“Okay, little momma,” he said to her, holding them low enough for her to nuzzle and lick them.
Paige pushed back the hair that was plastered to her face. “Let me grab the other two.”
“Hurry.”
“Nah,” she said. “I was thinking I would splash around a bit in this sludge. Maybe do the backstroke.”
“Very funny,” he said as she started waddle-walking back through the pipe. But it wasn’t funny. Nothing about this was. He glanced over his shoulder at the raging surf behind them. Tide was coming in, which wasn’t going to make this any easier. His gaze shifted to the sky. Another crack of lightning zigzagged through the clouds just as Paige let out a bone-chilling scream.
Chapter 8
Paige’s ass hit the bottom of the drainpipe. Hard. She knew it would leave a bruise on her tailbone, but neither that nor the considerable bruise to her ego mattered at the moment. Because even though Mr. Hot-As-Crap had no doubt seen her less-than-graceful tumble into the vat of disgust, all she cared about at the moment was rescuing the two remaining pups.
Once she had them, she somehow managed to shimmy her way back through the bars with a pup in each hand, although she knew for certain her ass wasn’t the only thing that would be black and blue come morning. Her boobs were going to look pretty rough from the smooshing they’d received. And she’d thought her first mammogram was bad! That nurse at the hospital with her cold hands and her X-ray vise had nothing on a drainpipe jail break.
But the important thing was that the mother and all four pups were safe.
Back at the Inn, Lucas gathered as many towels as he could find.
“Let’s bring them into the living room, and I’ll start a fire.”
“Shouldn’t we stay out here on the porch?” She was a mess. Dripping wet and covered with mud. At least she was telling herself it was mud. Judging by the smell, it was probably a whole lot more than that. Surely he didn’t want her and the five dogs in his living room.
Apparently he did.
“That old potbelly won’t give off enough heat.” He gathered the puppies into his arms in one scoop and led Paige and the momma stray through the house. Once the canine family was all settled in front of the hearth, he began piling logs onto an iron grate.
“That was a crazy thing to do,” he said.
It was. But in the moment Paige hadn’t been thinking logically. All she knew was that she needed to get to those dogs. “They looked so helpless.” Her gaze shifted to the momma, who was now nursing her pups. “And she was so sad.” A lump formed in the back of Paige’s throat. What was it about this island? First, she almost cried in front of Lucas, and now she was about to turn into a puddle over a canine reunion. At the rate things were going, she’d be a snotty mess when holiday commercials rolled around again.
Lucas lit a match and held it to the kindling he’d arranged under the logs. Once it caught, he turned to Paige. “You’re shaking.” He stood and started for the stairs. “Let me run and grab some more blankets.”
“Actually, do you mind if I take that shower now?” she asked. Her teeth actually chattered as she spoke.
“Of course.” Then after a flash of lightning he added, “But isn’t there something about not showering during a storm?”
She laughed, but the stuttering sound was more shiver than joy. “I’ll take my chances. It’s either that or death from my own smell. Besides, it’s a lot less dangerous than being in that pipe.”
“True.” He smiled, and damn if he didn’t look perfect. Certainly not like a man who’d just participated in a daring animal rescue. Even his hair had that sexy, rumpled, wet look some guys tried to get by using products they would later deny they ever bought. Sure, his coat and jeans were soaked, but at least they were clean. Then again, he hadn’t gone for a swim in sludge. “There’s a laundry chute in the bathroom. Toss the dirty stuff down, and we can throw it in the washer after dinner.”
Paige couldn’t imagine a detergent that was strong enough to clean her clothes. Not to mention the fact that her sweater was dry-clean only. She sniffed her shoulder and winced. “Might just throw them away.” Or burn them. “But thanks.”
When she walked into the bathroom, the sight of her own reflection nearly made her scream. Unlike her host, Paige’s “wet look” was far from that of a model. She pried a lock of hair from her temple. More like plaster. If plaster was made from mud.
She dumped her clothes down the chute and turned on the tap. As soon as the water was warm, she stepped into the claw-foot tub and pulled the curtain around the circular rod. A soak would have felt like heaven to her aching muscles, but she didn’t want to be away from the pups that long. So for now a shower would have to suffice. It took two rounds of shampoo to get her hair clean—marking the first time in her life she actually followed the bottle’s directions to lather, rinse, repeat—and when she was finally satisfied that the water flowing to the drain was actually clear, she turned off the tap. As she did, the room went dark.
What the…
Paige slid the shower curtain open and groped along the wall in search of a towel, but when she found the hook, it was empty. There should be some in the wardrobe in the bedroom. A lot of good it did her to remember that now. She tried to picture the layout of the room. She was certain she’d seen at least a hand towel on a small rack next to the pedestal sink. She stepped out of the tub and slid her hand along the wall. Sink, faucet. She dropped to her knees…trash can…toilet…and then finally…bingo! Towel rack. She ran her hands along each shelf. Empty.
She thought about trying to take the shower curtain off the hooks, but that would take forever in the dark, and she was already freezing. Again.
There was only one choice: make a run for it. Paige opened the door and peeked out into the hall. Everything was dark except for the intermittent flashes of lightning illuminating the windows on the stairs. If she timed it just right, she would have enough light to make it to the door.
A bolt of lightning zigzagged through the sky. Paige stepped out into the hallway, and sure enough, the lightning did allow her to see. It was more what she saw that was the problem. Standing in front of her was Lucas Croft. Holding a flashlight. With the beam of light pointed directly at her chest.
Shit.
For a moment, neither of them said a word. Paige was far too shocked to form a coherent thought, let alone move. Lucas just stood there, his jaw slack, his eyes wide, and—her gaze dropped lower—his dick hard.
Holy hell.
He blinked, and the trance was broken. “Oh, shit. Sorry,” he blurted out.
Paige tried to cover herself, one hand low and one hand high, although a lot of good one hand did on her boobs. “What are you doing up here?”