"Shall we try and see?"

I didn't wait for his answer to my question. After all, knowledge is power is time is money, correct? I had been taught by the best. So, immediately, my hand sped up, travelling down his front, eager to explore. All for science, of course. No other reason.

"Mrs Ambrose!" a familiar, cold voice growled into my ear.

"You still remember my name, darling? Aww, that's so sweet of you! I'm so glad you're my husband."

My hand sped up again, just in case. I was nearly there! My fingertips brushed his belt buckle! Just another second, and I'd...

A strong, male hand grabbed hold of my fingers.

Drat!

His other hand, the one that had never stopped stroking my hair before, suddenly slid lower, over my temple and onto my cheek, capturing my face within its grasp. I could feel his gaze on me.

"Mrs Ambrose...What. Are. You. Doing?"

Meeting his icy blue-grey gaze, I stretched until my lips brushed against his. "Try to guess."

"We can't do this here!"

I smirked. "You didn't seem to mind earlier today."

"I...temporarily succumbed to temptation. But it shall not happen again." His eyes flashed in the darkness. "We need to sleep. We have important things to do tomorrow! We're shipwrecked on a deserted island, and—"

Was he actually trying to reason with a pregnant woman's libido? More importantly, with me? Poor, delusional darling.

"Yes. Trapped, all alone, with nothing to do for months on end..." Slowly, I started trailing kisses over his cheek, across his chin and down his neck. Ever so slightly, I felt his body shudder against me, every tight muscle locked in the attempt to stay still. "How ever should we spend our time?"

"M-Mrs Ambrose...!"

"No suggestions?" I snuggled even closer to him, placing another kiss in the hollow at the bottom of his throat, just above the top button of his shirt. "Don't worry. I think I might have a few ideas."

"Mrs Ambrose...Lillian...don't, I—"

"Shh...silence is golden, remember?"

I reached for his top button.

Suddenly, a growl erupted from his throat. Grabbing hold of my hands, he slammed them into the sand, still warm from the sinking sun. In a blink, he was above me, and his lips came crashing down to claim my mouth in a fierce kiss.

"Mine!" he growled, pushing me onto my back. I felt the soft white sand caress every inch of my bare skin, and suddenly, the remaining heat of the fire seemed to be much stronger. Or...was it the heat coming from the man above me, whose restraint had just irrevocably snapped? "My little ifrit!"

I had to admit...right now I certainly felt hot enough to be some kind of fire demon. And, for once, so did the iceberg that was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Mounting me like a beast driven mad by desire, he once more bent down towards my mouth and—

—bumped into a certain bump.

He froze.

I froze.

A moment passed in silence. Then...

"Mwahahahahaha!"

"Do. Not. Laugh. Mrs. Ambrose."

"Who is laughing, Mr Ambrose Sir? I'm only...pfft! Mwhahaha...only having a coughing fit! Mwhahaha!"

"A coughing fit, is it?" A muscle in his cheek twitched almost imperceptibly.

"Oh yes. Mmmwahahah!"

"Come here." Grabbing my neck, he pulled me towards him, his eyes sparkling arcticly. "Let me cure you of your 'cough'."

Once again he attempted to kiss me, to brand me with his searing lips and claim my body as his own...

...only to once more bump into a certain bump.

There was a moment of silence.

A very pregnant moment of silence.

"Mwhahahaha!"

"Silence!"

"Hahah! Mwhahaha!"

Growling in frustration, he leapt off me, smashing a fist into the sand. Oh my. Was it just my impression, or did he seem just a little bit tense? One part of him, especially, didn't seem to want to relax at all.

"You know..." I whispered from where I lay on the ground, reaching up to touch his cheek. "I did already suggest a way we could do this. All you have to do is lie back and relax."

"Not happening, Mrs Ambrose."

"It'll be fast and efficient, I promise." All right, not exactly the most conventional seductive words, but this was Mr Rikkard Bloody Ambrose I was dealing with! I had to get creative.

He sent me a cold glare that told me he knew exactly what I was doing. Leaning forward until his lips were only inches away from mine, he enunciated each word carefully.

"Not. Happening."

I held his gaze for a long moment—then sighed, and lowered my eyes. "Oh well, I suppose then I can only give up."

Mr Rikkard Ambrose blinked. "Give up?"

"Yes."

"You?"

My shoulders sagged. "Yes. Apparently, my husband doesn't want me. I...I just have to come to terms with it." I sniffed.

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Y-yes, Sir?"

"What are you really planning?"

I sniffled again. "W-what do you mean?" I asked with a quivering voice. "What could I possibly—"

Suddenly, I froze, and my voice cut off. A horrified gasp escaped me as I stared over to the edge of the palm forest.

Mr Ambrose's head whipped around, searching the tree line. "What is it, Mrs Ambrose? What did you see?"

I let out a gasp, my point shooting up to point to the left. "L-look! Over there! The tiger!"

Whirling around to follow my outstretched arm with his eyes, Mr Ambrose tensed. "Where?"

"...doesn't exist," I finished and pounced on him. Before he could so much as blink, I was on top of him, grinning like a loon. "God, I can't believe that worked!"

The look that Mr Rikkard Ambrose sent me could have frozen a tropical forest. In fact, I could have sworn I saw some frost spreading over the nearby palms.

"Mrs. Lillian. Ambrose. You...!"

That was when I reached down and grabbed the hardest part of him I could find. "You were saying, Mr Ambrose, Sir?"

"Nnng!"

"What was that?" Leaning forward, I traced my free hand's fingers down his chest. This time, the buttons didn't stop me. "You said you were feeling a little too hot?"

My hand squeezed around his length.

"Hnnr...!"

"I think that was a yes. Don't you worry, Dick. Let me help you." I leaned forward, smiling down at him sweetly. The fact that I was undulating my derrière right on top of his nickname was surely pure coincidence, right? "I think I have an idea what to do."

I only needed a single moment before I had his shirt wide open. In the fading light of the flickering campfire, his muscles glistened like polished bronze, like some ancient statue of a Greek god. Let me just say that I was suddenly very appreciative of ancient art.

It was all right to feel up art, right? That's what connoisseurs do.

Oh, to hell with it! Who cares?

My hand started roaming all over his prone body, taking in every delicious inch, every familiar bulge and dip. I could feel his rock-hard muscles tensing beneath my fingers. I could feel his scars, accumulated over years filled with dangers and adventures. I could feel his heart beating for me. Beating with me.

A groan escaped from his throat. "Ahh...Lilly, you can't...we shouldn't..."

"Why? Because you aren't in control? Because you aren't on top?" I undulated my hips again, eliciting another groan. Leaning down as far as I could, I whispered, "Remember your speech, darling. You're a feminist now. Surely, you wouldn't mind surrendering to your lady wife for just one night?"

"Ng! Never!"

I smirked. This was why being married to Mr Rikkard Ambrose was so much fun. Reaching down, I once more grabbed my Darling Dick by his nickname.

"Pardon, Mr Ambrose, Sir? What did you say?"

I squeezed.

"Nnnngdarg!"

"Ah, yes. That's what I thought I heard."

I watched him squirm beneath me, this man who was mine and mine alone. And as I did, heat rose deep within me, and need, and a feeling that went far beyond that. It was a heady feeling. A feeling of...power. Of incredible, addicting power. This powerful, beautiful man, who had more money than I could count, who commanded ships, lands and companies across all five continents, was writhing underneath me, brought low by nothing more than what he felt in his heart. For me.

Well...my hand on his pecker might also have had something to do with it.

My grin widened. Speaking of which...

Squeeze.

"Aaaagh!"

"Now, my dear..." I leaned down as far as I possibly could, gazing straight into his eyes. Eyes that were blazing up at me, burning with arctic fire. "Do you submit?"

"N—"

Squeeze.

"—rrgg!"

"What was that, Mr Ambrose, Sir?" For the third time, I swayed my hips. His eyes clamped shut and, below me, I felt him twitch. "I didn't quite get your answer. Do you mind having a woman..." Squeeze. "...being in charge?"

That night, Mr Rikkard Ambrose professed to be an ardent follower of feminism.

***

I blinked, my sleep disturbed by the distant call of birds. Slowly, I let my gaze drift over the inside of our little hut, flooded by sunlight, and the events of yesterday came rushing back. The storm, the saboteur, being shipwrecked, Mr Ambrose trying to find food and water, Mr Ambrose with a crab clamped to his nose, Mr Ambrose on his back with me on top doing...

Ehem.

Smirking broadly, I let my gaze settle on my dear husband, who was lying only a foot or so away, staring at me with a censorious gaze.

"I have to say," I told him, "I'm really glad you have suddenly decided to embrace matriarchy. It's wonderful to know I've married a man who is smart enough to agree that women should rule the world."

"I," he told me in a tone more icy than anything on a tropical island had any right to be, "most certainly do not."

"Oh?" I cocked an eyebrow. "So you didn't mean it when, last night, you screamed for me to just—"

"No comment."

"And when you begged me to—"

"I said no comment."

"You really know how to ruin a lady's morning, don't you?"

His eyes flashed and, suddenly, he was right beside me, icy gaze spearing into me. "I also know how to make a lady's morning. Or her entire day, for that matter."

I swallowed and, looking at him, couldn't help but believe it. I knew I had been on top of this man last night. But, meeting his icy eyes as he stared me down, that was really, really hard to remember or believe.

"Oh? Is that so, Sir?"

"It is indeed."

I licked my lips. "Then...how are you going to make my day today?"

He cocked his head. "Naturally, there's only one way."

"Y-yes?"

"By making breakfast."

Huh?

Mr Rikkard I-Live-Off-Bread-And-Water Ambrose, cooking breakfast? Why would he—

Just then, my stomach rumbled. It was impressive how, without moving a single facial muscle, Mr Rikkard Ambrose could manage to look so insufferably smug.

"Perhaps...perhaps you might be right."

"Is that so, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes!" I confirmed, sounding more certain. "After all, I am your beloved wife. And pregnant to boot." Seductively, I batted my up at him. "Don't I deserve breakfast in bed?"

"You aren't in a bed."

Darn! Why did he have to be so bloody observant?

"Breakfast on the beach, then, Mr Ambrose, Sir." Reaching out, I gently stroked the top of his pectorals, which were still visible through his unbuttoned shirt. "Doesn't that sound romantic?"

"Hm." He gave me a cool look. "Well...I suppose we would have to consume a meal at some point before discussing our next step. I might as well get to it."

I grinned. Being a strong, independent woman was fun. But ordering around men was somehow even more fun. Especially my man.

Hm...maybe Patsy has a point after all. Establishing a matriarchy might not be such a bad idea.

Hastily banishing all hints of those thoughts from my face as Mr Ambrose looked over at me, I gave him a brilliant smile.

"Why, thank you, dear! Whatever would I do without you?"

He considered that for a moment. "I shudder to think."

"You....!" I threw a shell at his head. The bloody son of a bachelor ducked out of the way without even looking. In a blink, he was out of range, heading down the beach in search of food.

"I hope the crabs bite your nose off!" I shouted after him.

He didn't appear to have heard.

Grumbling, I pushed myself to my feet and, picking some coconuts off the pile of still unopened fruits, I pulled out my makeshift tool from yesterday to start puncturing eyes. Greedily, I drank the contents of two coconuts, then set two more aside. Just in case I would be thirsty later, of course. It had nothing whatsoever to do with wanting to have something cool to drink for my stupid iceberg of a husband once he got back from having his crab-hunt.

It only took about half an hour for him to return and, to my severe disappointment, he did so without a crab dangling from his nose. He did, however, have several crabs in the palm leaf he was using as a makeshift bag. They seemed to have already met their demise. I spotted a limp crab leg dangling out of one side of the palm leaf. Right then and there, I was very happy my husband was going to prepare breakfast.

My stomach rumbled again. Making my way over to the campfire, I stirred the ashes, and found some embers still glowering at the very bottom. Great! Seems like it wasn't going to take long till I got something to munch on!

"How did you get that thing started at all?" I enquired. "I doubt any matches survived being shipwrecked."

Reaching into his pocket, Mr Ambrose fished out two dark grey, almost black, stones. Were those...?

"Flintstones," he told me curtly. "After..."

He cut off. Something about his tone of voice, though, made me think it was because of more than a simple lack of loquaciousness. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him tense ever so slightly.

"Yes?"

"After I ran away from home, it only took one night, alone, out in the dark, almost freezing to death. After that, I started always carrying those with me."

I froze. My gaze flicked over to where he stood. His face was hard and unmoving as ever, but...

"Come here." I reached out. "Let me take care of those."

He glanced down at the bloody crabs. "Are you sure? It isn't very..."

My hands closed around his, and I met his eyes. "I'm sure. We're in this together, aren't we?"

He gazed at me for a long moment—then nodded. "Yes. Yes, we are."

I couldn't help but smile. "Then, would you mind bringing me some water from the ocean?" My finger pointed at the crabs without touching them. "I don't fancy eating those things without cleaning them first."

He nodded. "Coming up here, I saw a cracked-open coconut that had fallen from a cliff. I should be able to clean one and use it as an improvised bucket. Or maybe I can use a banana leaf."

"Great. You'll do that. Meanwhile, I'll..." I looked down at the crabs with a less than enthusiastic look. "...get cracking."

That morning reaffirmed a belief I had held ever since I was old enough to be conscripted for kitchen duty by my aunt: cooking was not for me. Most definitely on a deserted island without any oven, cooking implements, and ways to prepare food that didn't make me look like a serial killer!

"If you ever," I told Mr Rikkard Ambrose the moment he reappeared, "tell me to go to the kitchen and cook like a good little housewife, I will murder you!"

The statement was probably lent a bit more weight by the various slimy, unpleasant liquids splattered over the front of my dress, and the mangled remnants of crab clutched in my hands.

"I shall take your words into consideration, Mrs Ambrose. Now, shall we finish making dinner?"

My eyes narrowed. "That was a yes, right? You agreed just now, right?"

Silence.

"You...come here, you! Give me an answer! Hey, don't you dare sneak off!"

Suffice it to say that it took quite a while till we got to eating breakfast. Unfortunately, chasing your husband around the beach doesn't work quite so well when you're more than twenty weeks pregnant. For some reason though, I didn't particularly mind. Somehow, we ended up cuddled together in our little hut, slightly out of breath and nibbling on roasted crab.

"You know...we should play on the beach more often. That was fun."

Reaching up, Mr Rikkard Ambrose removed an offending grain of sand from his top hat. "Your definition of 'fun' leaves something to be desired, Mrs Ambrose."

I noticed, though, he didn't remove his arm from around my shoulder or move away from me.

We finished our breakfast in a silence that was, despite Mr Ambrose's best efforts, companionable. When the last bite was finally gone, we simply sat together, my head on his shoulder, watching the ocean.

"So...what now?"

The silence suddenly turned grim. That told me more than I really wanted to know.

I swallowed. "We...we could just stay here on the beach and go on like this until we're found, right?"

Again, grim silence.

"So...no relaxed holiday on the beach, then?"

"I'm afraid not." Taking a deep breath, he rose and strode out of the hut. I followed, and found him standing at the shore, staring out onto the ocean. Cautiously, I came up behind him.

"Mr Ambrose?"

Silence again. Then, after a moment...

"There are only so many crabs on the beach," he said, not looking at me, instead still staring at the open water. "But the real problem is that most of the trees around here aren't coconut palms, and the coconuts aren't going to last long. Once they run out and we don't have any drinking water any more..."

He trailed off. But he didn't really need to continue. If there was one thing I had learned from my time with Mr Rikkard Ambrose, it was that, sometimes, silence said more than a thousand words.

"We could light a larger fire. Maybe the smoke will attract our escort ships."

"Maybe," he agreed. "Or maybe it will attract any of the dozen or so pirate ships infesting the region."

There wasn't much I could say to that. You didn't need to be a math genius to know which was more likely.

"So...what are we going to do?"

In answer, he turned around. Away from the ocean. Away from the beach. His gaze went right past me, towards the opposite direction from the sea. Turning my head, I followed his eyes to where he was looking.

The jungle. The steaming, wild centre of the island, where, from among the shadows of the trees, rustles and other disquieting sounds originated. For one moment, I thought I saw a pair of yellow eyes, staring at me unblinkingly.

"So..." I swallowed.

He nodded. "We must head inland to find a stream or pond. If we don't, we won't last longer than a few days."

I glanced at the forest again where, just a moment ago, the yellow eyes had been. "But if we go, we won't have access to food anymore. We might not even last that long."

The icy look in Mr Ambrose's eyes told me he had already realized that fact.

Or it just told me he was being his usual arctic self. But I was pretty sure it was the former.

"Quite correct, Mrs Ambrose." He gave a curt nod. "The moment we step into that jungle, we risk our lives just by being there."

"Also, if our escort ships come searching for us, and we aren't at the beach anymore..."

"Yes. They will pass us by."

"We have no idea what kinds of predators or poisonous animals are inside that jungle."

"Indeed."

There was a moment of silence. Those were pretty prevalent recently, weren't they?

"So..." I cocked my head, one corner of my mouth quirking up. "When do we go?"

He met my eyes. There wasn't a hint of surprise in his gaze. Instead, what I saw there was a mirror image of my own steely determination.

"An hour. I'll gather all the food I can."

"What about water?"

His face hardened. "We should take some with us, but..." He gestured to the remaining heap of coconuts.

I understood. We didn't exactly come equipped with bags or knapsacks, so taking more than one or two each would be nearly impossible. But without water we wouldn't even last two days! What could we—

Ah!

I snapped my fingers. "I think I've got an idea."

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"I'll have to thank Ella for this," I muttered, striding towards the coconuts. "Never thought this would come in useful!"

"Pardon, Mrs Ambrose, but how does your little sister relate to surviving on a deserted island?"

"Easter decorations, of course!"

"Easter decorations?"

"Yep!" Tearing a thin strip of cloth off my dress, I used my shell shard to punch through two of the eyes of a coconut, and nimbly threaded the cloth strip through the holes. Then I did it with a second coconut, and a third. "Never thought I'd do this with coconuts instead of painted eggs, though."

Mr Ambrose stared for a moment—then cocked his head. "That was actually an...adequate idea."

"Oh, I know," I told him and, finished with my string of a dozen coconuts, hung it over his neck. He nearly buckled under the weight. I beamed at him. "I'm a genius, aren't I?"

"You...!"

Sweetly, I batted my eyelashes up at him. "You wouldn't ask your poor little pregnant wife to carry heavy weights, now, would you?"

A muscle in Mr Ambrose's jaw twitched. "No. Certainly not."

I hugged him tightly. "You're such a gentleman!"

"Indeed." He gave me a look that told me exactly what this "gentleman" would do once I was back in his office and under his command. Or in his bedroom.

For some reason, that made my smile only widen.

"Shall we?" Releasing him from my embrace, I held out my hand to him.

He cast a last, grim look at the jungle towering in front of us. Other than me, I could guess that he, having travelled halfway across the world and back, actually had a faint idea of what awaited us in there. And he didn't seem to like it in the least.

"Well, look at it like this," I told him. "At least things can't get any worse, right?"

"Famous last words."

I smirked. "Except for you, because you wouldn't say anything."

Silence.

I lifted my hand a little closer towards him. "Together?"

He looked at the jungle again—then nodded and linked my fingers with his own.

"Together."

And, hand in hand, we strode into the trees.

Only a few minutes after the beach had once more become silent and empty, a ship appeared on the distant horizon. At the top of its highest mask fluttered a flag in black and white, with a grinning skull in the centre.

--------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Yes, Mr Ambrose managed to keep his hat while getting shipwrecked. He's Mr Rikkard Ambrose ;)

By the way, in  case anyone among you is knowledgeable about Caribbean cuisine, you might comment that, unlike in the chapter above, crabs are usually cooked alive. This is because, soon after they are killed, bacteria begin to develop in their flesh, increasing the risk of infection if the meat is consumed. I doubt, however, that Mr Ambrose would know this even if he is rather well-travelled, which is why I wrote the scene as I did. What do you think?

Yours Truly

Sir Rob