Fighting to keep her eyes on his face instead of where they clamored to be—eating up every inch of his defined body—she held his clothes toward him. “Perhaps you could use the t-shirt as a trowel,” she suggested. Then she heard her own words, and blushed. “A towel, that is.”
“Good idea. Toss it over.” He made his way out of the water, each step a symphony of slick limbs and flexing muscles. He needed a theme song. A boom-chicka kind of soundtrack. She wished she could record this moment on her phone and watch it over and over again.
She shook herself back to reality and tossed him the t-shirt. He wiped his face first, clearing the saltwater from his eyes. Oh thank God. That gave her the chance to release the strict leash she had on her gaze. She allowed it to roam freely over his body, gathering details as she went. Wet hair swirling from his belly toward the waistband of his briefs. Navy fabric clinging to his thighs and private area. The bulge.
Wasn’t cold water supposed to make the manly parts shrink? She spotted no shrinkage. Unless he, in fact, had shrunk, and this was the shrunken version.
She swallowed hard and dragged her gaze back up just in time for his head to emerge from behind the t-shirt. He shook the excess water from his hair, then toweled it off with the shirt. With his arms raised overhead, the width of his chest was even more striking. His skin had an undertone of coppery gold to it, especially in places where the sun hit him, like the back of his neck. Maybe that was from his Chilean side. Whatever combination of genetics had produced this man had resulted in a masterpiece.
He finished with the t-shirt and extended his hand. “Shirt, please.”
With regret, she handed it over and watched him button it up over that spectacular chest. “Do you want your trousers too?”
“Not yet. My undies need to dry a bit first.” He winked at her. She found his word choice adorable, along with everything else about him. “If you weren’t here I’d be going commando.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” she blurted before even thinking about it. “I mean, you probably want to be comfortable and you don’t want to get a fungus.”
He nearly choked on his laugh. She realized that she enjoyed making him laugh. It was something she drew pleasure from in general, but with him, even more so. “True that,” he said, taking the trousers from her. “Be back in a second. Unless you want a show, I recommend watching the waves for a while.”
He loped up the beach toward the tumbled rocks of the breakwater.
And if I want a show? She left that thought where it belonged, in silence. She didn’t need the distraction of a sexy fisherman in her life. What she needed was a plan that would keep her safe.
Following his advice, she faced the glimmering expanse of the ocean. A tern winged across the waves, singleminded, as if it was late for an appointment. The small brown face of a sea otter popped above the surface, glanced around with curiosity, then disappeared again. A moment later, it reappeared, close enough for her to see its whiskers. She held her breath, savoring the magic of the place and the moment.
On the cruise ship, she rarely had time to pay attention to their surroundings. She had a busy schedule of kiddie performances in the day, then adult shows at night. She wondered how the others were getting on without her. Britney would have to take over the kids’ shows. They’d have to eliminate the “Singing in the Rain” sketch because no one else knew how to tap dance.
They all probably either hated her by now, or were terribly worried for her. She’d love to get a message through to them that she was fine and very sorry for disappearing, but that seemed much too risky.
Or maybe it wasn’t, what did she know? She had zero experience with dodging bad guys. Face it, she was in way over her head. If only she could bob with the waves like that sea otter.
The creature’s eyes were so moist they seemed to be made of seawater. He was looking at her, completely unafraid. As if this was his world and she was an interesting new curiosity.
“Making friends with the wildlife?” Tristan’s deep voice interrupted her reverie. He stepped next to her, fully clothed but just as potent as ever. “Never trust a sea otter, by the way. They’ll steal your catch right from under you. They can eat a quarter of their body weight a day.”
“Same,” she said, feeling even more kinship with the creatures. “I have days like that, don’t we all?”
He chuckled. “When I get home from a fishing trip, the first thing I do is go to the Burger Queen and order half the menu.”
The sea otter performed a sinuous flip back under the waves.
“You scared him away.” She sighed, missing the bright-eyed visitor.
“He isn’t afraid of me. The sea otters can get away with anything. They’re federally protected and I swear they know it. They’re like the Lokis of the ocean. I love them, but they drive the crab fishermen nuts.”
Sure enough, the otter popped back up a second later, now floating on his back, feasting on something.
“I like how he uses his belly as a table.” She laughed, enchanted by the creature. “Like me when I watch the telly.”
“Yeah, they’re cute as hell.” His smile dropped a little, and he looked over his left shoulder. Then his right.
She peered behind him, a feeling of dread gathering in her stomach. “What’s the matter?”
“I get the feeling we’re being watched. But I don’t see anyone.”
“I know that feeling from matinee shows on the cruise ship.”
Her crack didn’t draw so much as a smile from him. He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “Maybe we should get back to the truck.”
The urge to run at top speed came over her. She wanted to flee, to hide, to burrow into safety. “Slowly, like normal? Or should we make a run for it?”
“Split the difference and make it a fast walk?”
She nodded and licked her lips nervously. He noticed and bent to murmur in her ear, “I’m right beside you. They’ll have to go through me, whoever it is, even if it’s just a squirrel.”
He took her hand and she had to admit it felt good, big and rough-palmed, though still a little clammy from his time in the water. They walked quickly across the beach, all the seaweed and stranded crabs nothing but a blur to her. He kept his body angled so that if any hazard came flying at them, he’d take the brunt of it.
Which was absolutely not fair, she realized. She couldn’t expect this near-stranger to take a bullet for her.
A bullet. Was that what she was afraid of? This was America, after all, and guns were easy to acquire. Mr. Bad Guy probably had an entire arsenal. He could be hiding in those rocks, aiming one of those laser-dot jabberwockies at them.
Her heart pounded and adrenaline flooded her system. Fear, primitive and unreasonable, washed over her. Sweat made her hands slick.
“We got this,” Tristan murmured. “See the truck? We’re almost there.”
And they were…the rocks of the breakwater were just a few feet away, and once they climbed that, they’d reach the guardrail, and then the truck…except something was happening to the truck. It was breaking apart…flames…metal…
Tristan slammed her to the sand at the edge of the breakwater and threw his body on top of her. A percussive wave of sound passed through her. Her ears rang like a bell, then a high whine took over.