Loving On the Edge 5-Book Collection: Crash Into You, Melt Into You, Fall Into You, Caught Up In You, Need You Tonight. Roni Loren
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male voice came from behind her, and the grip on her arms tightened. “We’ve got to get out of the undertow.”
Her heart jumped into her throat, but she forced herself to stop struggling so the stranger could help. His breath was warm on her neck as he pulled them both backward, but he didn’t say another word. The water seemed to be fighting their progress, and the man adjusted his hold until he had his arms hooked beneath her armpits. She wanted to tell him to let her go, that she knew how to swim, but her thigh was burning like a swarm of wasps had attacked it and her head was spinning again.
A few hard-fought minutes later, packed sand scraped against her heels, and she sucked in a deep sigh of relief. The man dragged her another few feet until they reached dry land, then set her down and kneeled next to her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his broad chest heaving beneath his soaked T-shirt.
She lifted her gaze to the concerned eyes staring down at her, an odd sense of déjà vu washing over her. “I, uh . . .”
“I heard you scream. Are you hurt?” He touched the side of her head, evaluating her.
She wet her lips. “My leg . . . Something stung me . . . I lost my balance.”
He glanced down the length of her—the mostly naked length of her. Shit. She shot up into a sitting position and scooted backward, but his hand locked over her knee as he stared down at her upper thigh, which was still burning like she’d roasted it over an open fire.
“Damn, it got you good.”
“What are you talking about?” She tried to jerk her leg from beneath his grip, but he held her firm as he examined her.
“Jellyfish,” he said, frowning at her. “Your whole thigh is striped. That must hurt like a sonofabitch.”
She stared down at the red tentacle-shaped lines around her thigh. “Well, it doesn’t feel awesome.”
He chuckled, the rich sound seeming to vibrate from deep within his chest, and something stirred in the back of her brain. He climbed to his feet. “Here, let me help.”
“Don’t you dare pee on me,” she said, the words slipping out before she could rethink them.
He tilted his head back in a full laugh this time, the sound echoing down the beach.
She cringed. “I’m sorry, I—”
He raised a hand, his eyes still lit with humor. “Don’t worry. The urine thing is just an urban myth. And I’m definitely not going to ruin my ‘just saved pretty girl from drowning’ hero status by taking a leak on you. I’m not that stupid.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, a hero, huh? So this is all a big pick-up routine? Find drowning girls and ride in on your white horse?”
“Absolutely.” He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off, revealing miles of taut skin, sinewy muscle, and tribal-style ink running across his shoulder and down one arm, rendering her momentarily speechless. Water dripped off his soaked hair—which looked to be blond, though it was hard to tell in the moonlight—and slipped down his now bare chest. Her gaze locked on the tiny droplets, tracking their path down to the band of his shorts until they disappeared. Oh, blessed Lord.
He cleared his throat, no doubt catching her in her perusal, and squatted next to her. His hand slipped under her knee. “Here, seawater actually helps the sting. Let me wrap this around your leg, and then we can go to my room. We’ll get you feeling better.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh, really. Might want to tap the brakes there, Rico Suave. Despite my state of undress, I don’t just go to strangers’ hotel rooms. I’m not quite that easy.”
Dimples appeared as he fought a smile. “Oh, not quite that easy, but easy. Duly noted.”
She shot him a withering look.
“For the record, that’s not why I was inviting you to my room. Although, I promise that certainly would distract you from the pain. But all I mean is my roommate is Mr. Prepared. He keeps a first-aid kit for the beach and always has a bottle of vinegar in it. It will help deactivate the venom.”
She frowned. Two grown men on a beach vacation together? Great, not another good-looking guy who preferred other good-looking guys. Not that she was looking for anything to happen anyway. He was a stranger. An extremely pinup-worthy stranger. But still. In her sexually deprived state, a little flirting could be almost as satisfying as an orgasm. Almost.
With gentle hands, he bent her leg and wrapped his wet T-shirt around her thigh. His focus was on the task at hand, but she didn’t miss the sneaky sidelong glance toward her open thighs, where her wet panties were probably revealing every detail of what lay beneath.
She cleared her throat, and his gaze darted back to her leg, but the corner of his mouth tugged up a bit.
Well, well, maybe not so gay.
Her body heated at the thought, even though her brain knew that, straight or gay, she wasn’t going to do anything with her rescuer. “So how long were you out here? I thought I was alone.”
He glanced up as he draped the shirt around her leg a second time. “I was here the whole time.” He crooked a thumb behind him. “Was sitting in one of the lounge chairs on the far end. I thought you saw me when you looked down the beach, but I guess not.”
“You could’ve said something, you know.”
He gave her an unrepentant grin. “If a beautiful woman wants to go for a naked swim, who am I to intervene?”
“Very gentlemanly of you.”
“Hey, never said I was a gentleman. Just a hero.”
“Right,” she said, her tone dry.
He tucked the end of the shirt underneath the first layer, securing it. “Is that too tight?”
“No, it’s actually helping the burning a little.”
“Hold on.” He climbed to his feet and jogged a little ways down the beach, grabbed something from one of the lounge chairs, then walked over to where she had left her clothes and picked up those as well. When he returned he held out her T-shirt. “Go ahead and put this on. You’re not going to be able to put on the jeans, but you can wrap my beach towel around your waist.”
“Thanks.” She took her shirt and towel from him, pulled the first over her head, then got to her feet and knotted the beach towel around her hips. She tilted her head up to smile at him. “So, Mr. Humble Hero, you have a name?”
He stuck out his hand. “It’s Jace.”
Her body froze, the world seeming to tip off balance for a moment. Had she heard right? She stared at him for a moment, taking in every nuance of his face, the earlier whispers of déjà vu now becoming shouts.
Was it really him? His hair was longer, his body harder and more mature, the green in his eyes more wary, but the resemblance was there. It’d been years—twelve actually. The nineteen-year-old boy she’d known had become a man. “Jace Austin?”
* * *
Oh, shit. The recognition that flashed in the woman’s blue eyes had Jace dropping his hand. This chick knew him? He frantically flipped through his mental Rolodex, starting with the girls-I’ve-slept-with file.
When they’d locked gazes earlier, he’d felt a nudge of familiarity but had dismissed it. Surely, he’d remember this dark-haired beauty, especially if he had gotten the privilege of touching that lush little body. But something about her was poking at the recesses of his mind.
He rubbed the back of his neck and offered an apologetic smile. “Uh, yeah. Jace Austin. I’m sorry, have we met?”
She flinched a bit—the move subtle, but not lost on him. Damn, well now he felt like a jackass. Had they