by Lucy Ryder
“You don’t know what is in there.”
Her breath escaped in a silent rush that she told herself wasn’t disappointment.
“I can fix it myself,” she argued, determined to ignore the delicious masculine heat surrounding her, making her excruciatingly aware that she only had to turn her head and her mouth would brush that taut tanned skin. Her traitorous lips tingled as though she’d already done just that. “I do this stuff all the time.”
He turned his head and she became distracted by the sculpted lines of his mouth, by the almost overwhelming need to press her lips to his. When he didn’t move or respond, she lifted her eyes—and everything in her stilled.
His gaze was intense, searching, as though he was looking for something; searching for answers. To what? Her heart gave a little bump and every hair on her body rose—not in fear, as she’d initially thought but because it suddenly seemed as though all her life she’d been waiting for just this moment.
The air in the bathroom abruptly vanished, sucked out by—heck, whatever this was that had her body simultaneously melting and tightening—leaving just the two of them in a vacuum of heat that hummed and vibrated in time to the thundering of her pulse. For long moments they stared at each other.
Dani was all but drowning in his darkening eyes as reality shifted and narrowed. It left her reeling, feeling exposed and abruptly adrift in a spiral that threatened to send her spinning into dangerous, unknown territory.
A low moan emerged from her throat, jolting her back from that dark, dangerous edge. She quickly turned away, noting that Dylan was slower to react, looking as if she’d punched him in the head.
Oh God. She knew just how that felt.
“Fortunately,” he rasped, closing the cabinet door with a snap and putting a couple of feet between them, “you don’t have to.”
The abrupt shift from heightened sensual awareness to embarrassment was disorienting. “D-don’t have to w-what?” she stammered, pretending to dry her dripping hair with one corner of the towel as she hid her hot face.
Oh God, could she be any more obvious?
“Treat it yourself,” he growled.
Dani peeked up in time to see him leave the bathroom. She stared at the empty doorway, wondering what the heck had happened and terrified that she knew.
Oh God, they’d had a moment. A sexually charged moment. One that had left her weak and breathless and way too turned on.
Fortunately his abrupt departure was helping to clear her head. Probably from pheromone withdrawal, she thought a little hysterically and took advantage of his absence to gulp in air and will her pulse to slow down from near-coronary levels.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe she should just sneak out while his back was turned. Because she had good reasons for her man embargo. Very good reasons.
Reasons that she suddenly couldn’t quite recall. Because the longer she was around Dylan, the more difficult it was to think. And therein lay the problem. He made her forget that she wasn’t cut out for relationships because she didn’t measure up to a man’s expectations—especially in the bedroom.
She’d made herself vulnerable once before and it had nearly ended in tragedy. But she’d managed to survive, to build a life for herself. She was stronger, sure but she didn’t think she could survive another blow. Especially not from Dylan, because—she shivered—because he was the first man in years to make her feel.
If she let him.
Which meant she had to leave. Now. Clear out while the coast was clear.
No sooner had she made up her mind to get out of Dodge and hopped down from the counter, wincing as her foot hit the floor, than he reappeared, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand—Oh God, she needed that—and a medical emergency duffel slung over his shoulder.
One look at her guilty expression had a dark brow arching up his forehead. “Going somewhere?”
Flushing, she shook her head and hopped back onto the counter. She fumbled with the towel before taking the mug he offered, hugely relieved to have something to occupy her cold hands—something to hide behind as she met his hooded gaze head-on.
She hoped she was a picture of innocence but feared she looked guilty as hell. Finally he shook his head and dropped to his haunches to rummage through the duffel at his feet.
He was a big man, and his hands, broad-palmed and long-fingered, drew her fascinated gaze. She’d always been conscious of hands, of the harm they were capable of if the person they belonged to was careless. Or cruel. But she’d never been so riveted by the size or shape of a man’s before.
Dylan’s were big and tanned, graceful as he pulled out supplies and tossed them onto the counter. His thick wrists—well, they were thicker than hers—led to forearms that were strong with bone, muscle and sinew, the veins running beneath the skin looking both tough and fragile.
Her gaze roamed up over his powerful arm to the ball of his shoulder, admiring the play and shift of muscles beneath acres of tanned skin. Their definition was so clear that she was tempted to reach out and test the way they bunched and flexed for herself.
She could name each muscle: deltoid, pectoral, trapezius, bicep and tricep. They were common—everyone had them—but Dylan’s fascinated her, drew her, because it was like looking at a work of art. Warm, satin-smooth, living art.
Drawing the towel closer, Dani frowned and thought Holy cow—the man’s lethal. He made her want things she’d told herself were long dead. Made her want to get her hands on him when just the thought of it would have had her bolting for the door just a couple weeks ago.
“You okay?” he murmured, bent over her foot.
She gave a distracted nod and ignored the multitude of sensations bombarding her. Okay, tried to ignore the way her flesh buzzed and the muscles deep in her core clenched and released...then clenched spasmodically again.
Startled by the strength of the sensation—almost as if he’d actually touched her secret flesh—Dani jolted upright, her sharply indrawn breath overly loud in the silence. And when his gaze jumped to hers all she could think was, Oh God, please let him think that was from pain and not—Oh God, not that!
CHAPTER SIX
LOOKING UP INTO those heavily lashed gray eyes, Dylan promptly forgot everything. The expression in them—wide and a little wild—reminded him vividly of the dreams he’d battled this past week. Dreams that had left him irritable when he woke drenched in sweat, his heart beating like a runaway horse while his muscles quivered with unfulfilled lust.
Annoyed that she’d had the nerve to invade his dreams when she was so determined to avoid him during waking hours, he’d buried himself in work and deliberately avoided thinking about her. And then, just when he’d thought he might be succeeding, he’d looked up from his contemplation of the morning to see her striding across the neighboring deck, dressed in nothing but a baggy T-shirt that drooped off one shoulder and left her long, slender legs naked to mid-thigh.
At first he’d been too busy admiring the flash of those long legs to recognize her. Until her husky voice had slid across his skin like a secret wish and he’d realized his elusive neighbor was the very woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.
And then, alarmed, she’d spun around and with a shocked squeak lost her balance and taken an unexpected morning dip. For one instant he’d worried that she couldn’t swim but she’d surfaced looking so adorably annoyed that he hadn’t been able to help laughing.
His laughter had faded when he’d hauled her out of the drink and caught a good look at the body she’d been hiding beneath her baggy scrubs. With her T-shirt clinging wetly to all those sweet curves and long slender limbs, she’d looked like any red-blooded man’s wildest fantasy.
And while he’d been swallowing his tongue she’d been telling him—no, ordering him—to stop looking. She might as well have ordered the sun to stop shining, because he hadn’t been
able to. Hadn’t wanted to, if he was honest. He’d liked what he’d seen—and not just a soaking wet armful of curvy contradictions.
“Dylan?”
He looked up in time to see her tongue dart out to wet her soft lips and the tension that was already setting his teeth on edge soared until the air literally crackled with it.
Blinking away the grinding lust, he inhaled, then exhaled and shifted to relax muscles he hadn’t even realized had hardened. Get a grip, man, he ordered himself, frowning down at his hand gripping her foot. The woman is only here because you practically shanghaied her.
Consciously relaxing his fingers, he said, almost casually, “We’re going to have to deal with this.”
A tremor moved through her and he heard the click of her throat as she swallowed. She was nervous. Of him or of the sexual tension simmering between them?
Her long dark lashes fluttered against her flushed cheek and the breathy little gasp that filled the heated silence answered at least part of his question. It also shot his blood pressure to hell and it was only when she shuddered again that he realized he’d been caressing her instep with his thumb.
Shifting restlessly, she let her gaze briefly touch his before sliding away. She was trying to appear unaffected and failing miserably. It was only fair, he thought with dark amusement. Why should he be the only one struggling to keep his mind off her long naked legs and on her injured foot?
“I...um... I thought we were?”
“I’m talking about this thing between us, Dani,” he pointed out mildly.
A tiny frown marred the smooth skin between her brows. “Thing?” she asked cautiously.
Despite himself, he felt a low rumble resound through his chest. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was amusement, impatience or the sound of a male animal preparing to pounce.
“For lack of a better word,” he drawled, and turned his attention to disinfecting her foot, willing his hard-on to fade before she got an eyeful because he’d pulled his jeans on this morning without bothering to button them.
If she was uncomfortable discussing the chemistry that practically exploded the instant they came within twenty feet of each other, he could only imagine what the sight of his erection would do. No doubt she’d run screaming from the house to jump voluntarily into the bay, he thought with amusement.
Yep. And maybe he’d join her, because he suddenly needed an icy dip himself. It surprised him because it had been a long time since he’d felt the need for cold showers as a way to control himself around women.
Finding comfort in familiar tasks, Dylan prepared a local anesthetic and cleaned a small area of skin with an alcohol swab. He removed the needle cap with his teeth.
“You’ll feel a small pinch,” he murmured, immediately soothing her with his free hand when she gave an involuntary little jolt as the needle pierced her skin.
Cold fingers brushed his lips when she reached up to take the cap, sending hot, achy need spiraling downwards to his gut and digging sharp claws of need into his groin. Jeez, he was in a bad way.
It was humiliating to discover that Dylan St. James, head orthopedic reconstruction surgeon at St. Mary’s, only son of Vivian and Ruben St. James and experienced man about town was being bewitched by a stormy-eyed mermaid he’d rescued from the bay. A mermaid, moreover, who’d been doing her best to run in the opposite direction ever since she’d practically fallen at his feet.
Dylan swallowed his dignity along with his ego—which was something she appeared to deflate with annoying regularity. And if he wasn’t mistaken she didn’t have a clue.
It wasn’t a mystery why his heart pounded and his skin itched as though something alive moved through him. What surprised him was the raw intensity of the need twisting him up inside and messing with his head.
To give himself a moment, he turned away to scrub his hands and pat them dry on a clean towel, hoping like hell she couldn’t see the way they shook.
He doused them with alcohol and studied her bent head. It made him feel marginally better knowing that she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to believe. It was there in her parted lips, in the rapid-fire pulse at the base of her throat, and when she looked up she couldn’t hide her dilated pupils or the wild flush ebbing and flowing beneath her creamy skin.
He might have put it down to embarrassment or discomfort but she couldn’t hide those sexy little hitches of breath. The ones that twisted his insides like a torquing machine.
Amused at both of them, Dylan selected a pair of tweezers and got to work. He murmured an apology when she flinched and had to bite back a chuckle when she bent her head close to his and demanded, “Is it all out?” and then “What?” a little huffily, at the sound of frustration he made in the back of his throat.
“I’m working here.”
She sniffed haughtily. “And how many splinters do you remove on a daily basis, Dr. Sawbones?”
“Enough to know what I’m doing, Dr. Sassy,” he retorted with a chuckle. “I regularly get to remove bone splinters from bits of mangled flesh. So, yes, I’ve got this.”
She made a skeptical noise in the back of her throat and Dylan had to restrain himself from kissing her sulky mouth. The woman was a contradiction who alternately fascinated, exasperated and amused him. She was in turn remote and cool, brisk and efficient, wary and elusive. And then there was the awkward, easily flustered woman he found incredibly appealing.
Despite the I’m-taking-a-break-from-men attitude, he was experienced enough to know when a woman wanted him. She either didn’t trust her feelings or didn’t want them. And, although it was kind of humbling to discover that the woman he was attracted to didn’t want anything to do with him, he could be patient.
He could wait.
He hoped.
After satisfying himself that he’d removed all the wood slivers, Dylan irrigated and disinfected the wound before laying out the suture kit. He ignored her assurances that she didn’t need stitches, shaking his head at himself when he realized he was trying to impress her with his skills.
If that didn’t tell him he was losing it, nothing would.
Once he’d applied a waterproof dressing he left her muttering to herself about overkill and reached into the shower. He punched a few buttons on the console and then, before she could grasp his intentions he’d whipped off her towel, scooped her off the vanity counter and deposited her in the shower.
Her shocked gasp became a shriek of outrage as icy water rained down on her. “Wha—what the heck are you d-doing?” she spluttered, leaping for the opening and trying to squirm past him.
He caught her with an arm around her waist, grinning down into her indignant face. “Just relax—it’ll warm up. Just takes a few seconds.”
“Relax?” she gasped, yanking him inside the cubicle and trying to use his body to shield her from the spray. “How c-can anyone relax in minus twenty d-degrees w-water?”
Trying to get a grip on her slick, squirming body, Dylan didn’t feel the blast of icy water cascading over his heated flesh. Probably because all those sweet curves were sliding over him. Pulling her closer, he enjoyed the way she burrowed close and pressed her face into his throat. Although he knew it was mostly to escape the icy blast that was finally heating up. Her cool lips brushed his hot skin but his satisfaction turned into a yelp when she opened her mouth and...bit him.
The erotic pain sent instant lust clawing at his self-restraint, digging deep and snapping the last of his control. He couldn’t have stopped what happened next to save himself.
In an instant he’d pushed her up against the tiles, his body a hard weight against hers. A startled squeak had barely left her lips when he caught her mouth in a kiss so hot and hungry it rivaled the steam filling the cubicle. He took a moment to acknowledge that he should probably get the hell away from her but he hadn’t ever felt this kind of desperation to touch, to taste,
to feel a woman before.
Needing to get closer, he pushed one thigh between hers, at the same time thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She made little mewling sounds and slid her hands up his arms to clutch at his shoulders. He distantly comprehended that although she wasn’t shoving him away, she wasn’t pulling him closer either.
It was as though she’d been stunned by the heat and ferocity of his mouth. He was kind of surprised himself, since he’d never before grabbed a woman and practically inhaled her in one swoop. At the realization he abruptly gentled the kiss, corralling the wild hunger gripping him to slide his mouth temptingly along the length of hers.
This, he thought sampling the subtle flavors of her mouth, the texture of her skin, was worth the time he’d waited—was worth reining in the need pounding through him.
He tormented her with little nibbles that gradually softened her mouth and coaxed a trembling response. God, she tasted good, he thought, sliding his tongue against hers. Like deep, wet kisses on hot silky nights; like cool fresh water after being out in the African sun all day; like some delicate new flavor that burst on his tongue and left him wanting, needing more.
Then she moaned—a low, husky sound that had him breaking off the kiss to drop his forehead to the tiles while he struggled to get his lust under control.
What the hell was he doing? he asked himself, trying to ignore the soft, sexy curves pressed against him until not even an idea could pass between their bodies. And what must she think of him, turning all wild and savage on her?
He knew he should move but he couldn’t make himself. He’d wanted the feel of her against him for too long. It made him shudder when he’d never shuddered for a woman before.
Unable to keep his hands off her, he moved back a couple of inches and curled one hand around the back of her neck. Nudging up her chin with his thumb, he rasped, “Tell me.”
As though coming out of a trance, Dani blinked up at him. She looked as stunned and aroused as he felt, and so damn beautiful his chest and gut tightened.
