Szereto, Mellanie - Two from the Triangle [Bewitching Desires 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (3 page)

Adjusting his hold on her damp skirt and sweater, he focused his search on the few widely scattered scrubby trees between the eastern side they walked along and the visible western coast. The strip of land extended to the north farther than he could see. Had they landed on Hawksbill Cays? Based on the last compass headings, he’d have to say yes—which put them about a mile swim from the sparsely populated Little Abaco Island.
Too far and too dangerous.

They arrived back at the rock, but Heath was nowhere in sight. His gear was still strewn on the sand, and footprints led in the opposite direction they’d come from. If he’d gone hunting food and water, odds were he’d return empty-handed. The few times Owen had flown over the area, he’d seen nothing but rocks, sand, and some pine trees on the outer cays. No towns, no streams, and very little vegetation.

Another trio of evergreens not far from the beach offered a chance of getting out of the afternoon sun. He aimed for the glorified shrubs, snapping the skirt over the tops to form an umbrella. A lopsided triangular shadow appeared on the ground.

He spread out her sweater for a place to sit. “Not the Ritz, but it’ll keep the sun off you.”

“Thank you. It’s fine.” She dropped into the shade, sighing as she folded her knees up to her chin again. Her smooth pale skin had already turned pink. “You don’t have to babysit me. I
am
an adult, even if I don’t look like one.”

Obviously Heath hadn’t been the first to question her age. Rather than being annoyed or angered by it, her demeanor seemed to indicate resignation. She stared at some point past him, her full lips drawn into a frown beneath the sunburned tip of her dainty nose. Dark lashes hid her expressive eyes. She reminded him of a delicate, mythical creature with the ability to bring men to their knees in worship of her—not that she seemed aware of her own power.

He sat just outside of the protective shadow, unwilling to leave her. Although he’d accused Heath of ogling her petite figure, Owen wasn’t blind—or a monk. “There’s this aura of innocence around you. I guess it makes you seem younger than you are.”

“Innocence?” She growled the word and flipped her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head. “Wonderful. In the eyes of every man, I’m a wholesome child. Just what I wanted to hear.” Bringing her arms up to cross them on her knees, she buried her face. “Like I said, I don’t need a babysitter.”

Her dismissal couldn’t have been clearer, but he wasn’t about to let her push him away. While she might exude artlessness, his body had recognized her as a woman the moment she’d bent over to lay out her wet skirt on the sand to dry. Heath’s remarks regarding her age were likely his way of grousing after the disaster of a test flight today. Neither of them could’ve missed her utter femininity.

Owen glanced her direction. “I’m not babysitting. And believe me, I know you’re not a child.”

Her eyebrows rose as she lifted her head, and she rolled her eyes. “Too late to save face, Owen. I own a mirror.”

Turning toward her, he waited for her to meet his gaze. “Young looking or not, you’re perfect the way you are. Don’t let anyone tell you different. I love your hair, and those eyes... Not to mention the rest of you.” He couldn’t resist a visual stroll down her body. His dick pressing against his zipper was all the proof he needed that she was his kind of woman.

Running her fingers through the loose curls tumbling down her back, she busied herself with a tangle in the long brown strands, ignoring his compliment. “Have you checked for cell service? If we’re in the Bahamas, one of the other islands should have a tower.”

Cell service? A tower?
What was she talking about?

“You have a cell phone, don’t you?”

He replayed her words in his mind, hoping for a moment of comprehension, but none came. “What’s a cell phone?”

Her brows lowered into a vee, and she frowned at him. “A cellular telephone. A mobile phone.”

The synonyms didn’t help. “Honey, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You can’t have a phone without wires and poles. I don’t see any of those, do you?”

She bit her lower lip and stared at him. “But...the full moon...and...you wished me a Merry Christmas. How can you not know what a cell phone is? I’m still in the same year. I have to be. What are the chances of—” Gathering her arms around her legs, she blinked at him. Her clasped hands tightened around each other. “Today is December 25, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

Her teeth nibbled at her lip again. “What...what year is it?”

The question caught him off guard, and he hesitated as he questioned his first thought.
The new year doesn’t start until next week.
“It’s 1931.”

The pink of her sun-kissed cheeks drained away. She opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it.

A shiver raced up his spine from her unexpected reaction, and Owen jerked his eyes up to Heath as he stalked to the makeshift umbrella.

“I caught dinner, but somebody needs to collect some firewood to cook it.”

Jumping from discussing the date to preparing supper took a shift of gears in Owen’s brain. “Uh, thanks. I’ll take care of it.”

His friend wiggled his bare toes into the soft sand, two fish on a stick dangling from his hand. “Look, Heléna, I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m sorry. It’s just that this place gives me creeps. I hate flying this route. Damn Sargasso Sea triangle is cursed.”

“Triangle?” She gave a strangled squeak on a gasp. Her head dropped to her knees as she groaned. “What have I done?”

Chapter 3

Heléna struggled to gather her thoughts as Heath’s statement brought a new reality crashing down on her. Not only had she transported herself backward in time eighty-four years, her spontaneous incantation had taken her to the Bermuda Triangle instead of the love triangle she’d intended.

I’m
not
meant to be a witch. I can’t even perform a simple traveling charm.

Sure, her mood had probably affected the spell, but misrepresenting her need for two men was inexcusable. That’s what she got for not admitting to Great Grandmother and the family that she wasn’t ready to take the oath. Her great fear of letting everyone down if Kazmer attacked again had jinxed her last year of training. She’d committed mistake after mistake while practicing the craft in her room, hiding her failures from them.

Now, what should’ve been an easy incantation had sent her who knew how many miles and years from her target. Not that her mates would want her anyway.

I’m not worthy of them or the title of witch.
She was a burden to Owen and Heath on their tiny island as well.

Rising and yanking her skirt from the treetops, she slipped the nearly dry garment up her legs and past her nonexistent hips. A tug at the drawstring tightened the waist enough to keep it from sliding back down. Her sweater was another matter. Though it was only slightly damp, sand permeated the woven threads. She might need the cover for her bare arms if the night air chilled her, but she’d worry about that when the time came.

Two sets of eyes watched her, making her too aware of her awkward movements and boyish body. “I’m not hungry. You don’t have to share with me.”

“I said I was sorry, Heléna.” Rather than anger tingeing Heath’s response, the soft words sounded pleading.

Picking up her sweater, she braved a look at him. He stared back at her, and she tried to read his taut expression. His stormy gray eyes revealed nothing. The grim line of his mouth said he wasn’t pleased with her lack of acknowledgement and refusal to eat with him and Owen. Only the ticking muscle in his jaw divulged any of his emotions.

She straightened, common sense warring against the sudden twinges inside her.
Sexual attraction?
Her hormones had to be causing the strange effect of his presence on her body. “I accept your apology. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone.”

The sea breeze whipped her long skirt against her calves as she strode toward the north end of the cay. She’d only make a fool of herself if she stayed. The panic of their ordeal had subsided, and she’d begun to see the men as potential mates instead of what they were—the accidental saviors who viewed her as a mere teenaged girl. Owen had tried to pacify her wounded ego with an exaggerated account of her desirability, but she didn’t have to be a genius to know the truth. Heath had apologized for his remarks, never recanting his opinion that she looked far too young to go off by herself without her parents’ permission.

She was an unskilled witch lurking in pubescent purgatory. No males with the blatant masculinity of her fellow stranded survivors would settle for less than a buxom epitome of womanhood. Something Heléna wasn’t and never would be.

Every step increased her pulse another couple beats, and spots flickered in her vision, mixed with images of Owen and Heath. Reddish blond hair and green eyes. A quick, gentle smile. Sandy brown hair and gray eyes. Unreadable. Both men sported muscular arms, sculpted upper bodies, and rippled abdomens. Heath’s strong calves had unerringly drawn her gaze upward to his other generous endowments. Thigh-hugging wet underwear had outlined a pair of well-hung balls and a thick curved cock. Unfortunately, Owen hadn’t removed his soaked breeches to show off the bulge beneath his zipper.

A flash of heat stole her balance, and she struggled to force her feet through the glittering sand. The sun reflected off the individual grains, changing the spots from pastel blue, green, and yellow to bright white. Had Great Grandmother used her powers to send Heléna home?

What about Heath and Owen?
Would Romána spell them to safety?

A glance back toward the men disoriented Heléna even more, and she stumbled. The ground came up to meet her hands and knees. Tempted by the silky surface, she settled on her stomach to rest. A nap might make the nightmare of a day end. When she woke, she’d close her eyes again and stay bundled in the blankets until after the rise of the third-quarter moon. Her fertility cycle would be over for two thousand five hundred sixty-one days.

* * * *

“Heléna! Are you all right?” With his heart in his throat, Heath scrambled along the loose sand to where she’d collapsed. Each step was a slow-motion effort to reach her prone form, panic prodding him to go faster.

Finally, he knelt beside her. A palm to her pale cheek came away clammy, and her hair clung to her sweat-soaked neck and upper back. Though the sky was clear, with bright sun warming the air, he’d guess the temperature wasn’t above eighty degrees. The likelihood of heatstroke was slim unless she was a lot more sensitive than the average person.

“Is she conscious?” Owen dropped to his knees beside Heath. Dabbing at her forehead with his dripping shirt, Owen frowned. “Damn, I wish we had fresh water. And we need to get her out of the sun.”

She blinked, wiping at the water droplets chasing a path to her chin. “What happened? I was so dizzy.”

“You were walking, and then you stumbled and fell.” Blocking the sun’s rays from her face, Heath helped her roll to her side, his pulse still echoing in his ears. At least the knots in his stomach had eased a little. He lifted her into his arms as he rose, and a strange feeling of rightness washed over him. “This way, Owen. I found a place with a dozen or so trees bunched together. We can build a small cook fire and set up camp for the night.”

Owen nodded. “I’ll gather some wood and our belongings while you get her settled.”

Heléna tightened her grasp on Heath’s neck, triggering an impulse to hold her closer and taste her beautiful lips. A punch of desire hit him in square in the gut. He gathered all his self-control to keep from acting on it, reminding himself she’d fainted only minutes ago.

“I feel fine now.” She stiffened against him. “Put me down.”

A growl formed low in his throat, but he swallowed it. Had she noticed that he’d taken a slow inhale of faint flowery scent mixed with seawater from the hair brushing his jaw? “When we get to the trees. You were dizzy enough to fall down back there. Until I’m certain you’re okay, this is where you stay.”