by Ginna Gray
Arms overhead, she arched her neck and stretched, but her fledgling smile collapsed into a frown when she focused on the unfamiliar ceiling.
This wasn't her bedroom!
The thought had barely registered when memory returned—the trip, the two thugs, David Blaine's grudging assistance...
David!
Abigail's head snapped around. Sure enough, there he was, sprawled out beside her, sound asleep.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she raised on one elbow to study him. She couldn't believe she had slept with him. Well... beside him. She hadn't expected to get so much as a moment's rest, but she had slept like a log all
Though, considering the day she'd had, that wasn't so surprising. The excitement of the trip, then the fright and tension, to say nothing of her clashes with David had left her exhausted. And, yes, she grudgingly admitted while examining his rugged face, there was something about this tough, overbearing man that made her feel secure. Despite his gruffness and his grousing, somehow she knew that David would do everything in his power to keep her safe.
She studied him as though he were an alien species that she'd never seen up close before. In a sense, he was; in her thirty years, Abigail had never encountered a man quite like David before. He was a battle-scarred warrior—granite hard, world-weary, cynical—a man who had dealt with life's seamier side, seen things Abigail knew she couldn't even imagine, and walked away, a trifle battered, perhaps, but whole.
Beneath the whisker stubble, the bruise on his jaw had turned a livid purple. So had the larger one on his shoulder. He hadn't complained of either, but Abigail knew they must be painful, and she had to resist a disturbing urge to run a comforting hand over his battered flesh. Her eyes flickered to the small cut above his left eye. She wondered if it would leave a scar, one more mark of experience on his lived-in face.
Her smile returned, tinged with whimsy. No, he didn't exactly fit the image of a knight in shining armor, but there was no denying that he'd come to her rescue. And he was appealing—in his own roughshod way.
In that unguarded moment he didn't look quite so dangerous or formidable. His harsh face was softened in sleep, his lips parted and slack, making him appear vulnerable. Well...almost. He looked rumpled and utterly relaxed with stubble shadowing his jaw and his dark hair mussed and hanging across his forehead. But even in sleep he exuded a strange earthy appeal.
She sighed. If only he weren't so impossible.
Not that it would make any difference. He'd made his feelings crystal clear. Skinny librarian types didn't turn him on. Which suited her just fine, because he wasn't her type, either.
Of course, in all honesty, Abigail wasn't sure she even had a type, since her experience with men was so limited. But if she did, it wouldn't be the likes of David Blaine, she assured herself. Of that she was positive.
Abigail's gaze turned to his mouth, and her heart began to thump. His kiss had come as a shock—or at least, her reaction to it had. It wasn't fair that he could so easily turn her into a quivering lump, especially since he'd only kissed her to prove a point.
Oh, she had agreed with David when he said that the kiss had sparked no feelings between them. After all, she had her pride. It was distressing, and painful—downright humiliating—to admit, even to herself, that she had experienced such mindless pleasure when he had so obviously felt nothing.
It also annoyed her no end. David Blaine was the last man she wanted to respond to that way. The whole idea was ludicrous. They were like oil and water, for goodness' sake!
The only reason it had happened was that she had been frightened and exhausted and her defenses had been down, she told herself. That and this bizarre situation in which they'd found themselves. Under normal, everyday conditions she would have felt nothing. Except perhaps revulsion.
All at once it occurred to Abigail that David might wake up any second. Unnerved by the thought, she turned back the cover, scooted to the foot of ,the bed and eased out, keeping a watchful eye on him all the while. This situation was awkward and embarrassing enough without them waking up in bed together.
The instant she opened the folding door and stepped into the main cabin, Chelsea jumped down from the banquette seat and wriggled joyously around her feet, whining and licking her ankles. Chelsea always slept at the foot of Abigail's bed, and the little dog was almost frantic over being separated from her overnight.
"What's the matter, girl? Did you miss me?" Abigail crooned, scooping the animal up in her arms and cuddling her close.
But even after the greeting was over and Chelsea had been fed the half dozen or so dry pellets of dog food she had each morning, she still was not satisfied. While Abigail dressed in her clean undies and rumpled shorts and shirt, the little Yorkie restlessly roamed the boat—going up on deck, coming back down, trotting urgently around the cabin and giving her mistress desperate looks.
"I know, girl," Abigail sympathized. "It's been a long night, hasn't it?" She measured coffee into the basket and slid it into the maker. As water began to gurgle into the glass pot, she glanced toward the forward cabin. "Well, don't worry, he'll be up soon and we'll take care of it."
The delicious smell of coffee brewing filled the cabin. When that failed to rouse David, Abigail set about making breakfast, casting expectant looks at the folding door as she banged pots and pans and hummed a cheerful tune.
David woke with a start and shot up in the bed as though he were spring-loaded. What the hell was that?
His gaze darted around, but all was peaceful. Then a crash sounded in the galley, and he flinched.
He sighed, and his spine bowed as he slumped and dragged his hand down over his face. Hell, he should've known. Every disagreeable thing that had happened to him during the past twelve hours had involved Abigail Stewart. And waking up in the morning was high on his list of disagreeable things.
Another clattering bang sounded, and David held his head and groaned. The woman was making more noise than a demolition crew.
Bleary-eyed, he glanced around the cabin. A pale lavender light seeped through the window above the bed; Jeez. The sun wasn't even all the way up yet.
David threw the cover back, swung his feet to the floor and staggered to the door. Grinding his teeth, he shoved aside the folding partition. God, she was humming, too. The woman had to be a sadist.
"Dammit, what is all that racket?"
Abigail looked up from dumping oatmeal too a pot. David filled the doorway, his hands gripping the frame on either side at shoulder level. He hadn't bothered to dress or even put on a robe. He just stood there like a big, grumpy bear, glaring at her, wearing nothing but those outlandish purple bikini shorts.
Avoiding the splash of color, Abigail's gaze flickered over his brawny chest, those powerful arms and legs, tanned and corded with muscle and dusted with hair. Her mouth went dry, and her eyes flickered away again. Lord, didn't he have an ounce of modesty?
"Oh, good. You're awake!" she chirped with false brightness.
"I am now. What the hell were you trying to do in here, wake the dead?"
"No, just you." She sent him a cheery smile. "You said you wanted to get an early start on the engine. Remember?"
"Not this early. Hell, even roosters aren't up yet."
"Oh, but this is the best part of the day," she protested. "It's so quiet and peaceful, and everything is fresh and new. It's a shame to waste this time sleeping."
"Aw, jeez. Don't tell me. Let me guess. You're one of those people who jumps out of bed at the crack of dawn all bright-eyed and bushy tailed and disgustingly perky.
Right?"
"Well... I... I am at my best in the morning."
He rolled his eyes heavenward. "Why me? Huh? What did I do to deserve this?"
"Oh, don't be such a grump," Abigail chastised, but her voice held a hint of laughter. She gave the oatmeal a quick stir. "Haven't you heard? It's invigorating to get up early. And it's good for you."
"If you're a bird, mayb
e. But I don't happen to like worms. So if that's what you're cooking for breakfast, count me out."
Scratching his chest and yawning, his eyelids drooping at half mast, he lumbered into the galley and headed for the coffeepot. Chelsea lifted her lip at him as he walked by. David lifted his back.
He poured himself a mug of coffee, propped a hip against the counter and took a big swig. It had no sooner gone down than he made a horrible face and jerked upright, coughing and sputtering. "What the hell is that?"
Abigail bristled. Her benevolent morning mood vanished like the steam rising from the mug he was eyeing so suspiciously. "It's coffee," she snapped. "I'll admit it may be a little strong—I'm not used to that kind of coffee maker—but there's nothing wrong with it, so you needn't act as though I'm trying to poison you."
Abigail was sensitive about her coffee-making skills. She was a better-than-average cook but somehow she'd just never gotten the hang of making coffee. She used to brew it for her customers at the bookstore, but her efforts were so bad she ended up throwing away more than was consumed. Now she just provided a pot of hot water and a jar of instant and let them make their own.
"A little strong? This stuff would float an iron wedge. Why, I've seen battery acid that didn't have this much bite."
Abigail lifted her chin and gave the oatmeal another brisk stir. "Since you find my coffee so objectionable, I suggest that you throw it out and make some more yourself."
David's eyes narrowed on her haughty expression. "You know, I'm getting real tired of that nose-in-the-air attitude of yours, Legs. Say the least little thing and you get as prickly as a hedgehog. Loosen up a little, why don't you?"
Least little thing, indeed. The man was a mannerless oaf. Abigail sniffed, and her chin went up another notch.
"Fine. Have it your way." He slammed the mug down and turned on his heel.
She ignored him until Chelsea pawed at her ankle and whined, reminding Abigail of the reason she had awakened him in the first place. She dropped the spoon and took a quick step after him. "Where are you going?"
"Where do you think? To the John."
Abigail felt her face grow pink. She suspected he was deliberately trying to embarrass her but she met his challenging gaze head-on and refused to acknowledge her discomfort. "As soon as you're done, I'm afraid you'll have to row Chelsea and me to shore."
"To shore? You mean before breakfast? What the devil for?"
"Chelsea needs to relieve herself, too, you know. For that she needs a bit of soil, preferably a grassy area. She's an exceptionally well-behaved dog, but there are limits to her... well, to her... uh... capacity. So you see, you must take us ashore. Just for a few minutes. Unless, of course, you don't mind a puddle or two on your decking."
For his expression you would have thought she was suggesting they tap-dance over the teakwood decks in cleats. He stared at her, appalled. Then his face hardened.
"C'mon." Ignoring her growl, he scooped Chelsea up in one hand and went up on deck. Abigail turned off the burner under the oatmeal and followed on his heels, feeling victorious, though a bit surprised that he'd agreed so readily.
But instead of inflating the raft, as she expected, he stalked to the railing and held the dog out at arm's length over the side.
"Since she's got to go so bad, she can go here," he said, and let the little Yorkie drop.
Abigail gasped and rushed forward in time to see Chelsea hit the water. She rounded on David. "You... you... beast! How could you?" she screeched, kicking off her sandals.
"Aw, what's the big deal? Dogs can swim. It's not as though— Hey! Hold on! What are you doing? Get down from there ri—"
His protest was cut off by a tremendous splash when Abigail jumped, feet first, from the railing.
She sank beneath the crystal-blue waters like a rock. A few seconds later she bobbed back up coughing and sputtering. Ignoring David's shouted orders and outstretched hand, Abigail sucked in a deep breath and started after her dog.
On deck, David gaped in astonishment. Never in his life had he seen such a pathetic attempt at swimming. Abigail flailed through the water with all the style and grace of a threshing machine.
Hell, the damned dog was doing a hundred times better than she was.
The glass-calm waters of the cove presented no problem for the terrier, who paddled furiously for shore, steadily lengthening the distance between herself and her mistress. Yards behind, Abigail flogged the water, whipping up such a froth he doubted she could see at all.
Keeping his eye on her, David dashed over to the fiberglass case that housed the inflatable life raft.
"Damn fool woman." He flipped open the latches and fumbled for the cord. All right, so maybe he shouldn't have tossed the mutt into the drink, but, dammit, the woman had a way of lighting his fire. Whenever she got that prune-faced expression and her mouth drew up like the pucker on a tight drawstring, it made him so mad he couldn't see straight, much less think straight.
And it wasn't as if he'd been trying to drown the little fuzz ball. Anyway, what kind of idiot jumps in after a dog when she can't swim any better than that?
Locating the cord to inflate the raft, he gave it a hard yank. Nothing happened.
"What the—" He pawed through the folds of rubber. "Well, that cuts it!" David cursed and poked his forefinger through the bullet hole in the raft. Bending over, he located the corresponding one in the fiberglass case and cursed again.
Throwing the useless pile of rubber down in disgust, he raced back to the side.
With the instinctive fear of a poor swimmer, Abigail was fighting to keep her head above the surface and failing miserably. Coughing and choking, she sucked in a mouthful of water with every desperate gasp.
David knew she was using up her energy. As he watched, the furious splashing diminished and she began to sink.
Snatching up a life buoy with a rope attached, he slung it out into the water. It landed a few feet from Abigail. "Grab hold! Grab the ring! C'mon, you can do it!" he shouted through his cupped palms.
But Abigail was in the grip of panic and neither saw the buoy nor heard David's instructions. She thrashed at the water, fighting a losing battle.
"Aw, hell."
The curse had barely left his lips before he was over the side and slicing through the water with long, powerful strokes. Abigail's wretched swimming had not taken her far, and he reached her before she went down for the final time.
When she realized that he had come to her rescue, she grabbed him in a stranglehold. "Oh, David. Th-thank... God," she choked.
"Dammit, will you let go! Just relax and I'll—"
Water closed over their heads, and the remainder of the stern command came out in an indecipherable "glub, glub."
A powerful kick from David sent them shooting back up. They broke the surface coughing and sputtering, David struggling to free himself from her clinging arms and Abigail struggling just as hard to hold on.
"Let go, dammit! You're gonna drown us both!" At last he managed to peel her off and push her away, but Abigail made another grab for him. "Now cut that out!" he roared, but she was beyond reason. Thrashing and clawing, she lunged again. "All right, dammit. You asked for it."
Left with no choice, he drew back his fist and clipped her one on the jaw.
Abigail's eyes glazed over and crossed, and her body went limp. He hadn't hit her hard—just enough to addle her for a moment. Before her head could clear, he cupped her chin and towed her to the life buoy.
Though still dazed, Abigail instinctively hung on to the buoyant ring with a death grip as David towed it and her back to the boat.
Once on board, she collapsed in a sodden heap in the middle of the deck. She sat, gasping for breath, bedraggled and forlorn. Her clothes plastered her body, and limp strands of hair that had worked loose from the braid clung to her face. Water streamed around her in an ever-widening puddle.
"You hit me," she accused, gingerly fingering her jaw.
David
stood over her, his legs braced wide, his chest heaving. Wet, the purple bikini underwear was even more indecent. "Yeah, well you didn't leave me any choice. If I hadn't, we both would've gone down like a rock. And just what the hell were you thinking of anyway, jumping in the water that way when you can't swim worth a plug nickel?"
"I was thinking of my dog," she snapped back. Her eyes widened. "Oh, my Lord, Chelsea!"
Abigail scrambled to her feet and rushed to the side. Gripping the rail with one hand, she shaded her eyes with the other.
With her long fur plastered to her body and coated with sand, the little dog resembled a clump of seaweed, and at first Abigail didn't see her standing on the small, crescent-shaped beach. Then Chelsea shook herself, sending up a shower of drops. Abigail sagged with relief. "Thank God."
She recovered the next instant and whirled on David. "You have to go get her."
His brows shot upward. "You gotta be kidding."
"It's your fault she's over there. That was a horrid thing you did."
"All right, all right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tossed your dog into the water. But hell, Legs, it didn't hurt her. You baby that mutt too much, you know. She swam ashore just fine, and when she's ready, she'll swim back. No big deal."
David could feel his anger slipping away. He tried to hold on to it, but he was distracted by the way the soaked shirt molded Abigail's breasts and abdomen.
"Chelsea has never been in the water before. She's not used to swimming. If you're really sorry, you'll go get her."
His breath grew shallow, and a hot heaviness settled in his loins as he stared at the baggy shorts clinging so provocatively to her fantastic long legs. It took a second for her statement to penetrate.
"What? Oh. Well, forget it. No way."
"Very well. If you won't go after her, I will."
The huffy pronouncement barely registered with him and' was quickly dismissed as bluff.
She brushed past him and bent over to retrieve the life buoy. His mesmerized gaze homed in on her tight little derriere. Beneath heavy lids his brown eyes smoldered as they traced the round shape and the enticing panty line so clearly revealed by the clinging wet cotton. She had one leg over the rail and was about to launch herself back into the water before he realized her intent.