As for Mitzy, the idiot only stopped fighting when I sang to her. I don’t even know what I sang, but the melody lingers in the back of my mind. There’s something about it that refuses to let go, a haunting emotion echoing in my mind.
I carry her out of the water to where I stashed my stuff, hiding in a pile of rocks. The punishing swim and treacherous surf take the last of my energy. Staggering like a drunkard, it’s a struggle not to drop Mitzy before I can put her down. My entire body is sapped of strength, every cell squeezed of its last bit of energy. I sink to my knees and roll to my back until my muscles stop trembling.
Not done yet, I force myself to sit. I undo the band around my ankle and grab my board. Mitzy barely breathes, but she is breathing.
I pull out my bag from behind the rocks and grab my cellphone. I punch in Forest’s number.
“What’s up?” As our band manager, Forest does pretty much everything for us. I should’ve called 9-1-1, but I automatically dialed his number.
“I’ve got a situation.” Quickly, I explain about Mitzy.
“What the fuck?” Forest is achingly invested in Mitzy. “How did she fall in the water?”
I may have given the briefest descriptions, but really? Does it matter?
“She put her back to the ocean and paid the price.”
“That means shit to me. How is she with you?” Forest is kind of a dork when it comes to people, but I think he figures out a lot more than he lets on. “Don’t fuck with Mitzy, or I’ll send her boyfriend after you.”
She’s got a boyfriend? Why is this the first I’m hearing of it? Not that I’ve shown much interest, but I have checked her out. Other than her sharp tongue, the girl’s a knockout.
Off-limits it is.
“She’s with me because I’m the dumb asshole who rescued her. The sooner you can take her off my hands, the better.”
All of my meditation for the day is wasted. Mitzy’s actions are going to fuck with my energy for the rest of the damn day.
“Where are you?” Forest asks.
“You know where.”
Forest knows where I put in the water. It’s about a half-mile south of Insanity and the only somewhat safe place to get in and out of the water. Dangerous surf signs parade down the beach, posted along with the No swimming signs I routinely ignore.
“Look, she’s cold and isn’t responding.” I kneel beside Mitzy. “You need to hurry; I think she’s in shock.”
“Hey, Noodles.” Skye’s lilting voice fills my ear.
I breathe a sigh of relief because as an emergency doctor, she knows what to do.
“You need to keep her warm. Do you have anything dry?”
“I’ve got a towel, but it’s not that big.”
“You’re wearing your wetsuit, right?”
“I am.” I always wear a wetsuit. The water is far too cold to go without.
“Take it off. If you hold her with that on, she’ll only get colder as the wind evaporates the water.”
“You want me to take my wetsuit off?”
“Yes, and strip her out of her clothes. Use your body’s heat to keep her warm. You need to be skin to skin. Got it?”
“And how am I to do that?”
“Hold her, spoon with her, I don’t care how you do it. Keep her warm. Use the towel to cover the parts of her that aren’t next to your skin. Make sense?”
“You want me to strip a girl I barely know and get skin to skin with her.” Mitzy’s boyfriend won’t like this one bit.
“Noodles, just do it.” Skye gives an exacerbated sigh on the other end of the phone.
“I’m doing it, but I want it on record, I’m only doing this under doctor’s orders.”
“Just do it.”
I yank at the zipper of my wet suit and shrug my broad shoulders free. It takes a bit of work to peel the wet neoprene off my body, but soon I stand in just my board shorts. No way am I taking those off.
I crouch beside Mitzy and strip her out of her clothes. Like my board shorts, I leave her bra and panties on. Sitting back, I draw her into my lap and fold my body around her as much as I can.
Her body is so cold a shiver ripples through me. She snuggles in, seeking warmth.
“Come on, little pixie.” I try soothing her with my voice. “Don’t let go. Fight it. Come back to me.” Once Skye and Forest get here, I can forget all about the troublesome pixie I rock in my arms.
A mix of chaos and confusion, she’s calm and fragile in my arms. The woman I hold is nothing like the sharp and derisive person who’s been stalking the halls of Insanity. Maybe I missed something in my haste to avoid her troublesome tongue and piercing stares.
But she’s a chick, a pretty chick, and she’s causing a huge problem right now, messing with my mind and body. Seriously, I’m confused and getting hard for a nearly drowned chick.
That’s wrong.
Strip Mitzy out of her clothes and share your body heat.
Strip Mitzy…
Skye has no idea how not thrilled I am. The only thing between me and Mitzy is the thin fabric of my board shorts and the barely-there thong she wears.
Considering how many women I’ve seduced out of their silky, lacy, and sometimes cotton, panties, I’m a pretty good judge of what I’ll find underneath a woman’s clothes.
I pegged Mitzy as a cotton undies kind of girl. Maybe one who wears those cute little boy shorts. Not in a million years would I have guessed she’s one of those dental-floss girls.
She doesn’t strike me as a woman in touch with her femininity. She’s exquisitely pretty with her upturned nose, pert lips, heart-shaped face, and delicate curves. Granted, her lips are more pasty-blue from the cold than rosebud red.
She has the most amazing eyes—deep soul-searching eyes. One of the reasons I run from her is because I’m afraid of what I’ll see reflected in her hazel eyes. I won’t like the shallow bastard I’ll see.
Not that it matters, not with a boyfriend in the picture. I crossed that line too many times in the past, and it never ends well.
It’s weird. Fast asleep and limp in my arms, there’s no sign of her acidic personality with its sharp, razor-edged tongue. I avoid her because I can’t stand being anywhere near her stinging words, even if her angelic face draws me like a man dying of thirst.
Right now, she’s delicate and fragile. I bet a million bucks she won’t be happy knowing someone like me saw her in a vulnerable state.
I rock her in my arms. My protective instincts flare and troublesome feelings claw their way to the surface. Stirrings I don’t want and certainly don’t need.
The thong.
It hints at a temptress.
I should know.
I’ve stripped a lot of women, uncovering all manner of panties and lacy thongs.
Mitzy is the first, unconscious woman I’ve stripped. Honestly, it’s completely and utterly unappealing. Not the thong. I’m overly interested in that. Too interested. It’s her altered mental state that’s a downer, and the fact she has a boyfriend. There’s absolutely no reason why I should be aroused.
My dick is acting the fool, getting interested in things it shouldn’t.
Damn thong.
Her caustic comments, and snide remarks, are why I keep a wide berth around the troublesome pixie with psychedelic hair. Who needs that kind of negative energy in their life?