It Happened In Paradise: Wedded in a Whirlwind / Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex! / His Bride in Paradise. Nicola Marsh

lucky day. The one thing I’m not is average.’

      ‘No?’ Actually, she probably thought he was right, but she wasn’t about to pander to his ego. ‘So where do you fit? Above or below the median?’

      ‘You’d better hope that it’s above.’

      ‘I’ll let you know.’

      ‘Cat,’ he replied, but softly so that she was sure he was smiling. Then, leaning into her so that she could see the screen, ‘Okay. This is the way we go,’ he said, pointing out the route he’d chosen.

      ‘What about this way?’ she suggested, pointing to what looked like a fissure. ‘It looks easier.’

      ‘Did I ask your opinion?’

      ‘But—’

      ‘This isn’t a committee, lady.’ She hadn’t realised the voice could reflect the expression so clearly, but it was obvious that he wasn’t smiling now. ‘Pay close attention because I’m going to say this just once, then I’m going, with you or without you.’

      Damn…

      She hadn’t meant to do that. It wasn’t that she doubted him or his good intentions but she was so used to people listening to her opinions. Being in control…

      Whatever he thought, he didn’t wait for her to answer one way or the other but, having made his point, he looped his arm over her and pulled her closer. Then, with her chin pressed against his shoulder—she hadn’t imagined the strength—he laid out the route they’d take, pointing out crevices for hands and feet that she’d never have seen. Finally, when he was done, he took her hand and placed the phone into her palm, pressing her fingers around it.

      ‘You should keep it,’ she said. Doing her best to make up for… Well, just about everything.

      ‘Probably,’ he admitted, wrapping her fingers around it. ‘Keep it safe.’

      His way of proving that she could trust him not to abandon her? Or, having picked out his escape route was he simply freeing up his hands for the climb?

      It didn’t matter, she decided, as she slipped it into the large breast pocket of her shirt where it would be easily accessible. Then she looked up into the dark void and knew exactly what he’d done.

      He’d given her the best light source in case she needed it to find her way and, feeling really bad for doubting him, she said, ‘Here, take the mini-light.’

      ‘Sure?’

      She didn’t answer, but pressed it into his palm. Then, as he turned it on to light his way, she looked up. ‘How high is it?’

      ‘Just be grateful these people didn’t build on the scale of the Egyptians,’ he replied, evading the question.

      ‘How high?’ she insisted.

      ‘About ten metres,’ he replied, far too glibly, not looking back.

      ‘Don’t patronise me, Jago.’

      He was close enough for her to feel him shrug, then he turned slightly so that she could see his spare, finely chiselled profile. ‘Does it matter?’ he asked.

      ‘I like to be in possession of all the facts.’

      ‘A bit of a control freak, are you?’

      ‘Not at all. You can ask anyone. I’m a total control freak.’

      ‘Then here are the facts for you. We start at the bottom and we keep going until we reach the top. Simple.’ Then, ‘What did you do with that bottle of brandy?’

      ‘Need a stiffener before you face it?’ she asked, passing it to him.

      The light went out and she heard him unscrew the cap. ‘Give me your hands.’

      About to ask why, she thought better of it and held them out without a word as he placed one of his own beneath them. Then he poured the spirit over both of their hands and she let slip something brief and scatological as the spirit found its way into the scrapes and grazes, bringing tears to her eyes.

      ‘Antiseptic,’ he said. ‘And it’ll dry out your skin. Help with grip.’

      ‘Thanks,’ she said cryptically.

      ‘Don’t mention it.’ He tucked the bottle back into the bag hanging from her back, then said, ‘You’d better give me that.’

      ‘Are you sure about that? It’ll be a bad look,’ she warned as she lifted the strap over her head and surrendered it to him. ‘It definitely won’t match your shoes.’

      ‘You know that for a fact, do you?’

      ‘I can’t believe you’re wearing silver sandals.’

      ‘Please tell me you’re kidding.’ Then, ‘No. Don’t say another word. I’d rather not know.’

      He didn’t wait but, using the small light, he began to move away from her. Having mentally slapped herself on the wrist for being a bad girl—but honestly, any man who seriously believed any girl with a grain of sense would wear silver sandals in the rainforest deserved to be teased—she began to follow him, further scuffing the toes of her expensive loafers as she crawled after him on her hands and knees.

      Sensible, after all, did not have to be cheap. Or lack style.

      Ahead of her, Jago stood up, turning back to take her arm and help her to her feet. About to remind him that she could manage, she felt her knee buckle slightly. Muffled by all the other aches and pains she was suffering, she’d forgotten about her knee.

      ‘Okay?’

      ‘Fine.’ There was a long moment of silence and she knew he was looking at her, trying to gauge just how fine she really was. ‘Absolutely dandy,’ she assured him. ‘No problem. How’s your head?’

      ‘I’ll live.’ Then, ‘Let’s get on with it.’

      In the darkness she found her ears filling in the pictures; the sound of cloth brushing against skin as he moved, of muscles stretching as he reached up, using the tiny light to illuminate the first of the hand-holds that he’d pinpointed on the photograph. Then everything went dark again.

      He didn’t begin to climb away from her, however, but reached back and found her hand, lifting it to a narrow crack so that she could feel it for herself, would know how far to stretch, what she was looking for. Have a starting point.

      ‘Got that?’ he asked.

      ‘Got it,’ she assured him.

      ‘Okay. We’ll take it one move at a time. I’ll give you a running commentary of my moves so that you can follow them.’ Then, ‘We’re climbing blind and it’s not going to be easy and it’s not going to be quick. Stop for rests whenever you need to. Don’t try to rush it.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      She didn’t actually leap to attention and salute, but the voice implied it and he didn’t actually sigh. His momentary pause was enough.

      ‘I hear you, Jago,’ she added quickly, wanting him to know that she was with him every step of the way.

      ‘Right.’ Then, ‘Whatever you do, don’t panic. If you’re in trouble, tell me. I’d rather come back a few feet to give you a hand than climb back down to the bottom after listening to you scream all the way down.’

      She swallowed, lifted her chin.

      ‘If it helps,’ she replied, ‘you have my promise that I’ll do my best not to scream.’

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      MANDA bit back a yelp as her hand slipped, scraping her knuckles against sharp stone.

      It