Deep Blue. Suzanne Mcminn
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lagoon. She contorted her body, fighting frantically, and something pulled her tighter, held down her flailing arms. She was slammed against a hard wall.
No, a chest. A very powerful chest. Him. The man who’d called her Tabitha then shoved her into the water even as he claimed he was saving her life. And there was no way she was going to break free of his grip.
She lifted her head, stopped fighting, knew she was going to die now because she couldn’t hold her breath one more second, and her eyes locked with a fierce liquid gaze that stunned her, it was so near, and then it was even nearer. Something touched her lips—
His lips.
And in complete, unthinkable shock, she opened her mouth—that was it, she was going to drown—and his mouth closed over hers and suddenly…she was breathing.
She was breathing.
She forgot the water that had been suffocating her a second before. Forgot the deadly men on the bridge, the attacker at the apartment. Forgot that she’d almost been killed more than once in the past twenty minutes.
How could she be breathing?
Then she realized his strong arms had slid around her back and he was stroking her, comforting her, calming her down with efficient control. The sudden gentleness of his hold struck her, and the shocking intimacy of his mouth breathing life into her mouth had her gasp against him, and her tongue touched something warm and sweet. His tongue swept inside her mouth even as he continued to stroke her back, her arms, her shoulders, and she clung, desperate for his air, his amazing, mysterious safety.
Safety that made no sense. She’d been running from him moments before! And yet—he was everything she knew in this dark, wet world, everything keeping her alive. All the pain and fear and panic receded into a surreal vortex as he sweetly and tenderly claimed the last shred of her sanity.
Maybe she was delirious. It was all she could think of. In reality, she was drowning. This couldn’t be happening. Her arms were clinging to him, absorbing his unbelievable warmth, her body pressed up against him. She was—oh, God—she was kissing him back and it was like nothing else existed except this hard, wet man holding her at the bottom of the lagoon.
And that realization shocked her so, she jerked back, and the look in his eyes through the dark water made her realize that he was as shocked as she by what had just happened. She held the last breath he’d given her, her heart clanging furiously in her chest, fear returning full force.
He reached up, touched his warm finger to her mouth, and cocked his head, as if listening. Listening to what? All she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears.
Then he placed his mouth on hers again, gently pushing her to open her lips. Oh, God. She did. And her stomach left her body for one more tingling mindless beat. He breathed another breath into her and let go.
A strange energy hummed from him, or maybe it was her. She didn’t know anymore.
How could this be happening?
When he pulled away this time, he gave her a long look, nodded as if assuring her of something, grabbed her arm and together they shot upward through the water. Then she was on the surface, and he was pulling her up, onto a bank crowded with weeds and sand. She coughed and fell limp on the dark shore near the bridge.
She lay there, gasping in the air, heavy rain pummeling her—as if she could get any wetter. Then she turned her head and saw him standing over her. Sharply aware of him, she stared up, watching the droplets slide down his cheeks and cascade off his soaked hair and shoulders, the sky darkly wild above him.
His lips were hard, unsmiling, his jaw uncompromising. She felt odd inside, loose and hollow, and he looked utterly, fearsomely, in control. He looked like a tough, dangerous action movie star who was as deadly as his weapons. And yet she wasn’t afraid of him now.
Or, at least, not as afraid.
He’d just saved her life. For the second time.
“They’re gone,” he said. “We were down there long enough that they’ll think we either ran away or drowned. Either way, we need to get out of here.”
The gunmen. The gunmen were gone. Good thing, since if they were still here, they’d have to kill her where she lay because she felt like one big piece of overcooked spaghetti.
“Who are you?” she breathed. “What are you?”
And then she was sure she must be delirious because for a second she thought he was going to say something like, I’m your worst nightmare. Only maybe that wasn’t true. Under the lagoon, he’d been downright fantasy-like, and the memory brought a renewed, inappropriate prickling of sensual heat, and more confusion.
They couldn’t have been underwater that long. He couldn’t have been breathing air into her lungs. That wasn’t possible.
She gathered her wits, jerked her loose-limbed, disobedient body into gear and pushed to her elbows. The adrenaline started flowing again.
“Who are you?” he grated in return, and he moved swiftly, took hold of her elbow and lifted her to her shaking feet.
For once, he was listening. He was giving her a chance. She grabbed it, desperate.
“Sienna Parker. I’m Sabrina’s sister. That was Sabrina’s apartment. She’s on sabbatical from the university. We both work there. Sabrina—” She stopped. How much did she really want to tell this stranger?
She knew nothing about him. He wanted to take Sabrina somewhere with him, and he’d been prepared to take her against her will.
“Are you some kind of…. police, or—” How much trouble was Sabrina in?
“Sabrina’s sister,” he repeated, ignoring her question, watching her, those steely liquid blue eyes of his searing her to the bone. He reached up with one hand and his warm, wet finger slid across her cheek. Something crackled inside her. He dropped his touch abruptly. “Twin sister?”
She nodded.
“Where is Sabrina?” he demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she?”
“I said I don’t know! I don’t know what’s going on. But if she’s in trouble, I want to know.”
“Oh, she’s in trouble,” he said.
His eyes on hers were so bright, so sharp, they almost hurt.
“You’re scaring me again!” Dammit, what had made her admit that?
“Good.”
He was making her angry, too.
“Let’s go,” he said. “My car.”
It didn’t sound like an invitation. It was an order.
And dammit, she followed. What other choice did she have? Walk back to Key Mango, hope she didn’t run into any gun-toting lunatics along the way?
That option wasn’t exactly viable.
The van was gone. Sienna scrambled into the passenger side of the stranger’s sedan. He slammed into the driver’s seat. Inside the car, the muted sounds of rain and wind tapped and blew. They were both soaked to the skin and she shivered despite the warmth of the island summer night. Shock.
She was in some kind of shock. She was shaking all over.
“You’re bleeding,” he said. “Your forehead’s cut. I’ll pick up a first-aid kit somewhere or that’ll get infected.”
She hadn’t even realized. She touched her head, pulled her fingertips away gleaming red in the dim light from the glowing dashboard inside the car. He started the engine and headed the car back toward town.
Her head reeled just a little. What had happened here? She’d gone to Sabrina’s apartment, been attacked, chased, run off a bridge, nearly drowned—twice.