Jodi Redford - Maximum Witch

His focus drifted to her waterlogged blouse and capri pants. “Shit.” Now she was lying in a big wet spot. He probably should have removed her clothes first.

“Dumbass.” Cursing his slow thinking, he unbuckled the straps on her sandals. Her ankles felt incredibly tiny in his big, clumsy hands. It occurred to him that he was spending way too much time touching her bare skin. He dropped her legs, and she bounced on the mattress. Yeah, like that’d help get her closer to dry and comfortable.

Come on, Truitt. Get your fuckin’ shit together. Growling beneath his breath, he slipped off her shoes and reached for the zipper on her pants. The metallic rasp of the teeth separating sounded inordinately loud in the room. Shifting his focus to the right so he wouldn’t be staring directly at her crotch, he tugged the soaked cotton down her legs and let the garment plop onto the carpet. Next he set to work on her top. He fumbled with the dainty shell buttons, attempting to pop them through their holes. Finally he freed each one and eased the top off her shoulders. The sides fell open, revealing a flesh-colored nylon bra. The wet transparency of the fabric made it all too easy for him to see the rosy outline of her areolas. Her nipples were puckered.

He probably shouldn’t be noticing that.

Clearing his throat, he lifted her enough to tug the shirt from her arms. After tossing the garment on top of her capris, he moved her to the other side of the mattress. Before he could stop himself, his scrutiny fell to her nearly invisible bikini and the triangular patch of glossy brown curls covering her mound.

Feeling uncomfortably like a huge pervert, he swallowed hard and shifted his focus away. He grabbed the blanket folded at the end of the bed and tucked it around her securely. Satisfied that he’d done as much as he could to ensure her comfort, he left the room and went to fetch his phone. The message icon flashed on his cell’s display screen. Shit, he’d forgotten he’d put the damn thing on vibrate earlier. He punched the button for his voice mail and exhaled in relief when he heard Boone’s recorded voice promising he was on his way over. Thank the gods.

Realizing he’d likely need someone to cover the remainder of his patrol tonight, he punched in the number for Jona, his second-in-command. After providing a bare-bones explanation of the situation, Max secured the dolphin shifter’s agreement to take over his rounds and hung up. Running his fingers through his hair in an effort to corral his scattered thoughts, he strode into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the mattress. An irresistible force drawing him in, he gently traced the line of her cheek with his thumb. She was so small and delicate. The fact that she barely looked strong enough to defend herself stirred all of his protective instincts.

There was no question about it. If the leviathan’s attack had permanently injured her, he’d track down the ugly motherfucker and put an end to its miserable life.

The girl’s head listed slightly. He froze. Momentarily forgetting to breathe, he watched her face closely, gauging for further sign that she was regaining consciousness. Just when he was ready to chalk her movement to the pillow slipping, her eyelashes fluttered. Almost as if it were happening in slow motion, she opened her eyes, revealing irises in a mesmerizing shade of green. She blinked, her attention taking forever to focus on him. He met her stare and smiled reassuringly. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”

She gaped at him for a long moment before blasting out an ear-splitting scream.

“W-what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” Willa Jameson flailed wildly in the blanket’s tenacious grasp, attempting to put distance between her and the enormous guy leaning over her.

“Easy. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep jumping around like that.” The stranger started to reach for her and she shrieked again. Her right arm finally escaped the imprisoning covers, and she swiped out with her fist, landing a solid punch to his face.

Grunting, the man jerked his head. Dark eyebrows slashed low over penetrating blue eyes while he gingerly probed the bridge of his nose. “Shit, you nearly broke it.”

“If you don’t get out of here, I’m going to break a lot more than that, you creepazoid.” Her voice growing shrill, she clutched the pillow beside her and prepared to lob it at his head. It was a puny deterrent, but maybe it’d at least throw him off balance enough that she could make a run for it.

He dropped his hand. “ Creepazoid ? That’s the thanks I get for rescuing you?”

His incredulous words managed to pierce through the thin top layer of her panic, only to add to it several times over as she stared at the totally unfamiliar posts of the bed she was lying on, as well as the brass lamp resting on the adjacent nightstand. She double blinked. “This isn’t my room.”

“I know. It’s mine. I brought you here after I dragged you out of the Atlantic.”

Atlantic? As in… ocean? There was no way that could be possible. She hadn’t set foot in any body of water that big in almost twenty-two years, not since her parents drowned.

A creepy sense of déjà vu washed over her, poking at the edges of her consciousness. Her mind latched onto a disjointed memory—stepping from her car, the steamy heat from a parking lot curling around her calves. Beyond that, everything remained hazy. She slowly lowered the pillow, and it tumbled from her lax fingertips. The stranger’s attention drifted below her collarbone, and an unmistakable spark of interest darkened his eyes. She glanced down. It took a second for it to sink in that she was only wearing her bra. Gasping, she snatched the blanket and wrestled with it, trying to cover herself. “Why am I naked ?”

“You’re not. I left your underwear on you.” Despite his gruff reply, a ruddy flush crawled along his neck.

The rest of his statement registered, and she peeked beneath the blanket. Sure enough, she wasn’t wearing any pants. A squeak popped from her throat. “You undressed me?”

“You were soaked through.” He climbed off the bed and stooped toward the floor. He straightened a second later with her sodden clothes bunched in his hand. “See? I couldn’t leave you lying around in them, for Christ’s sake.”

She frowned at the garments that were dripping a small puddle on the beige carpet. Even from where she sat, the distinct briny scent of the ocean was unmistakable. It made no sense. Her crippling phobia of the ocean should have prevented her from going anywhere near the Atlantic.

Unless…

The strange hallucinations plaguing her lately. Somehow she knew they were responsible. Those weird compulsions and visions that seemed to be totally disconnected with who she was. The person she knew herself to be.

Had she finally completely lost it? Judging from the evidence staring her in the face…hell, yeah. Groaning, she dropped her forehead against her raised knees.

“What’s wrong? Do you feel sick?”

The warmth of a large palm branded into her shoulder, and she jerked her head up, her gaze crashing into his. Undeniable concern rode his rugged features. It occurred to her that she should be worried about a big, hulking stranger touching her like this while she was half-naked and lying in his bed. She should probably also be worried about the pleasurable tingle fluttering low in her tummy.

Oh goddess. What’s wrong with me?

The stranger lifted his hand away. “You don’t have to look at me like I’m seconds away from attacking you. I’m not.” He scruffed his fingers over his bristly jaw, drawing her attention to the strong, tanned column of his throat. And lower. His shoulders were huge, delineated with acres of sleek muscle tone and sun-kissed skin. There wasn’t a speck of hair on his chest, leading her to wonder if he was one of those guys who waxed, and also leaving her with the weird—and completely inappropriate—desire to tiptoe her fingers down his washboard abs while she sucked on those flat male nipples.