "You could let me be on top."
A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Out of the question."
"What? Is the great and powerful Mr Rikkard Ambrose afraid of surrendering to a harmless little woman?"
"Setting the 'harmless' part aside for the moment—no. I am not afraid of anything. But currently, we do not have time for this. We should be focusing on ensuring our survival."
"Ah." I nodded, understandingly. "Unlike five minutes ago, when you were intent on ravishing me under the open sky."
His eyes narrowed again, ever so slightly. "I might still do that if you continue to provoke me."
I batted my eyelashes at him. "Please do. Just lie back and let me do all the work. I'll be sure to be gentle with you."
He was off me quicker than I could say "feminism". Hm...was it just my impression, or did he not appreciate the idea of being "beneath" a woman, in any sense of the word?
One corner of my mouth quirked up.
"Well, well... Now I know what to say if I ever need to chase your lazy arse out of bed in the morning."
Rising to his full height, he towered over me. "Mrs Ambrose...Did. You. Just. Call. Me. Lazy?"
"Of course not," I assured him, like any demure little wife would. "Only your arse."
He speared me with an arctic gaze—then reached out and plopped an de-husked, unopened coconut into my lap. Apparently, cuddle time was over. At least for now. "Open," he commanded. "Drink."
"Yes, Sir, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Right away, Mr Ambrose, Sir!"
My fingers, not being granite implements of doom like those of a certain living statue, weren't quite up to the task of piercing a coconut shell, even at its weakest point. Luckily, it didn't take me long to find some shells on the beach. After smashing them with a rock, they gave me some nice, long shell-shards that were perfect for stabbing through eyes.
Coconuts' eyes, of course. Yes, that's really what the weak points at the top were called, apparently. Talk about a morbid naming sense.
Soon the sweet, splendidly delicious taste of coconut milk filled my mouth, moistening my dry throat. And, oh my, was it dry! Distracted as I had been by a certain someone, I'd forgotten again how thirsty I was. Only now did I notice the salty taste that had pervaded my mouth ever since we were stranded. Soon, it was washed away by sweetness.
"Aaah!"
With a sigh, I sagged against a nearby palm.
But it wasn't enough! Grabbing another coconut, I punched through one of the eyes and lifted it to my mouth.
Mmm...yes, that hit the spot!
Licking my lips, I wiped some drops of coconut milk off my chin and glanced over at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who had already finished three coconuts, and was currently on the fourth, Somehow, he managed to make his greedy guzzling look as elegant as sipping wine from a crystal glass. When he was finally finished, he threw the empty coconut aside and, arms crossed, surveyed the surroundings.
Pushing myself up from the ground, I followed his example. The surroundings hadn't changed much—but that only brought home the situation we were in all the more. There still wasn't a single sign of civilization anywhere. There still wasn't a single ship on the horizon.
Crap!
"We're really stuck here, aren't we?" Making my way over to him, I leaned against his shoulder. In front of us spread an endless blue sky and a deep, sparkling ocean. At any other place and time, this scene might have been beautiful. Romantic even. But right now?
Right now, it only told me how very, very alone we were.
"Don't worry." Sliding an arm around my shoulders, he gave a gentle squeeze. "The disappearance of the wealthiest man in the British Empire won't go unnoticed for long. The moment my people notice my delayed arrival, they will send out search parties." His eyes frosted over. "At least they had better send search parties."
"And..." Swallowing, I placed a hand on my belly—for once, not because of my unborn child. After all, my stomach was still in there. And right now it was feeling rather empty. "What if they don't arrive in time?"
"They will." His voice was a command. An undeniable truth, chiselled in stone. Turning towards me, he stared into my eyes, his gaze projecting nothing but certainty and unshakable, icy determination. "They will, Lillian."
That brought a tremulous smile to my lips. "I see. Well, far be it from me to doubt that the world has to obey the command of Mr Rikkard Ambrose."
"Indeed."
"So...what next?"
A moment later, the rumbling of my stomach answered that question for me. Cocking his head, my dear husband sent me a look.
"I think I might have an idea, Mrs Ambrose."
I glanced around, once more surveying the surroundings. But this time, I was looking at everything with different eyes. The eyes of a hungry pregnant woman.
Hmm...I wonder, is sand edible?
Shaking myself, I pushed down my urges. I hadn't yet forgotten how it had felt to wake up with the taste of pine tar in my mouth. Pregnancy cravings were an invention of the devil!
Once again, I let my eyes sweep over the beach and sea, this time with marginally more sanity and selectiveness.
"Is...is there stuff in the coconuts we could eat, maybe?" I finally suggested, hesitantly.
He nodded. "Coconut meat. But getting at it will be rather difficult. Getting off the husk of a coconut is one thing, as is punching through the eyes to get at the milk, but cracking open the hard shell beneath the husk?" He shook his head. "We'd be burning more calories trying to open one coconut than we'd get by eating five. No. We have to think of something else."
His cool gaze swept over the sand.
"Hm..."
I perked up. For anybody else, that single syllable might not have meant much. But for Mr Rikkard Ambrose, one hum was equivalent to an elaborate speech. He never spoke unless there was something to say.
"What is it?" I demanded.
"Be silent, Mrs Ambrose. I am trying to think." Eyes narrowed infinitesimally, he began to pace up and down on the beach, somehow managing to prevent a single grain of the same sand that had managed to find its way all the way into my underwear from sticking to his shoes. "Hm...if I remember correctly...yes!" Stopping abruptly, he snapped his fingers.
"Yes what?" I enquired when he didn't seem to plan on elaborating.
"I own several restaurants on nearby islands. I remember them serving some local seafood, including one particular variety of crab. A variety of crab that, if I remember correctly, is caught somewhere around here. If I could only remember exactly..."
He trailed off, his eyes flicking from right to left, as if searching for something.
"Um, Mr Ambrose?" Reaching out, I tugged on his sleeve.
"Not now!"
"Mr Ambrose, Sir?" I repeated sweetly. "Dicky Darling?" Maybe that would get his attention. I tugged again.
"I said not now! I'm trying to think! I'm trying to remember where—"
It was only then that he seemed to notice my free hand, pointing downwards. Down towards where a curious crab was sticking its head out of a hole in the sand.
For an instant, Mr Ambrose stood frozen, staring at the crab.
The crab stared back, until...
He pounced!
With astounding alacrity, the little crab scuttled out of the way. Waving its pincers, it started dashing off towards the ocean. Without a second's hesitation, Mr Rikkard Ambrose rushed after it, his long legs eating up the ground at a prodigious pace. Which made it all the more impressive that the little crab seemed to have no difficulty keeping its lead, all the while waving its pincers as if to say "Bye-bye, suckers! See you later!"
With a growl, Mr Rikkard Ambrose sped up, his legs pumping like pistons. I, meanwhile, settled down on the warm sand and reached for a nearby coconut. Now, if I only had a straw and some snacks.
Down at the shore, Mr Ambrose leapt forward, heading straight towards his prey—and, with a splash, landed face-first in the surf.
The little crab waved goodbye one last time, then dashed into the sea to join the mermaid kingdom.
I didn't snicker. I swear, I didn't. It was the coconut.
Raising his dripping face out of the water, Mr Rikkard Ambrose sent me a glacial look. I was rather surprised the whole island didn't freeze over.
"Did you wish to make a comment, Mrs Ambrose?"
"Oh, no, no. Do carry on."
Mr Ambrose's little finger twitched. "There are plenty more crabs around for you to try your luck with if you wish to try, yourself, Mrs Ambrose."
"Oh, I'm afraid I can't." Grabbing a nearby fallen palm leaf, I started to fan myself. "Pregnant women need their rest, you know."
"I see. Well, then I hope you'll rest in peace, Mrs Ambrose."
The way he said those three words didn't exactly conjure up images of comfy beds and cushions. Rather, headstones came to mind.
"Oh, I will," I assured him, waving my palm leaf. "You wouldn't perchance like to fan me for a few minutes, would you?"
The look I received said more than a thousand words. None of them were very polite ones. Then, climbing out of the water, he strode back onto the beach and started digging for crabs.
Up until recently, if you'd asked me what the funniest sight in the world was, I'd probably have said my aunt's face on my wedding day, or maybe Karim in a pink tutu. That was, however, before I got the distinct privilege of watching Mr Rikkard Ambrose go crab-hunting. The sight of the most powerful business mogul of the British Empire chasing after little critters that, in spite of only having three-inch-long legs, somehow managed to easily outrun him, was a true wonder to behold. Nothing could ever compare. Though the sight of Mr Rikkard Ambrose dancing around trying to detach a crab from his nose was a close second.
"Nnng! Agh! Lllt ggo!"
"Pardon, Dicky Darling? Did you say something?"
"Nofing," came the cool, though rather difficult-to-understand, answer. "Nofing at all."
"Oh, I see." I glanced over at where he was still trying to pull the little critter off his nose. "So you won't need any help then. That's good."
"Ng! Gg! Gtt off, you...!"
Thud!
The crab hit a palm, leapt down to the ground and instantly scuttled off towards the ocean. Mr Ambrose chased after it, a rock raised in one hand and a murderous gleam in his eyes. The critter made clicking noises and sped up.
Honestly, it was so cute I almost felt sorry for planning to eat those little fellows. Though, when Mr Rikkard Ambrose strode back towards me, his trousers wet from the ocean and the tip of his nose slightly reddened, I decided not to mention that little fact out loud.
"You go gather some firewood, Mrs Ambrose. Meanwhile..." Eyes glittering with desire for vengeance, he bent over one of the crabs he had gathered in a pit he had dug. "I shall get cracking."
"Um..." I raised a hand. "I don't know much about sea food, but aren't crab shells usually cracked after cooking?"
The icy look he sent me in response, as well as his still reddened nose, was answer enough.
All right. Vengeance important. Cooking recipes not so much. Got it.
Quickly, I pushed myself to my feet and hurried off into the palm forest, doing my very best to ignore the crunching sounds from behind me.
Get cracking indeed.
Half an hour later, in the warm light of the sinking sun, we sat around a campfire on the beach, each holding skewers of meat over the crackling flames. Above us, the shelter Mr Ambrose had built out of sticks and palm leaves sheltered us from the sea breeze. I smiled, and snuggled into him. Over the years in Mr Ambrose's employ, I had stayed in dozens of luxury hotels and famous inns. But somehow, not a single one felt as homely as this tiny little hut. Relishing his warmth, I pressed myself more firmly into his side.
"You know...this is kind of nice. We should do this more often."
"Indeed."
"Except the getting shipwrecked and slaughtering innocent animals and stuff."
"Indeed."
"And getting bitten in the nose."
"Indeed."
It was amazing how many different meanings a single word could convey. Stretching, I yawned and put my head on his lap. Considering who it belonged to, it was amazingly comfy. Plus, it provided me with a spiffing view of his chiselled jaw and sublime visage.
"So..." I mumbled. "What now?"
"Now?" One of his hands reached out, gently stroking my hair. I wondered whether I should point out that he was wasting valuable time and calories performing a superfluous action. On the whole, I decided not to. "Now we hunker down for the night. We'll have a busy day tomorrow."
"Yes. Yes, I suppose we will."
Through the small opening left in one side of the impromptu shelter, I could see the sun gradually making its way to the horizon, its light slowly dimming. The warmth of the campfire was similarly fading. Only a last few tenacious flames were still flickering, and soon those, too, were gone.
I shivered, snuggling closer against my husband.
"Bloody hell! I thought this was supposed to be a tropical island. Why is it getting so cold all of a sudden?"
"Come here."
I felt him shifting. Moments later, he slipped out of his tailcoat and put it over the both of us as best he could. Underneath the tailcoat, his arms came around me from behind, holding me close to his warmth.
Very, very close.
I felt heat rush through my body. Slowly but surely, it started gathering in one particular spot. And to judge by the hard thing pressing into my back, it wasn't only happening to me. Swallowing, I shifted, incredibly aware of Mr Rikkard Ambrose's rock-hard muscles with every single movement.
"You know..." For some reason, my voice suddenly sounded rather breathy. "On second thought, I don't think keeping warm is going to be so difficult after all."
"Indeed?"
Maybe it was just my imagination, but the tone of his voice also seemed to be changing. Becoming darker. More intense.
"Oh yes indeed, Mr Ambrose, Sir."
Turning around to face him, I slid my hand between the two of us, placing it against his pectorals. "You don't mind me warming my hands a little, do you?"
"No. It is efficient. Logical."
"Good to know."
My fingers curled against his muscled chest, stroking, caressing.
"Mrs Ambrose? What, pray, are you doing?"
"Rubbing my fingers. Friction generates warmth."
My fingers started sliding down his chest and over his abs.
"And does downward movement also generate warmth?"
"Hm...I don't really know." I cocked my head, an innocent smile tugging at my lips as my hand moved down towards his belt. "Shall we try and see?"
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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Funny fact I found out while editing this chapter: most popular images of a coconut show a furry, brown, oblong object. That is, in fact, a coconut with the husk already removed. The fibrous husk is easier to remove than the incredibly hard shell.
Oh, and in case you are wondering about the mentioned cold temperatures: the Caribbean can indeed have rather cool night temperatures. So no sleeping at the beach during your Caribbean holiday, most likely.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob