Caught Up

by Rya Stone

  “Don’t want tan lines,” the man said as his warmth enveloped her from behind. He pulled the ties at her neck, and her breath caught when a big, warm hand trailed down her back and yanked the strings there, too, baring her chest to the vast, empty bay. “Don’t want to get burned either,” he whispered in her ear. Goose bumps erupted across her skin and just like that he was—

  Gone?

  She turned to see the big ol’ tease digging around in the storage compartment below the console seat. Moments later, he returned to the bow and squirted some sunscreen into his palm. It wasn’t oil, which would have been way sexier, but when he finished massaging it in, no trace of the white lotion remained. And it turned out to be sexy as hell anyway.

  Content beyond words, she stretched onto her stomach, and Jase planted a kiss on the nape of her exposed neck. “Don’t forget to flip,” he said. “I’ll be watching for it.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he began rummaging in the storage compartment again.

  “I’m going in.” He stripped off his shirt, leaving only a pair of black swim trunks. Over these he fastened a wading belt with a lot of little pockets and snap hooks. And to those last, he secured a mesh bag full of shrimp and a long stringer. “I won’t be far. But you’re going to have to listen for these,” he said, nodding at the lines they’d set out earlier. “Can you get a fish off a hook, too?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “I’m sure you will,” he said as his gaze traveled her length. “And just so you know, when I get back I’m going to do dirty things to you on that bow.”

  “I’m sure you will,” she said, repeating his words.

  Grinning, he perched on the side of the boat, twisted, then slid into the water. “Hate to bother you, but can you hand me that rod?”

  She was sure he hated it when she stood, bare breasted, and grabbed the last rod he’d rigged. “Can you touch bottom?” she asked, eyeing the muddy water hitting him about mid torso.

  “Yeah.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Always.”

  Her pulse quickened as he moved away. And it wasn’t because she enjoyed watching him wade through the swells with his rod thrown over his bare shoulder and his tattoo half hidden in the water. That part was magazine-worthy.

  Jase had probably been fishing since he could hold a rod, but it didn’t make her feel any better about him walking waist-deep through the bay, not after studying the pictures lining his staircase again that morning. Even with the sun warming her skin and the boat swaying gently beneath her, she couldn’t relax. Her eyes kept scanning the water, looking for fins. She was probably being overdramatic, but she was an East Texas girl. Things like shark fins scared the bejesus out of her, same as the pines gave people from the coast the creeps.

  Her concern for Jase told her how invested she’d become, and instead of letting that frighten her, too, she reasoned this experience was just par for the course. It would scare the crap out of her, and when he returned, it would turn her way the hell on. That seemed to be the way of it. And as the sun’s warmth began to melt the tension from her shoulders, she decided wade fishermen were out-of-their-minds crazy, no different than men who felt the need for speed or thought climbing on the back of a bull sounded like fun.

  Yeah, she’d landed one of those.

  But wasn’t everyone just a little crazy in their own way? She was, after all, splayed-out, half naked on a floating piece of fiberglass in the middle of Matagorda Bay.

  A reel started spinning, making that fast clicking sound as a fish took one of the lines.

  She jumped up, boobs-a-bouncin’, and grabbed the rod, thankful no other boats were anchored nearby. She set the hook—utterly impressing herself at that accomplishment—then hit the clicker to lock the line. The reel spun easily at first but became harder to turn as she hauled the fish closer.

  And harder still.

  The taut line stretched a good distance into the water, but nothing thrashed. Yet. It was probably a stingray. Jase had explained that they liked to suck to the bottom, making you think you’d hooked a really big fish until the line broke. But then she remembered him rigging the lines with steel leaders and her heart sank.

  It sank further when the thrashing began.

  Fins. Black ones.

  Shit.

  Back bent over, the rod digging into her belly, she took a shaky step backward, desperate to reach the tackle box but not sure how to accomplish such a feat one-handed. And she couldn’t set the rod in one of the holders; it would be ripped out. She snapped her head up and looked over her shoulder, searching the swells for Jase.

  He headed for the boat, moving as fast as he could, but still a hundred or so yards away. And he looked tiny out there in the waves.

  Her arms burned, her hands cramped, sweat beaded her brow. And she didn’t even have a freaking top on.

  What the hell am I supposed to do?

  How am I going to get this fish off the line?

  Her next thought was, Duh, the clicker.

  Cassie flipped the switch and immediately felt slack in the line. She drew a deep breath and moved quickly, managing to open the tackle box with one hand without losing the entire rod and reel. Still shaking, she searched for a knife, for anything sharp. Her hands closed over a pair of shears. A second before she snipped the line, her stomach turned, and she stopped short.

  As a candidate for the Dumbass of the Year award, she’d almost loosed an angry shark into the same waters as Jase.

  A sick feeling swirled in her gut as the shark took more and more drag. She glanced over her shoulder at Jase, who surged through the shallow waves, and made her decision.

  She was going to have to wrangle baby Jaws into the boat. Jase could deal with it then…while she stood on top of the console. With her top on.

  Cursing herself and starting to shake, she began to reel.

  Slow and steady, Cass.

  The thing wasn’t huge, but damn it was strong. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face and another stung her left eye. Blinking it away, she kept a death grip on the rod, determined not to lose it or the shark.

  Lesson for the day? No lines out next time Jase goes wading into the deep blue yonder. She turned to look for him. Closer now, she could see his face.

  “It’s a shark!” she shouted. Receiving no response over the wind and waves, she focused on the sharp-toothed task at hand. And she needed to hurry. Worst-case scenario: the shark freed itself just as Jase approached the boat. She wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Another reel started clicking.

  Oh, hell no.

  Were there more? The possibility made her heart ache and her palms sweat. And the last thing she needed right now were sweaty palms.

  Just then, a gray body with black-tipped fins surfaced next to the boat, frothing the water and making her stomach clench. She estimated it to be about three feet in length. Definitely not a man-eater, but big enough that her naked torso broke out in goose bumps. As she struggled to turn the rod handle, she wondered if she could even haul it into the boat. The rod was bent nearly in half, and she—

  “Fuck!”

  Her head snapped around. Jase stood about ten feet from the boat, bent over at the waist, his face almost touching the water. Panic slammed through her, clawing at her stomach and taking her breath.

  There were more. She didn’t see fins or tails or anything else to indicate their presence. But she saw the blood in the water. Jase’s blood. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like her entire body was being beaten with a club.

  No. No!

  Her head whipped back to the shark on her line. The second she’d turned, it had taken several feet of drag. It churned the water on the end of the line, as panicked as she was and mad as hell about it. Determined to keep it from Jase, she screamed into the wind. “You’re not going anywhere!”

  The next seconds happened in a blur: Jase yelling at her to keep the shark on her side of the boat, the q
uick glimpses of him struggling through the water, his rod clutched tight in one hand, the feel of her own rod slipping between her slick palms, and the look of pure misery twisting Jase’s face when he finally reached the boat.

  “Cut it,” he barked out.

  “Get in!” she yelled without looking back.

  “Cut it now. I need you.”

  He didn’t have to ask twice. She swiped the shears from the console seat and clipped the line. Dropping the rod, she rounded the console and nearly tripped when her flip-flop caught the anchor rope.

  That’s when she saw the blood clouding the water. They locked eyes, and Cassie’s entire body trembled as Jase’s hand grasped hers. He almost pulled her over the side. Her feet skidded to the side of the boat, and she pulled back with everything she had. Jase must have been doing more than his part or she’d have never pulled him up the side. Gasping, he rolled over the railing and fell onto the deck. Blood streamed down his leg and into the bottom of the boat, mingling with saltwater and pooling around his prone body.

  Terror. Pure terror seized her, and her body shook so hard she could barely form words. “Shit…shit.”

  “I’m okay,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “You’re not okay. What happened?”

  His blood was everywhere—smeared on the side of the hull, on the deck, on him, and running in watery rivulets towards the back of the boat. He grimaced and crab-crawled to the console.

  “What happened!” she demanded, kneeling at his side.

  “I plowed into an oyster reef trying to get back to you.” He winced and leaned against the console. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “Oh my God.” Relief flooded her body. “I thought—” her words caught in her throat, and she made herself take several calming breaths. “I thought you’d been attacked by a shark.”

  He chuckled and lifted his gaze from his bleeding leg. “And you rescued me topless.”

  Her jaw dropped, and she gaped at him, speechless. Then she studied his leg. Deep gashes crisscrossed his right leg from just below his knee clear down to his ankle. Three or four appeared particularly ugly. Like needing stitches ugly. And bits of shell protruded here and there. His left leg was scratched, but not as badly, and her hands hovered, not sure where to begin.

  “We have to go,” she said. “You need to get this looked at.” Because Jase’s leg was bleeding badly, despite his nonchalance. She rose on her own jelly legs and noticed the other rod’s line blowing in the wind. Whatever that one had caught now swam free as well. She hadn’t even noticed it happening. She grabbed both Jase’s shirt and hers. She left her bikini top for now, as it wasn’t as urgent, and, apparently, Jase preferred his heroines free-boobin’. Not that she felt like a heroine. She felt stupid and inadequate for not being able to reel in a freaking fish.

  “Here,” she said, offering him one of the shirts. “Let’s at least try to stop the blood flow while we make our way back in.” She wasn’t even going to address the panic she’d experienced at the thought of Jase being attacked. Because those feelings she had? They were stronger than she’d imagined. And all it had taken was a shark scare to remind her that she was in way over her head with Jason Lucas. She needed a moment. Or ten.

  She eyed the man in question as he finished tightening his shirt around his right leg.

  “I’ll drive,” she offered, because Jase was in no shape. She desperately needed that moment, too. And maybe the wind would blow away the tears of shame and frustration threatening to appear at any second. “You good to go?” she asked as she fumbled with her bikini top.

  “Cassie.” He spoke her name softly, and it didn’t help those tears she was trying to stave off. “Look at me.”

  She shook her hair around her face. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “Yeah, we’ll get there. But I need you to know you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I hear you.” Although she didn’t quite believe him. “Tell me what to do,” she said, rounding the console.

  “Turn the key and lower the prop.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  “Green button.”

  She hit it and heard a mechanical sound coming from the engine. Prop. Propeller. Got it.

  “Throttle up,” he said next.

  She pushed up the throttle too hard and stumbled backwards as Jase rolled across the bottom of the boat. Shit! She felt something…pulling.

  “Anchor!” Jase yelled, scooting back to the console.

  She throttled back, ran to the bow, and grabbed the wet anchor rope. Her arms shook in embarrassed effort as she gave it all she had.

  Nothing.

  “I’m coming,” she heard Jase say behind her.

  “No you’re not,” she said, her cheeks flaming red.

  At least she could do this. God, please. Please. She chanted as she pulled, straining, her entire body leaned back. The anchor gave way without warning, and she again stumbled backward. The damned thing seemed to weigh a ton and a half, but she managed to haul it into the bottom of the boat. At least she’d accomplished that, if not without incident. Not meeting Jase’s gaze, she hightailed it back to the wheel.

  A few minutes later, they were halfway back to shore, and the heavy feeling in her gut was turning into full-blown nausea.

  “Am I going the right way?” she managed over the wind. She was good with directions or wouldn’t have made it as a landman, but experiences like this had a way of turning everything on its head.

  “Yes,” he ground out.

  “You in pain?”

  “Not too bad.”

  Right. She kicked up the throttle, and the boat began jumping waves, jarring every bone in her body when it came down. Cassie grimaced, imagining what it felt like to Jase. “Sorry,” she mumbled, ready to be on dry land again, but not willing to make either one of them sick to do it. Reluctantly, she let off the gas.

  “I’m okay, babe.” She heard over the wind and the engine. “How are you?”

  She had no idea. She wasn’t the one injured, but damn if it didn’t feel like it. “Where?” she yelled. All the houses beginning to line the shore looked the same to her.

  “Four more.”

  She assumed he meant houses, but she could barely see them anymore. Wind and tears stung her eyes. She brushed them furiously away and finally, blurrily, recognized the pier where she and Jase had—

  Oh, God…

  Her stomach clenched, and some sort of weird lightness overtook her body, as if part of her was trying to detach. She had to get it together. And yet she wondered if this hadn’t all been an elaborate sign from the universe that she simply wasn’t cut out to handle a man like Jase.

  “There’s the canal,” he said, pointing.

  She throttled down but still overshot the entrance to the canal beside Jase’s house. She spun the wheel, only to find herself facing the open bay. Embarrassment washed over her again, the kind that renders you incapable of doing simple tasks, much less steering a boat into a narrow canal.

  She spun the wheel, obtaining an angle she thought she could manage, but hit the throttle too hard again and careened straight toward the side of the bulkheaded canal. Spinning the wheel in the opposite direction, she missed the wooden boards with the bow but slammed the back of the boat into them. They now faced the far side of the canal, and tears of frustration coursed down her cheeks.

  “Take a deep breath,” Jase said. “We aren’t in a rush.”

  The hell they weren’t. The man had oyster shells sticking out of his leg, and who knows what kind of bacteria they harbored.

  She throttled up, hands shaking, and straightened the boat, swinging it into the center of the canal.

  “There you go,” he said. “We’re here.”

  She wiped her face with a trembling hand and made for the dock.

  Only after she’d managed to tie them off and blink away the last of the tears, did she turn to face Jase.

  He was staring at her, h
ead cocked, and he hadn’t made a move to stand, which surprised her given his usual bullheadedness. “Cassie—”

  “I’m sorry.” No way to hold the tears back now. “I’m so sorry,” she said, dropping to the deck beside him, blood be damned.

  “For what?” he asked, hauling her into his lap.

  “That you’re hurt.” She swiped at her face again and saw no judgment in his eyes.

  “How many times do I have to tell you it wasn’t your fault.” Those fierce blue eyes held her stare. “And I’ll always come when you need me. No matter what I have to do to get to you, no matter how much it hurts, and no matter how many times I have to do it. Don’t cry, baby. I got to you, right?”

  Despite the tears streaming down her face, she refused to break his gaze. The connection was that intense, as intimate a thing as she’d ever experienced, beyond sexual intimacy, and yet it conveyed the same deep longing to go outside yourself, to become part of another person. That longing, that need, was full of promises not yet made. It was full of hope and of fear. She saw all those things in Jase’s eyes as his leg bled onto the deck of his boat.

  “Yeah, you got me,” she sniffed. “And now I’m getting you to the hospital.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  She’d zoned out. There was no other explanation for it. No one had ever walked right up to her and not immediately captured her attention.

  The wall of man standing in front of the waiting room couch repeated himself. “Where’s he at?”

  “He’s in surgery.” Cassie cleared her throat. Yeah, definitely in the Twilight Zone. How else could she have said that so calmly when only an hour or so ago she’d freaked the hell out when a doctor had told her Jase was being admitted overnight.

  “He’s in surgery for some cuts?”