sense.
“I used to be a Surf Life Saver,” she told him, as if she could read minds. “In Australia.”
A current dragged her away and he grabbed her with his free hand, gripping the ladder with the other, terrified she’d disappear into the depths. He absorbed the sensation of bare flesh and a naked arm.
Frowning, he changed his focus. He’d told her he couldn’t swim the first day they’d met. Had she pushed him in? So he’d be grateful to her for saving his life?
You think I’m stupid? His fingers tightened around her arm, and her eyes widened in alarm. She tried to break his grip, only he wasn’t letting go.
“Where are your clothes?” Each word was hissed through gritted teeth.
“I wasn’t going to ruin my best cardy because some crazy Yank jumped in the harbor.” The first vestige of anxiety made her eyes go black and she started splashing water as she struggled.
He swore, loosening his grip because he didn’t want to drown them. “I didn’t jump in. I was pushed.” The foul water made his voice rough and his throat ache.
“And you think I did it?” She finally pried away his thumb and, shoving his hand from her, climbed the ladder to the top of the harbor wall.
He scrambled to follow, relief shooting through his system as he pulled clear of the water.
“You ungrateful…” She clamped down on a curse. “I freeze my ass off in the harbor saving your life because you’re too dumb to learn how to swim, and you think I pushed you in? Ha!”
She hauled herself over the side. Ben crawled up behind her, clinging to hold onto something. Anything. His stomach went into spasm, getting rid of all the crap he’d swallowed. Staring at the tarmac, he knew he’d rather face guns, killers and natural disasters than go back in the water.
Sorcha was still pissed. “Why, for God’s sake? To get your attention? In your dreams, pal.” She stomped away, water pouring off her near-naked body, butt cheeks bouncing with every step she took.
He wiped his mouth. Even when he was freezing and puking up his guts, she still had the power to turn him on. Great. Freakin’ great.
He rolled onto his back, trying to regain control of his body. The only thing that could make this worse was contracting diphtheria or having his cover blown wide open—if it wasn’t already. He glanced across the small chasm toward the inner harbor. Saw nothing except shadows.
Realizing he was stretched out on the blacktop like a crime victim, he staggered to his feet and followed Sorcha. She didn’t go far, a few yards down the pier and then she clambered down another rickety ladder onto a little red yacht.
Hot daggers plunged into his innards.
It took a couple of deep breaths to work up courage to follow her, but finally he scaled the ladder and lurched unsteadily on a tiny deck.
Clothes were cast haphazardly upon the polished wood. Her clothes. The ones she’d been wearing in the pub. And the boat was on the opposite pier to the one he’d been standing on when someone had shoved his ass into the water.
Damn. She couldn’t have pushed him in. Not unless she’d been running around town in her underwear.
He ran his fingers through his hair, which held the residual slickness of oil. He owed her an apology. The lights on the pier obliterated the stars as he raised his face to heaven and cursed. He headed down the step and knocked on the tiny door that led inside the boat’s cabin.
She opened it, naked except for a thick towel.
Thought disintegrated. Wetting his lips, he tried to speak, but his eyes got stuck on the line of her collarbone and his tongue stopped working. Her skin looked as soft as peaches—except for a ring of bruises on her arm.
“Dammit.” He reached out to touch the redness. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s nothing.” She jerked her arm away. “People do stupid things when they’re scared.”
He watched her swallow and knew he’d hurt her with more than bruises. A drug dealer with a
“I used to be a Surf Life Saver,” she told him, as if she could read minds. “In Australia.”
A current dragged her away and he grabbed her with his free hand, gripping the ladder with the other, terrified she’d disappear into the depths. He absorbed the sensation of bare flesh and a naked arm.
Frowning, he changed his focus. He’d told her he couldn’t swim the first day they’d met. Had she pushed him in? So he’d be grateful to her for saving his life?
You think I’m stupid? His fingers tightened around her arm, and her eyes widened in alarm. She tried to break his grip, only he wasn’t letting go.
“Where are your clothes?” Each word was hissed through gritted teeth.
“I wasn’t going to ruin my best cardy because some crazy Yank jumped in the harbor.” The first vestige of anxiety made her eyes go black and she started splashing water as she struggled.
He swore, loosening his grip because he didn’t want to drown them. “I didn’t jump in. I was pushed.” The foul water made his voice rough and his throat ache.
“And you think I did it?” She finally pried away his thumb and, shoving his hand from her, climbed the ladder to the top of the harbor wall.
He scrambled to follow, relief shooting through his system as he pulled clear of the water.
“You ungrateful…” She clamped down on a curse. “I freeze my ass off in the harbor saving your life because you’re too dumb to learn how to swim, and you think I pushed you in? Ha!”
She hauled herself over the side. Ben crawled up behind her, clinging to hold onto something. Anything. His stomach went into spasm, getting rid of all the crap he’d swallowed. Staring at the tarmac, he knew he’d rather face guns, killers and natural disasters than go back in the water.
Sorcha was still pissed. “Why, for God’s sake? To get your attention? In your dreams, pal.” She stomped away, water pouring off her near-naked body, butt cheeks bouncing with every step she took.
He wiped his mouth. Even when he was freezing and puking up his guts, she still had the power to turn him on. Great. Freakin’ great.
He rolled onto his back, trying to regain control of his body. The only thing that could make this worse was contracting diphtheria or having his cover blown wide open—if it wasn’t already. He glanced across the small chasm toward the inner harbor. Saw nothing except shadows.
Realizing he was stretched out on the blacktop like a crime victim, he staggered to his feet and followed Sorcha. She didn’t go far, a few yards down the pier and then she clambered down another rickety ladder onto a little red yacht.
Hot daggers plunged into his innards.
It took a couple of deep breaths to work up courage to follow her, but finally he scaled the ladder and lurched unsteadily on a tiny deck.
Clothes were cast haphazardly upon the polished wood. Her clothes. The ones she’d been wearing in the pub. And the boat was on the opposite pier to the one he’d been standing on when someone had shoved his ass into the water.
Damn. She couldn’t have pushed him in. Not unless she’d been running around town in her underwear.
He ran his fingers through his hair, which held the residual slickness of oil. He owed her an apology. The lights on the pier obliterated the stars as he raised his face to heaven and cursed. He headed down the step and knocked on the tiny door that led inside the boat’s cabin.
She opened it, naked except for a thick towel.
Thought disintegrated. Wetting his lips, he tried to speak, but his eyes got stuck on the line of her collarbone and his tongue stopped working. Her skin looked as soft as peaches—except for a ring of bruises on her arm.
“Dammit.” He reached out to touch the redness. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s nothing.” She jerked her arm away. “People do stupid things when they’re scared.”
He watched her swallow and knew he’d hurt her with more than bruises. A drug dealer with a
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