Later that night

“Excuse me, Professor.”

The Professor turned suddenly to see Ginger standing in a translucent negligee. “Excuse me, I’ve always been attracted to smart men.” She closed with him and sat on the log next to him. Then she leaned over and kissed him, holding his face in her lithe hands.

The Professor's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected this attention from the glamorous movie star. His pipe nearly fell from his mouth as Ginger's lips pressed against his. She tasted faintly of coconut and something distinctly feminine that made his scientific mind momentarily short-circuit.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes gleamed in the firelight. "I've been watching you all day," she whispered. "The way your hands worked so precisely building the shelters. So... capable."

The Professor cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses, which had fogged slightly. "Miss Grant, I hardly think this is appropriate given our current predicament."

Ginger's laugh was low and throaty. "What better time than when we're stranded on a deserted island? Who knows how long we'll be here?" Her hand slid onto his thigh, warm even through the fabric of his khakis. "Besides, I've always wondered what it would be like to be with a man who actually uses his brain."

The Professor felt heat creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the nearby fire. His scientific detachment was rapidly failing him as Ginger leaned closer, her negligee gaping to reveal the shadowy valley between her breasts.

"I'm not sure the others would—" he began.

"They're all asleep," Ginger interrupted, her fingers tracing small circles on his thigh. "And I've seen the way you look at me when you think no one notices."

He gulped. He shifted to rearrange his stiffening cock. His breath came in shallow gasps.

She kissed him again, taking his hand and placing it on her firm, warm breast. His brain was spinning faster than a carnival ride as he was overwhelmed by physical sensations.

The Professor's fingers responded of their own accord, gently squeezing her breast through the thin fabric. He felt her nipple harden against his palm, sending a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. All his scientific detachment, all his rational thought processes seemed to evaporate in the tropical night air.

"Ginger," he murmured, his voice hoarse with unexpected desire.

She smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes that he'd only seen when she described her most challenging film roles. "That's better," she purred, sliding closer until she was practically in his lap. The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the curve of her cheekbones and the fullness of her lips.

His other hand moved to her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the diaphanous negligee. The Professor had always prided himself on his self-control, on the dominance of mind over body, but Ginger's proximity was wreaking havoc on his carefully ordered world.

"I've always wondered what you science types are like when you... experiment," she whispered against his ear, her breath sending shivers down his spine.

The Professor swallowed hard. "I assure you, my methodology is quite thorough," he managed, surprising himself with the double entendre.

Ginger laughed softly, the sound melting into the night along with the distant crash of waves against the shore. Her hand slid higher on his thigh, and the Professor felt his body responding.