'Tis safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion.
—RICHARD SHERIDAN
"Oh, dear," Diana said blankly, staring. Well, at least Lyon wasn't strutting about naked, but the small breechcloth he'd fashioned out of the sleeves of his white shirt would enlighten the most dim-witted female mind. His legs were long and muscular, sprinkled with dark-brown hair, and when he turned his back, she could see the line of his buttocks, lean and hard. She could just imagine what she would see if Lyon ran and jumped. She gulped and pounded a stone on a hapless coconut. It cracked open with a satisfying splat.
"I will not look at you! You are ridiculous. Wretched bounder. Arrogant ---"
"All that?"
She was on her knees, wearing only her white chemise, which wasn't quite so white now. She looked up the length of him and knew such a rush of that kind of warmth she nearly choked on the piece of coconut she was chewing.
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Lyon came down to his haunches in front of her. "Don't you like my male attire? I am endeavoring to spare your maidenly, or rather semi-maidenly, sensibilities."
She began grinding the cassava root, viciously.
"You look rather enticing yourself, Diana. We're both tanning nicely. A pity that I can't convince you to sun with me --- like Adam and Eve. Are there any fig leaves in the Virgin Islands?"
"Go away and do something useful."
"I've been trying, but those fish are elusive. You know something else? Fish are cruel. No, it's true. They can see me and I can see them and they're laughing at me." He gave his makeshift spear a rueful look. "I haven't got the hang of it yet and they know it. They swim very close, just to mock me. You would think that with all my varied skills, I could manage to catch something after a day's practice."
"Keep trying."
"If I succeed, I must tell you that I have no intention of scaling the creature."
"Faintheart. Dandy."
Lyon scratched his belly. "Why are you in such a snit? We've a shelter of sorts. Plenty of fresh water. Enough food for the next hundred years and even our own private bathtub. God willing, we might even have fresh fish for our dinner."
"You tan easily," she said, and to his amused ears, it sounded like an accusation.
He just grinned at her and continued scratching his bare belly. "Thank you, ma'am." He saw that her eyes were on his scratching fingers and added, "You know, it's this bloody sand. It gets into everything." Still grinning, now more devilishly, he began to scratch his hip. "I find myself wondering about lovemaking on the sand. Surely it couldn't be all that pleasant. Why, just think of all that sand getting into ---"
"Lyon! Go away!"
He stood and her eyes followed his lithe motion. Rot him for that evil, knowing smile. He patted the top of her suddenly lowered head and strolled off, whistling and carrying his silly spear at a jaunty angle.
Diana frowned after him. She was peevish, and there was no reason for it. Not really. It was just thatAdmit it, you want him, desire him. Either that or she was cursed with some strange island disease. Or perhaps she was cursed with Lyon's Disease.
She sighed. But he doesn't love you. Charlotte ruined all that. He was just a randy male specimen. He'd admitted that, too many times, himself.
She was shaping the flat loaf of cassava bread when she heard his shout of triumph. She straightened, whirling about. She saw him waving his spear toward her, a wriggling fish impaled on its tip.
"This one isn't laughing now," he shouted.
She crossed her fingers, for there were so many poisonous fish in the Caribbean. He strode toward her burnished and beautiful as a pagan God. He was saved from that ultimate comparison by the cocky and quite unholy grin on his face.
"Thank God," she said, eyeing the fish. "It's a grouper. Quite edible and quite good. And nearly enough for two."
He gave her a mock bow and handed the spear, fish and all, to her.
"Did you see any nurse sharks, Lyon?"
"I was careful to keep my toes out of the crevices in the reef, just as you told me."
"Good. They do nibble if they are offered something so delectable as toes."