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His T-shirt was empty.
He came all the way up into a sitting position, eyes focusing as he raised one hand to block out the sun and saw Willa standing over him holding his gun. His gun with the silencer on it.
He swore and met her gaze.
“You,” she gasped as if she couldn’t catch her breath. Sh
e was soaking wet, obviously having gone swimming. He hadn’t felt her leave his side and that, it turned out, was a huge mistake on his part. “You’re the one who shot at me.”
She pointed the gun at him, her finger on the trigger. “I wondered when you didn’t seem overly concerned about a killer being on the island with us. It was because you’re the one who took those shots at me!”
He groaned. “I did it because I needed to gain your trust quickly.”
“My trust?” She spat the words at him. “You took shots at me to gain my trust? Did you make love to me for the same reason?”
“You know better than that.”
“Do I?” Her hand holding the gun was trembling. “You could have killed me.”
“I’m a better shot than that.” He gave her a grin, hoping to lighten this moment.
Her eyes narrowed, the gun in her hand steadied as she pointed it at his heart.
He wiped the grin off his face. “Look, I’m sorry I lied to you. I didn’t know you then.” He lifted up, getting his feet under him and slowly rising. “I was desperate and you were just a means to an end. But somewhere along the way, that changed.” He reached out to her, needing to get that gun away from her before she accidentally pulled the trigger. Or pulled it on purpose.
She stepped back, the gun still aimed at his heart.
In the distance, he heard the sound of a boat headed this way. Bull. He glanced toward the sun. It was high overhead, bathing the island with golden heat.
“That will be Bull with the paintings,” he said.
She nodded, her eyes sparking with anger and pain. She handed him the gun, slapping it into his palm, her blue eyes cold and hard enough to chip ice. “Let’s get this over with.”
Finally something they could agree on. She didn’t give him a chance to say anything else, which was good because there was nothing he could say. He was a bastard. He liked to believe that all men were on some level, but right now he had the feeling he was wrong about that, too.
He stuffed the gun into his shorts as he watched her walk away, mentally kicking himself. As she was swallowed up in the vegetation, he quickly picked up his T-shirt from the sand, shook it out and went after her as he pulled it on.
His skin felt raw with sensation, their lovemaking imprinted on his flesh—and embedded forever in his brain. Talk about raising the bar. He couldn’t imagine being with another woman without thinking of Willa and this sunlit beach.
* * *
WILLA HEARD HIM behind her but didn’t turn. She had every right to be angry with him. It didn’t matter that he’d done what he had for supposedly a higher purpose—getting the disk and taking down the bad guys. Or that he’d been shot defending himself and was now being wrongly accused. Or that there were still people out there who wanted him dead—and her, as well, and that he’d taken those shots at her to protect her. Or that he had protected her, even saved her life last night by the canal.
The bottom line was that he’d lied to her. He’d deceived her.
It wasn’t him she was so angry with and she knew it. Nor was it the fact that she’d made love with him, wanted him to be the first man and wasn’t sorry one iota for it.
No, what had her furious with herself was that she’d made Landry Jones into some kind of hero in her mind. She’d needed a hero and she’d let herself believe he was one.
And that hadn’t even been her worst mistake.
No, her worst mistake was… She slowed, tears burning her eyes. She felt his hand on her shoulder and didn’t even have the energy to shrug it off. He came around in front of her, his gaze going straight to her tears. He looked like his heart would break, as if he could read the truth in her eyes.
Her worst mistake was falling in love with him.
She jerked away from him and wiped angrily at the tears as she bit her lower lip and gave herself a good mental talking-to.
“You want me to pick up the supply box?” he asked behind her, sounding uncomfortable, as if half-afraid to touch her and even more confused as to what to say.
