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Her hand went to her belly as Alex’s comment about her being pregnant revisited. How she’d love to look down into the face of her child and see such unconditional love beamed back at her. To feel a chubby hand on her leg, soft, downy hair brushing her thigh, her palm.
She sighed, turning away to look out to sea. Was her work ever going to be enough now?
The boat headed for Temora Island. Isobella and Alex’s plane was scheduled to take off at midday, and Mike and Theresa needed to pick up supplies. Piccolo Island had survived the cyclone relatively intact, but there were a few minor repairs that needed carrying out, and Mike had radioed his requirements ahead as soon as he’d assessed the damage.
The cruiser made several stops before heading for its final destination, checking on the various submerged experiment stations dotted between the two islands. Mike and Theresa were eager to see if the equipment had held up under the onslaught of the turbulent ocean. Sam, life jacket firmly in place, had been put down in the cabin for his nap so his parents could work unhindered.
They dropped anchor at their last stop, having been delayed by some running repairs required at the previous two. Isobella watched as Alex helped Mike haul up some equipment attached to a buoy via a heavy chain. They placed the dripping tank on the deck and proceeded to check the various monitoring components were all in working order.
Isobella watched Alex. The bunch of his powerful quads as he squatted beside Theresa was truly magnificent. The play of muscles in his bronzed arms as he fiddled with a thermometer was fascinating. The rumble of his voice as he asked questions was as lulling as the warm sun beating down on her shoulders.
She looked away as memories of his naked body on hers the other night swamped her. Not that she had seen his nudity, but she remembered the feel of those muscles, the contours of his frame, and still shivered at the memory of his sexy voice whispering sinful things in his mother tongue.
She was pleased she’d worn a light cotton button-up caftan shirt. It was sleeveless and allowed for the free flow of air and she certainly needed that right now, between steamy thoughts of Alex and the hot midday sun. A sea breeze ruffled the thin white fabric and it felt good against her heated skin.
Alex’s cerulean gaze had darkened as he had taken it in when he’d offered his hand to help her on board, and a blush had stolen up her cheeks. It was probably the most feminine thing she owned that she wore with any regularity. Apart from her underwear.
It was plain, if rather form-fitting, emphasising instead of hiding all those features she usually avoided exposing to the world. Her full breasts, her flat stomach, her toned arms. The yoke was lightly embroided with white stitching and decorated with crystal sequins, complementing the truly feminine cut. Tiny pearl buttons ran all the way up the middle, right up to the mandarin collar, securing it safely high on her neck.
She wasn’t quite sure why she’d put it on with a sarong this morning, instead of her usual baggy attire. Or why she’d even packed it. It was certainly perfect weather for it. But then it had been all along. Maybe she wanted to leave Alex with an impression of her as a woman, the woman he had taken to dizzying heights two nights ago? Not the other woman. The lab geek. But Izzy, his responsive lover.
A flash of red in her peripheral vision distracted her, and she turned her head towards its location at the back of the boat, thankful for the reprieve. She was just in time to see Sam,sans life jacket, losing his balance as he leaned over the side of the boat, and falling silently into the water.
‘Sam!’ she yelled, panic rising in her chest, her pulse roaring through her head. She sprinted towards the back, stripping off her sarong, discarding her glasses, kicking off her flip-flops.
‘Isobella?’ Alex called after her.
‘It’s Sam,’ she yelled back as she reached the side searching the water quickly, looking for any sign of the little boy, praying that he would bob to the surface.
They were in the middle of the ocean—it wasn’t the crystal-clear waters of the island—and just looking was futile. She hesitated for a moment, feeling the clutch of panic as her fear of the ocean and what had happened to her the last time she’d ventured in took hold.
Part of her wanted to recoil. To find a nice safe corner of the boat and pretend nothing had happened. And for a moment she hesitated, summoning the nerve to do something she hadn’t done in sixteen years. Something she’d sworn she’d never do again. But Theresa’s anguished cry pierced her bubble of anxiety. She took a deep breath and jumped into the water. A child’s life was at stake. There was no time for hysterics.
