Kira Sinclair - Under the Surface

“You saved me.”

“I threw you in.”

Her lips twisted in a half grimace, half smile. “Okay, screw you, asshole. And thanks for saving my life. Feel better now?”

Not particularly. But for some reason he couldn’t tell her that. Instead, he lifted her into his arms, heedless of the water that streamed off both of them.

Striding down the dock, he carried her back onto his ship. She stirred, murmured what he knew was going to be the start of a protest, but he cut her off before it could begin.

“Don’t bother. You need a shower to warm up. There’s still a chance you could go into shock. And I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know you’re not going to develop complications from having your lungs full of water.”

He probably should take her to the hospital, but for some reason what he’d said was the truth. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight long enough to let anyone else tend to her.

He felt responsible; that was all.

He’d had plenty of experience with water and a few close calls with drowning. If he hadn’t felt equipped to recognize a potential problem soon enough to call in reinforcements, he wouldn’t be walking her onto his ship.

Apparently, she recognized his resolve because her mouth snapped shut without uttering a single sound.

Carrying her to his stateroom, Jackson moved straight for the tiny attached bathroom. Several of the guys shared one, but as owner, he rated the best room complete with a private bath. Not that it was much. Just a toilet, sink and shower barely big enough to fit his shoulders through.

Shifting her, Jackson let her body slide down his until her feet touched the floor. Water pooled beneath them, but he ignored it.

With one arm still around her waist to steady her, Jackson reached inside the shower and flipped on the faucet to let the water warm.

Drawing back, he stared into her upturned face. Her pale green eyes were a little wary, a little grateful and a lot scared.

Why hadn’t he seen that before?

Because he hadn’t wanted to believe her.

After pushing back the tangle of black hair from her face, Jackson found himself saying, “I’m sorry,” in a gruff voice he barely recognized.

“So am I. I shouldn’t have been here. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I didn’t intend to sneak aboard. Really.”

Guilt and uncertainty mixed together in his blood. He wanted to believe her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not even after almost drowning her.

She’d been telling the truth about not being able to swim, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t lie about anything else.

Why did the thought of her doing that hurt?

It shouldn’t matter.

This woman was nothing to him. Nothing more than a business rival and the daughter of a man who’d done everything he could to hurt Jackson and his business.

The only thing he could do was shake his head. “It doesn’t matter. At least not right now.”

Loralei dropped her gaze to the floor between their feet. Her shoulders rose and fell on a deep sigh that he felt more than heard.

She took a half step backward—about as much room as she could force between them—and dropped her hands from their resting place against his chest.

Steam began to fill the tiny room, billowing out around the glass shower enclosure. It turned the air around them muggy and heavy.

Without raising her gaze, Loralei reached for the buttons on her shirt. Until that moment he hadn’t noticed just how thin and clingy it was. Earlier, it had looked big and breezy, swirling around her body and hiding the curves he’d instinctively known were beneath it.

Now, those curves were seriously on display. The gauzy material was plastered to her body and practically see-through.

“Go away, Jackson, so I can take my shower, get off this boat and back to my hotel.”

She popped a single button, but he didn’t move.

“Ship. She’s a ship.”

Another one went. “Whatever.”

It wasn’t as if she was revealing anything he couldn’t already almost see. But Jackson couldn’t tear away his gaze as she slowly, meticulously revealed each inch of golden skin. He stayed where he was until she reached her breasts, which swelled round and inviting over the edge of white lace.

Spinning on his heel, Jackson bolted for the bedroom, his own lungs heaving as if he’d been the one to cough up a gallon of seawater.

He raked his fingers through his hair, shook off the water that still clung to him, not caring what got wet in the process. Behind him, the bathroom door closed with a quiet click.

The barrier didn’t help. He could hear her moving around in the small space. Imagine her standing in his shower, using his shampoo and running her soap-covered hands over her naked body.

After yanking off his own wet clothes, he donned dry ones and pulled out an old T-shirt and gym shorts for her.

He wanted to escape above deck before he did something stupid. Such as tear the bathroom door off its hinges so he could help her rinse away the suds. He even started to leave, but he couldn’t make himself go. Not until he knew she was actually okay.

So instead he began to prowl the small space, an uncomfortable sensation tingling at the back of his neck. The longer Loralei stayed in that room, the worse it became. He started worrying, remembering how she’d looked lying on the dock, eerily still and lifeless.

Break in the door or wait?

He’d never been one for indecision, but tonight he couldn’t make up his mind.

Which only frustrated him more.

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