Disclaimers: as before.

Thanks for those reviews , and to those of you who put the story on alert. I hope you enjoy the second bit, and please let me know what you think! Co-author credits on this chapter are owed to my 'other half', Chris. Extra cookies for anybody who can guess which bits were suggested by a boy!!

Chapter 2

'You okay, Nige?'

'Not really…everything's gone a bit…hazy…'

Sydney, who had been hacking apart the thick fabric of her bag with a pen-knife, glanced across at Nigel. He was still lying on the sand, a little out of her reach, but he'd laid his shirt on his front, and partially over his face, to gain what shelter he could from the heat.

'You might be getting sunstroke,' offered Syd, sliding across the sand to his side and positioning herself deliberately so her shadow shaded him. 'You should probably cover your head completely.'

Nigel, on the contrary, pulled the shirt off his nose and mouth turned to face her; his lips were dry and peeling, his eyes disturbingly dull.

'It's hopeless isn't it?'

'No!' she shot back. 'I've not seen any ships yet, but there's hope. There's always hope… have you had any water lately?'

'No,' admitted Nigel morosely. 'There's only a drop left. But I've seen enough of it. The tide's coming in.'

'What?'

'Since we've been here, this island has shrunk by at least a metre all the way around its edges.'

'But you've barely sat up! How can you know that?'

'I've been watching it since we got here,' he moaned, his voice cracking in his parched throat. 'The tides are notorious in this part of the Pacific. I've just been recalling that, in the early days of the British Empire, Captain Bligh and his ilk would drop off mutinous sailors or troublesome natives on the sandbanks as a form of punishment - it was relatively merciful, as it was known the victims would drown or be eaten by sharks before they were quite fried to a crisp.'

'Nice!' Sydney responded with a curl of her lip. 'Well, we're not drowning or frying today - and I'm sure as heck not in the mood to be eaten by sharks! You need to stop dwelling on things - you want to help build the fire? It's got to be ready to light the second we see a ship.'

Nigel just stared at her blankly, so Sydney moistened her lips, leaned in and kissed him. As she pulled away, her mouth curved into a sexy smile - it didn't matter where they were, it was still a novelty and a pleasure to be able to do that! It also had the desired effect: Nigel sat up, smoothed the back of his knuckles against her cheek, returned the kiss and sighed heavily.

'How do you manage to still look so beautiful?'

Sydney had not yet stripped off her clothes, although she had tied her shirt-ends together beneath her breasts, exposing her midriff, and her khaki shorts had always been skimpy. Drinking in the sight of her, he observed that the sun hadn't reddened her exposed skin but rather, made it glow a radiant bronze; her flowing hair shimmered in the sunlight.

'I guess not being raised in England helps build up a little resistance,' she smiled, hitching his shirt back up over his shoulders. 'Now, come on. I want this fire built before our ship arrives…and drink some water, Nige!'

………………………………………

The contents of Sydney's satchel were strewn out across the sand. They included all the usual essential female accessories – make-up, a vanity bag, hairbrush, perfume - and a few rather more eclectic items: her crossbow, torch, a hot-wire, a monkey wrench, some intercepted orders for a hit-man to kill her, a bag of third century Viking runes, and a strip of ancient papyrus.

'Well, the death warrant will blaze up nicely,' commented Nigel. 'It's a terrible shame about the papyrus, though. What's this?'

He scooped up what he believed resembled a piece of elastic, which had been sinking into the sand. 'It is a hairband? Or…ooooh!'

Sydney snatched away the item with a mirthful giggle, as Nigel flushed pink under his sunburn: 'No girl travels without a change of underwear!'

'Yes, well,' flustered Nigel. 'It's a shame you don't wear bigger knickers! They're not going to burn for long, are they?'

'I guess not,' laughed Sydney. She picked up a well-thumbed black, leather notebook. 'It'll be a shame to see this go, though.'

'If you don't mind me asking, what is that?'

Nigel had seen the little book before, but Sydney had never shown it to him. Although they'd been 'together' a while, he was too much of a gentlemen to pry into areas of her life she didn't automatically share - in most circumstances.

'It's my little black book,' sighed Sydney, flicking affectionately through the pages. 'It's got all my addresses in it, and a few other notes. Karen has got all the important contact details recorded on a PC database now.' She paused, her eyes misting over. 'But it will still feel like burning a piece of my history. I've had it since I was 18.'

'I'm sorry,' said Nigel, compulsively intrigued. 'Maybe we should leave it until last?'

'No,' said Sydney resolutely. 'Paper is a great firelighter - we consign it to the flames! I'd better tear out the pages. You keep a lookout for ships.'

Nigel obeyed, gratefully noting that a gentle breeze had bubbled up, ruffling his hair and coolly caressing his hot, glowing face and bare arms. The intensity of the heat itself also appeared to be diminishing. The day was wearing on, he realised, and the sun was riding deep into the west. Nevertheless, there were still no ships to be seen, however hard he strained his eyes. And the tide was still rising…

After a few minutes of trying to pretend he was somewhere far, far away, Nigel felt something tickle against his barefoot. Glancing down, he picked up what appeared to be a piece of paper scratched in Sydney's familiar handwriting. Although he knew exactly what it must be, he couldn't help but scan his eyes over it quietly, registering, with a tiny pang of disappointment, that it was not a diary but merely a list of names and addresses.

'Uh, Syd?' He waved it at her. 'I think you lost a bit.'

'Oh,' she looked up suddenly. 'I guess it's this breeze. I'd better put these bits of paper under your boots or something, until we need them.'

Nigel leant over and handed the paper back, silently noting that several of the names were accompanied by dates and large, red biro numbers between three and eight.

He was curious, he couldn't help it - and, seeing as the hope of salvation was increasingly slim, he reasoned he might as well ask.

'Syd, if I may be so bold, what do those dates and numbers mean?'

She cringed. 'You really want to know?'

Nigel nodded silently: if he survived this, he mused, he could always blame his forwardness on delirium brought on by sunstroke.

'The dates are, well, 'dates', and the numbers are how I used to rate the guys I'd dated after we'd,' she paused and wiggled her eyebrows playfully, as horror flashed across Nigel's countenance. 'You know, after, we'd had se…'

'Good heavens!' he interrupted loudly - shocked, even though this was what he'd half expected. 'You rated them? What on? Their physique? Their performance and technique? Effort and enthusiasm? Oh, hold on… I'm not sure I want to hear this.'

'Don't then,' shrugged Sydney. 'You asked.'

They were both silent for a few minutes. Nigel returned to staring, rather unfocusedly, into the distance while Sydney continued ripping out the once-cherished pages of her past. She wondered if she ought to say something - Nigel was clearly brooding, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed, and he was wriggling on his bottom awkwardly. He was obviously dying to know more…

Even as Syd opened her mouth to give him a reassuring answer, his question blurted forth:

'Did you rate me? Syd - I have to know! What did I get? That first-time, back in England?'

Sydney laughed affectionately: 'Oh, Nigel! I didn't rate you like the others. It was kind of immature of me, and I gave it up several years ago…but… if I had… I would have to say…' she slowed her words, deliberately prolonging the agony, then drawled seductively: 'You'd be a perfect '10' - on all counts!'

Night was still pouting, but she could tell he was slightly appeased.

'Am I the only perfect '10'?'

'Of course,' smiled Sydney, making a mental note to burn the 'Fs' and the 'Ps' first, and justifying her 'white lie' by the matter that she'd raised her standards.

Nigel gave a modest, half smile and, to her slight consternation, shuffled over to her side. Boldly, he observed: 'They don't all have numbers next to them, do they?'

'I don't sleep with every guy I know!' exclaimed Sydney, still more amused than annoyed. 'There's loads of people in here I'd never dream of dating - Stewie Harper is in this book. You can check if you like, but there is certainly no number next to his name!'

'Of course,' agreed Nigel, casually picking up another piece of paper as it caught the breeze.

'Goodness, here's one you've dated: Hilary Trumpkin! You could only have been 19 at the time, but you gave Hilary a '9'! I guess he was sexier than his name.'

'Yeah,' replied Sydney coyly. 'She was great!'

'She…she...she…!' spluttered Nigel, and for a moment Sydney was concerned he might hyperventilate. Indeed, his heart did a somersault and he found it necessary to draw long, calming breaths. 'She! I had no idea you, err, swung both ways!'

'Oh, don't worry, I don't,' laughed Sydney, rubbing his back in calming, circular motions. 'I was young and wild. I tried everything once… or twice.'

'Wow,' murmured Nigel - the images of Sydney and Hilary in action that suddenly flashed into his mind were far from unpleasant. He blinked hard, squeezing the bridge of his nose, and tried to repress them.

Unfortunately, at that moment, a further piece of paper fluttered onto his lap. 'Well, at least you haven't slept with the new university Dean,' he observed, recognising a familiar name and address. Then a bold, red number '2' burned itself into his consciousness. 'Oh…..oh!'

Sydney grabbed back the paper, grimacing apologetically.

'I think its better I don't look at this book,' muttered Nigel weakly.

'Maybe that's better,' she agreed. 'I'm nearly done, anyhow. Then we will have to think of something else to do until we get rescued.'

'There's absolutely nothing we can do,' lamented Nigel. 'Apart from sit here with rumbling stomachs and wait - to live or die!'

Nigel gasped silently as he sensed Sydney's presence behind him, her hand on his shoulder and her lips so close that they all but nuzzled the back of his neck.

'There is something we could do….'

Nigel groaned inwardly, and couldn't quite bring himself to face her. 'I'm sorry, Sydney, but really – its so hot, my head is killing me, my limbs feel like lead and…and…well, you know I have enormous faith in you but, this time, I just don't quite see how we're going to get out of here! When there's no hope of survival, it hardly seems the time and place…'

Sydney was silent a second, and then answered: 'Let me see if I can to do something about that headache.'

She eased him back so that his head and shoulders rested in her lap, and began massaging his temples with a dexterous skill. 'Better?'

'Mmmm,' replied Nigel, beginning to feel quite sleepy. 'At least you can't find any of your nasty snake-poison remedies out here in the middle of nowhere.'

'I guess not,' said Sydney thoughtfully. She wiped his face with the corner of her shirt and began dusting her fingers over his forehead and cheekbones, conveying comforting, fluttering sensations.

After a few minutes, her efforts began to liquefy the dull ache in his head and the rigid tension in his muscles, and even helped him forget the grind of hunger in his stomach. Nigel began to feel rather relaxed, as if he was drifting off across a placid ocean, a weightless, bodiliess, un-tethered spirit.

By the time her fingers stopped dancing over his forehead, and began smoothing back his damp hair, he was on the verge of not caring if it was a voyage of no return… a voyage of no return… a voyage of no return…

Nigel snatched his consciousness back from the precipice of sleep and his eyes snapped open.

'What is it?' asked Sydney, still toying with his fringe.

'Earlier,' he said breathlessly, 'when I said there was no hope, you didn't contradict me. You just said: 'Let's see if we can do anything about your headache.' You didn't mean it, did you? Because I didn't mean it – well, I did. But I'm always the pessimist, aren't I? You still believe everything will be just fine, don't you? Please tell me you do…'

'Sssssh,' said Sydney, her eyes dancing with amusement. 'Of course everything is going to be fine. I just didn't think anything I said would make much difference to you, back then.'

Nigel frowned. 'Sorry, I felt a little off colour, I suppose, but I still needed to hear you say it. Even if I didn't quite believe you…'

'And do you believe me now?'

'Absolutely!' he nodded seriously. 'Well, sort of… I have complete faith in you, you know that.'

Sydney laughed. 'I'll take that as a yes, then. Look,' she motioned with her head to a smudgy, scarlet sunset dappled with wispy, low-hanging clouds. 'It's starting to get dark – that's a good thing. We'll be able to see the lights of our ship, and it will be easier for them to see our fire.'

'Great,' said Nigel, easing himself out of her lap and into a sitting position. The world oscillated around him for a moment, and he felt Sydney's steadying hand on his shoulder - then everything came to a rest, apart from the gentle swell of the encircling waves.

'Headache better?' she asked.

'Better,' affirmed Nigel, 'but not gone. I'm so bloody hungry, too - I wish we had something to eat.'

'As I said, the best thing with hunger is to do something to take your mind off it,' stated Sydney, fiddling with the fire stack.

Nigel rolled his eyes and forced a lopsided smile. 'I can't believe you're still… frisky. You're insatiable!'

'I'm stuck on a desert island with a gorgeous man – wouldn't you be a little disappointed if I wasn't?' She fluttered her long, dark lashes teasingly. 'Maybe I should be a little offended that you don't want me?'

'Of course I want you!' retorted Nigel. 'But…but…. it's just hard for a chap to perform when he's not one hundred percent and, um, now I know how analytical you can be about it all…'

'I don't do that any more!' protested Sydney.

'Yes, but still, we both have our standards, and, as I said, it's hard to quite feel in the mood right now…'

'I'd say this was the perfect time,' said Sydney plainly, leaving the fire. 'I thought you'd be enjoying the peace – it's not been the quietest of hunts, has it?'

'You know what I mean,' grumbled Nigel. 'And no, it hasn't been quiet. It's been a nightmare from start to, well, finish. And this is probably the finish…'

'Oh, come on, Nige.' Sydney squeezed up next to him, folding her legs gracefully in front of her and leaning in so she husked in his ear: 'I know you find what we do exciting - the danger, the thrill of the chase, pounding adrenaline. Doesn't it, uh, turn you on? Just a little?'

'Being manhandled by some Neaderthal with his gun to my head doesn't turn me on, that's for sure!' mumbled Nigel, refusing to give in just yet.

'Stop being evasive,' scolded Sydney, giving his knee a playful slap.

He looked at her sidelong and admitted begrudgingly: 'I find seeing you in the heat of battle as sexy as hell.'

'And now?'

A guttural moan escaped from the back of his throat as Sydney laid cool fingers on his bare chest, and skimmed them down over the contours of his flesh, and over linen trousers, until they rested provocatively on his inner thigh.

'I think you know your answer,' he murmured, delicately weaving his fingers into the hair at the back of her head and then pulling her in for a sensual, plunging kiss.

'Well,' panted Sydney, after a minute of undiluted pleasure. 'Now we've got that sorted out, I think we'd better practice getting you out of these clothes…'

Thanks for reading. Please review! Go on, pleeeeeeease, you know you want to…