Island Redemption Read online

  ‘This is easy, you can do this in your sleep,’ Madison muttered. She was chucking mounds of dry husks into the bottom of the steel basin, piling handfuls of kindling and small sticks on top. She struck the flint violently, sending sparks flying. A few caught in the husks and tiny flames started to lick upwards, quickly growing into a hungry conflagration. Madison blew on the fire, making it leap upwards. She started placing some of the larger sticks on top.

  Cilla was taking a different tack and Tam was concerned to see her fire wasn’t nearly as big as Madison’s. She held a whispy nest of husks cupped in her hands. A tiny spark glowed within and she blew on it gently, coaxing it to a larger flame. When it was well caught, she placed it in the cauldron and layered more and more husk on top. A healthy orange blaze sprang into life, the glow reflecting off the steely determination in her eyes. Kindling was added next, slow and measured, not thrown in a haphazard way like Madison was doing. Cilla built a small tepee with the kindling, directing the flames to rise higher and higher. Instead of loading on the larger pieces, she kept piling on the kindling, the bright flames crackling and snapping with glee at the dry tinder.

  Madison’s fire was traditional, burning just like it was supposed to, smaller sticks first and then larger pieces to shore up the flames. It’d definitely burn through the rope, when the larger pieces of wood caught properly.

  Cilla’s fire was a wild creature, untamed and unpredictable, but larger and brighter. And hungrier. Would it sustain the heat long enough to eat through the rope? The flames surged upwards.

  ‘Come on, Cilla, you can do it,’ Tam shouted. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t care now if everyone knew where his alliance lay. He wanted her to win. Needed her to win.

  Her rope started to turn black as the flames licked the underside. She kept feeding the beast more and more kindling. But then it was all gone, there were no more small twigs to feed the hungry fire. Sparks flew upwards and drifted down like tiny fireworks, covering the stage with ash and burnt confetti.

  Then, finally, the rope started to burn for real, one of the smaller bits of twine flamed and snapped with a pop. Madison glanced over at Cilla and swore. She started to blow on her fire and then shoved a handful of kindling on top.

  But it was too late, the second piece of plaited twine making up Cilla’s rope snapped in a shower of black soot. Then the third and final piece, unable to hold the strain on its own, gave way, sending the small skull and crossbones flag racing for the sky.

  She’d won! Cilla had done it. There was hushed silence as everyone digested the fact that Cilla was staying and Madison was gone.

  ‘Cilla, wins the knockout,’ JJ said in a loud voice. ‘Bring me your firebrand, Madison.’

  Madison threw down a handful of sticks, stubborn disbelief etched on her face.

  ‘No, this can’t be,’ she shouted, stamping her feet like a child. ‘I can’t have lost. She’s the one who’s supposed to be going tonight.’ Madison pointed at Cilla, her lips drawing back in a venomous snarl. JJ stepped between the two women, his large, muscled form dwarfing them both. ‘The team has spoken, Madison. Bring me your firebrand. You’ll have a chance to get back into this game. Off you go to Deception Cove.’

  ~

  Firebrands wavered ahead of her, lighting the sandy path with their weak, fluttering gleam. Cilla followed the bobbing lights, her feet moving automatically, but her mind refused to focus. She’d come so close to being sent to Deception Cove tonight. The repercussions of that fate rolled around and around in her head like a murky fog.

  Hulking shapes morphed out of the darkness and then a pale strip of sand, lit by the fragile moonlight, told her they’d reached their campsite. They were home. Safe for now.

  ‘Wow, that was awesome,’ Marg said, her voice resounded through the night air from somewhere behind Cilla.

  ‘I’m not sure I’d use the word awesome, Marg.’ Cilla could hear the reproach in Tam’s tone.

  ‘I don’t mean awesome that Cilla nearly got voted out, dufus. I mean the whole thing. Our first conclave. I never thought it’d be so powerful. But you’re okay, aren’t you, Cilla? At least you’re still here, eh?’ Marg asked, contrite now.

  ‘Mmm hmm.’ Cilla didn’t trust herself to speak. The rest of the team busied themselves putting away their meagre belongings, relighting the fire and standing their firebrands all in a row along the back of the beach. She dumped her bag beneath the sleeping platform. In the darting shadows and deep patches of darkness it’d be easy enough for her to slip away unnoticed. She needed some time alone. Time to put her façade back together. A façade that’d been temporarily destroyed by the wounded betrayal she was feeling right now. Half an hour should do. They wouldn’t miss her for that short time.

  Slipping into the gloom of the coconut trees at the back of the beach, she used the tall trunks as cover. Treading with care and working her way parallel to the ocean, she threaded her way through the fallen leaves and dead branches. The voices faded behind her, replaced by the loud hum of cicadas singing their nightly chorus.

  She emerged a couple of hundred yards from the campsite, near the wall of limestone that partitioned their beach from the next cove. The sound of gentle lapping waves called her towards the ocean. Dipping her toes in the tepid water she stood on the surf’s edge, staring out to sea. The horizon was hard to discern, the ocean’s inky blackness blended almost seamlessly with the deepest indigo of the sky. Two elements, water and sky, held against each other in the softness of the night. Stars spiralled in their nightly dance, bright and stark in their multitudes of pinprick lights. The quarter moon was now hidden by the low clouds circling the skyline, setting them alight with an eerie glow. Cilla drew in a deep breath of salty air. And then another. The air was cool and soothing, and she felt the ache in her shoulders subside.

  Her muscles may have relaxed, but her mind was still whirling. Simon and Glen must’ve voted for her. She knew there’d been a very real chance they’d vote with Madison. But it was different when fact became reality. It hurt. Worse than she could’ve imagined.

  Having your name read out on a piece of parchment changed everything about the game. Cilla’s insides churned with the nastiness of the whole thing.

  ‘Can I join you?’ She jumped and a small scream escaped her lips before she could stifle it.

  ‘Shit. Tam,’ she said, lowering her fists from where they’d raised up of their own accord.

  ‘That’s some reaction.’ He motioned to her still-clenched fists. ‘Looks like you’re ready to take me on.’

  ‘Well don’t sneak up on people.’ She glowered at him. Yes, she was used to protecting herself, but she’d never told anyone else why. Her reaction was bred from many nights spent lying in fear, waiting for her father’s homecoming. Wondering how drunk he’d be, whether he was in a rare sanguine mood, or in his usual violent temper.

  Tam stood next to her, staring out to sea, his toes dug deep into the wet sand, saying nothing.

  ‘I guess you’re staying, whether I want you to or not?’ she said, her tone unfriendly. What she really needed was to be alone. She needed time to sort through what’d just happened tonight. Sift the feelings of duplicity and hurt out from the other emotions of reprieve and triumph at her victory over Madison. But this was something she was used to doing alone. She certainly didn’t need or want anyone else’s help.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to go through that second knockout tonight,’ he said in a soft voive, barely audible above the swish of the waves. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be you up there. You know that, right?’

  ‘Of course I know that,’ she snapped. ‘I’m very aware of how this game works, Tam. And equally aware of how fickle and untrustworthy people’s promises can be.’ She turned to stare at him, but his gaze remained on the rolling waves. How much could she trust Tam? The thought spun round and round her head as she continued to stare at him, daring him to meet her eyes. Which he did, finally. Starlight reflected in his pupils, the rest of his
face held in deep shadow, the planes of his cheekbones and square jawbone only hinted at by the barest of margins against the black night. He took a step closer to her. The tiny hairs on her forearms rose up to attention.

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. You have to keep remembering, this is a game and people aren’t always what they seem out here. At least you’re not blaming yourself, which is a good thing.’ Her body’s proximity warning bells were telling her to take a step back, to get away from the aura of sanctuary he was projecting.

  ‘Of course I’m not blaming myself.’ As if she’d ever reveal it to him even if she did. Who’d he think he was, trying to sooth her suffering like she was one of his child patients who needed a shoulder to cry on?

  ‘I’m quite capable you know, Tam. You don’t need to feel sorry for me just because we’re in some alliance together,’ she said, her voice getting louder by the second. Her throat tightened and her breath started to come in fast gasps. Bubbles of anger surged upwards through her stomach. She took a step closer to him. They were mere inches apart now.

  ‘And while we’re on that subject, I’m not sure I want to be part of this little alliance you and Alisha have going. It didn’t seem to do me any good tonight. I would’ve been just as well off on my own, the amount of help you two gave me.’ Her arms hung stiff by her sides, her hands again balled into fists.

  ‘Itching for a fight I see, Cilla. Go on, yell and scream. Get it out of your system. It’ll do you good.’ His assertion surprised her. Had he just called her bluff? Was he really prepared to just stand there while she railed at him? Let her vent her anger and frustration without fighting back? The concept was new to her.

  All her anger evaporated in a puff of cool night air. God, she was a bitch. She’d wanted to hit out at him, hurt him, make him feel a little what she’d been feeling. But he’d seen through her bluster and stood firm, ready to take whatever she wanted to dish out.

  ‘You need to remember one thing though, Cilla. I’m not the enemy.’

  ‘I know you’re not,’ she mumbled, lowering her head and covering her eyes with her hands. ‘God, I’m so sorry.’ The backs of her eyelids started to prickle. Oh no, please don’t let her cry now. She never cried. She’d not cried since she was sixteen, on the day her father had hit her for the last time. After that her tears had dried up, nothing else had ever been bad enough to warrant them. But this game was turning everything she’d ever known to be true on its head. Tam’s hand came to rest lightly on her bare shoulder. His grip was firm and warm on her cool skin. The contact made her aware of just how close they were. His touch bringing all her senses to full alert.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said again. ‘I didn’t really mean all that.’

  ‘I know.’ His hand remained, feather-light on her shoulder. The moon chose that instant to escape from the clasps of the vaporous clouds and in the pale light she could see his t-shirt stretched across the muscles of his shoulders, giving the impression of masculine energy tightly controlled. Could she trust him? She wasn’t sure. Especially not when the man stirred her emotions as much as he did.

  ‘I really am okay about the whole conclave thing, honest.’ She tried to raise a smile, but all she could manage was a small shrug. What could she say that’d convince him she was fine? To make him move away from her. She raised her chin, trying to gauge his features. But Tam’s face was cast in shadow and she couldn’t tell what sentiments were hiding behind those hooded eyes.

  It was his unwavering touch that was her final undoing. It seemed to offer shelter and kindness, things she’d been sorely lacking in recent times.

  A big, fat tear escaped, tracing a wet trail down her cheek. His left hand came up to grab her by the other shoulder.

  ‘Cilla?’

  Another traitorous tear rolled, hot and heavy down her cheek and tiny shudders started to course through her.

  Before she knew just how it happened, Tam enfolded her in his embrace, her cheek pressed hard against his warm chest.

  Then the dam burst and she started to cry properly, sobbing as the tears streamed down her face. He never said a word, just held her, waiting out the tempest.

  Well, if she was going to let herself collapse into a puddle of tears just this once then she may as well bask in the extravagance of doing it in Tam’s well-built arms. She could feel the slow thudding of his heart beneath her ear. The short stubble from his week spent without shaving roughened the top of her forehead.

  His fingers brushed across the bare skin of her neck. The light touch sent a frission of sensation down her spine, bringing with it an unmistakable flare of heat. Her pulse reacted by becoming erratic and her breathing was suddenly shallow. Her sobs abated. Her body became acutely aware of his male physicality, so close. All she had to do was tip her head up just a little …

  His lips met hers as if he’d been waiting for this moment. For her to let go.

  ~

  Her mouth was soft, supple, and filled him with wanting. All of Tam’s resolve to make this kiss one of compassion – a soothing kiss, one that’d last only fleeting seconds – dissolved the moment he touched Cilla. She tasted sweet and rich and the desire to keep savoring her ripped through him. Her tongue met his, dancing around his mouth, her teeth grazing his lips, nibbling and sucking. He deepened the kiss, wanting to draw all of her into him. He wanted more. More of her. She was intoxicating. All logic flew out the window. The fact her response was as unrestrained as his made his senses reel.

  She pushed up against his chest and he could feel the roundness of her breasts through the fabric of his shirt. Instinct made him draw his hand up along the side of her ribs and cup her breast. It was the perfect size; small, but with just enough weight to fill his fingers. The feel of her, a mixture of curves and softness, taught muscles and heat sent a wave of fire straight to his gut. He became burning awareness and raw pleasure intermingled.

  He dropped both hands and clutched her buttocks, lifting her even closer into him. Her arms came around his neck, her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth down onto hers. All reasoning gone in a desire so hot and intense it charred him from the inside out. She was a dangerous, heady combination.

  ‘Cilla, where are you?’

  He tore his mouth away from hers and sucked in several deep breaths. It was Marg, come looking for her down on the beach. Holding Cilla by the shoulders, he pushed her away. Distance, he needed some distance between them so he could regain his equilibrium. The fact that her swollen lips were shining in the moonlight and her breathing was coming in ragged little hitches did nothing to help.

  He drew himself upright and concentrated on conquering his desire. God, what would’ve happened if Marg hadn’t intervened?

  What’d he been thinking? He’d no right to take advantage of her like this. And taking advantage of her was exactly what he’d been doing. She wouldn’t have kissed him like that if she’d not been so overwrought, so charged with emotion. What he’d done to Cilla was unfair, and shame writhed within at the thought.

  If she’d been in her right mind she would’ve been laughing in his face right now. Telling him to leave her alone and asking him who he thought he was to take advantage of her like that? He had no right. He was a loser. The words echoed around his head, the memory of them jolting him back to the day Julia had thrown him out of their apartment. The words she hurled after him as he stumbled down the street. “You were never good enough for me, Tam. You’ll never be good enough for anyone. You’re just a loser.”

  Why did he think it’d be any different with Cilla?

  He took a step back, letting her go. Lifting his gaze he found her staring at him, weighing, considering.

  ‘We’d better go.’ He couldn’t hide the rasp in his voice. Cilla raised an eyebrow, awareness of his shuttered features replacing the rosy hue of desire on her face.

  ‘Yes, I think we’d better,’ she replied.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hefting the hessian bags and goggles into the crook of his arm
, Tam tugged his cap down low and headed towards the back of the beach.

  He wouldn’t say he was avoiding Cilla exactly. More like keeping his own council. It’d been two full days since that kiss and it was still affecting him. It was part of the decree of his job not to take advantage of people in emotional pain. And what’d he done? Precisely that. A large part of him felt ashamed at his slip-up. But another – equally large part – was also undone when he remembered Cilla’s response. She’d been burning with passion, opening to him like a flower to the sun. She’d wanted that kiss as much as he had.

  There was also that dratted internal voice telling him a woman like Cilla wouldn’t want a man like him anyway. Not if she knew the truth about him, about his past. It might be easy for people to admire the man he’d become on the surface, confident and likeable – altruistic even, in his work with the kids. And maybe that persona was actual, but Tam knew the veracity of what lay beneath, and he wasn’t ready to deal anyone into the reality of his childhood. The stigma of growing up on the wrong side of town. The deprivation and humiliation poverty brought with it. What he’d been forced to do to help his family survive.

  He’d been ready to reveal it all to Julia. He’d even been ready to ask her to marry him. Until she’d blindsided him. She’d kicked him out of the apartment they’d shared for nearly two years, telling him she was in love with someone else, someone who was perfect for her. She’d only been biding her time with Tam.

  That’d been three years ago. Since then he’d only managed a few hook-ups. One-night stands. Or relationships only lasting a few weeks at most. It was better that way. His love-affair with Julia showed him how unwise it was to trust anyone with such complete and utter naivety. Thank God he hadn’t told her about his past, she would’ve only used it to hurt him. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that again.