Sea Haven 01 - Water Bound

don’t like it either,” he said. And it was true. Funny. He’d never admitted that to anyone. It didn’t particularly matter, he did what had to be done, but he didn’t like it—maybe not in the same way she meant. His was a matter of personal space, a natural avoidance of closeness with others. But Rikki . . . He studied her face. “I don’t think my touch bothers you that much.”
    She blinked. She rarely blinked, but he’d struck home. She compressed her lips and then narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re pretty arrogant for a man who can’t move with a pile of weapons sitting next to him.”
    “You have such a penchant for violence.”
    She looked outraged. “ I do? You’re the one being hostile. I’m Mother Teresa here. And I don’t like sick people.”
    “Do you like anyone?” Amusement was creeping in again. He was beginning to like the feeling. “Anything?”
    “Not particularly.” She snatched her arm away from him as if just remembering he was touching her and she was supposed to be protesting.
    “And you especially.”
    She rubbed at her arm as she stalked away from the bed toward the bathroom. The rubbing turned gentler, almost a caress, or maybe that was just in his mind. Figuring her out was fast becoming an obsession, but perhaps it was because as long as he was concentrating on her, he didn’t 57

    have to look at himself—and he didn’t bear close scrutiny. Not now, not when he felt exposed and vulnerable.
    She returned, this time with a warm washcloth and a small, very tidy emergency kit. “This might hurt. Lexi might do a better job. Do you want me to wait for her? She’s good with people, especially people in pain. It’s sort of her thing, helping them.”
    “You do it. We’ve come this far and I’m used to you now. I wouldn’t want to accidently attack Lexi.”
    Her expression changed, her dark eyes going stormy. “You keep your hands off of her. I would have no problem sticking your own knife right through your heart if you touched her.”
    So she had a protective streak. Another Achilles’ heel. He’d been beginning to think she was cut off from everyone. But there it was. The storm. The promise. And she was dead serious. He liked that. He didn’t want a saint. He was no saint and one would never be able to live with . . . What the hell was he thinking? He really had taken a blow to the head.
    The warm cloth moved over his head. She wasn’t rough, but he wouldn’t call her gentle either. Evidently she wasn’t the soothing type, but she took care of the wound with the same efficiency she did everything. She was meticulously detailed, taking her time to close the gaping laceration with butterfly strips. She removed every trace of blood from his face and neck before she was through. He heard her washing her hands and all the equipment she used before she returned to him.
    “I’ll let you sleep.” There was uneasiness in her voice.
    “Don’t go yet.” Because he didn’t dare go to sleep. He might really kill her if he woke up disoriented. He needed to be able to figure out what the hell was going on. He wanted to breathe her in, feel her inside and out, until he could identify her anywhere, anytime. He was almost there, a few more minutes and she’d be inside of him. He just needed . . . something . It was there in his mind, that elusive something. A few more minutes . . .
    She gave him that little frown he was becoming familiar with. The moment she made that face, his heart contracted. God, she had some kind of hold on him, as if she had stolen a part of him there under the sea.
    “Look.” She spread her hands out in front of her. “In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not exactly normal. I can’t have anyone here. As soon as Blythe gets back, you’re going.”
    He kept his gaze locked with hers. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not exactly normal either. You’re safe with me. I know the feel of you. Your scent. I won’t make the same mistakes again.”
    “I’m taking a shower.”
    58

    Oh, God. She was killing him. Making him want to laugh out loud.
    Where had his sense of self-preservation gone? He didn’t feel emotion—that was far too dangerous. He shivered beneath the blankets, suddenly afraid for her. For himself.
    “You’re still cold. I should have thought to rub you down with some warm oil. Lexi makes it and I use it sometimes when I come in from a dive.
    It warms you up fast. Can you roll over, because