He flinches at the accusation. “Don’t beridiculous.”
“What’sridiculousis this! Me and you! The twisted fate of ending up stranded with the last man on earth I’d ever choose as acompanion!”
“Trust me, sweetheart, you wouldn’t be my first choice either. You’re not exactly LaraCroft.”
Ugh!
I’m burning with rage and righteous indignation. I don’t let myself look too deep at the source, for fear of what I’ll find. Because, even as the vitriol pours fourth from my lips, I’ve begun to suspect this man — this gruff, grumpy, heroic, handsome, infuriating man — is not actually the reason I’m so steamingmad.
But I can’t be mad at a storm in thesky.
I can’t be mad at a plane forcrashing.
I can’t be mad at a little girl for lettinggo.
I can’t be mad at a man fordying.
I can’t be mad at rescue for notcoming.
He’s all I have left. He’s the only one here. The only outlet for my rage and terror and guilt. So, it doesn’t matter that none of this is his fault. I bottle up every ounce of emotion raging inside me and blast it at him withoutremorse.
“The minute I met you I knew you were the worst kind ofman!”
“And what kind of man would that be?” he fires back, just as pissed off at me as I am at him. Maybe I’m not the only one who needs to release a little rage. “Since you’re apparently so well versed in the subject of men and theirshortcomings.”
“Arrogant. Rude. Impatient.” I’m panting. “Bossy. Manipulative.Condescending.”
And entirely too good looking,I addsilently.
He scoffs. “You got all that in the firstminute?”
“The first bloody second!” Isnap.
His eyes narrow on mine. “Well, I could tell as soon as I clapped eyes on you that you were a pampered little princess. Believe me, baby, of all the women I could’ve ever envisioned myself marooned with… I never once imagined I’d end up with achild.”
I swallow down a scream. “If I’m a child, you’re a cantankerous oldman!”
“Does someone need a time out?” hemocks.
I do scream, this time. My hand curls around the bailer and before I can stop myself or think about the repercussions of my actions, I crank back my arm and chuck it full-force at his head — forgetting, in my rage, that it’s fastened to a short tether line. The plastic bucket arcs perfectly toward his face, a straight shot, before jolting to a stop at the end of its rope and falling to the empty span of raft betweenus.
For a moment, it’s totally silent as we stare at each other. I think he’s stunned I tried to bean him in the head. Frankly, I’m a bit stunnedmyself.
His eyes flicker from my face down to the bailer and back again. I see a glimmer of humor flash in their depths, but it’s gone so fast I convince myself I’mhallucinating.
Of all the things that might make him laugh, surely me screaming insults and attempting to maim him isn’t at the top of thatlist…
Shame swamps me. He was right to call me a child — I’ve behaved worse than a toddler throwing a tantrum. I open my mouth to apologize for my outburst, but he beats me to thepunch.
“You should rest,” he says carefully, as though navigating a minefield blindfolded and barefoot. “I’ll keep watch for awhile.”
“You’re just as tired as I am,” I point out quietly. With the tension finally abated between us, the fight has gone out of me, replaced by such intense exhaustion I fear I’ll pass out before the protests leave my lips. The stress of the last twenty-four hours has officially caught up. I’ve been reduced to a hollow shell of my formerself.
“I can hold out a little while longer,” he murmurs, those unreadable eyes burning into mine once more. “We’ll take shifts. There’s no point in both of us staying awake all thetime.”
My lips twitch as my eyelids droop closed. “Plus, there’s probably less of a chance I’ll toss you overboard, if one of us isasleep…”
“Trueenough.”