What could you say?

The morning air is a little chilly and you are glad to see Amala start a fire. In a way it is a little disappointing that she doesn't rub sticks together or some other fancy survival skill, instead she uses a lighter that she had stashed in a pocket. Breakfast is a can of beans and as you eat, the captain's wife lays out her plan for the next few days.

"No one is expecting use for another five or six days, so I doubt there's going to anyone searching, but we should lay out an SOS on the beach and have a signal fire ready to go." She tells you as she licks the last of the beans off her fingers. You are sure the act isn't meant to be as sensual as she makes it look, but the way her full lips wrap around her finger reminds you of the fantasies that plagued you last night. "I for one am sick of this canned food too, so we should build some fish traps and maybe start trapping crabs too."

"What about those fat birds all over the place?" You ask remembering the pheasants you hunted with your grandfather years ago, "and aren't there supposed to be wild pigs on these islands?" Amala nods her head making the thick black curls wave like the swaying palm trees.

"Yes, and in addition to the coconuts, I saw some breadfruit we can roast and some small wild mangos." She rises to her feet and moves to where you are sitting and rests her hand on your shoulder. "We just have to settle down until someone sends out a search plane. I'm guessing whoever Mr. Fats and his handsy goon were planning to meet will start complaining when they don't arrive in Fiji."

The rest of the morning passes quickly as you help Amala erect a fish trap in the eddies where the freshwater stream meets the sea. The woody stems of dried palm fronds sharpened and driven into the sandy bottom of the estuary are secured along the top with bits of twine from untwisting one of the throw lines. Once again you are impressed with how nimble your partner's fingers are and without a word you accept your role as the muscle-guy and let her do the planning and careful work of tying together the flat sticks.

There is a brief awkward moment when she directs you to strip off your pants before wading into the shallows, but it isn't like you have much to change into once these jeans are trashed so you pull them and the boots off your feet and wade into the water wearing nothing but your grey boxers. It is a good thing that the water was pretty cold, because Amala has also removed her modest top and is wearing only a swim top that does little to hide her plump tits.

If it wasn't for the frequent splash of cold water on your crotch, the thin cotton of your underwear would be badly tented by your erection. As it is, you're pretty sure you see Amala checking out your package just about as often as you eye up her breasts.

In an effort to keep your mind on safer topics, you ask Amala about the two male passengers that seemed so out of place on a ship like the Duck.

"Who were those guys anyways?" You ask, still confused about why two rich white guys would pay to have cross the Pacific from Hawaii on a private sailboat instead of flying first class or even renting a private jet.

"Don't know, John. Kyle introduced us to them and said they needed to get out of US territory under the Radar, so to speak." You think over that nugget of information as you finish placing the fish trap. It doesn't really surprise you that the shifty navigator might have connections like that. Amala goes on to explain that Captain Wilson didn't really care much about who the passengers were. "Jake never asked too many questions if the money was good, and the money was really good for that pair."

Judging by the sour tone in Amala's sweetly accented voice, you can only imagine that this was a point of contention between her and the late Captain Wilson. You start to press her on this, but a quick glance at the cold look on her normally sweet face makes you think twice.