Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
The giggle breaks, and I sob. It comes in a heaving wave that knocks me flat on the muddy shore. Everything is wrong. The air is too light. The ground is too insistent. The lake is behind me, and I’m not allowed to return.
“Miss? Miss, can you hear me?” a voice booms from above—a man’s, warm and wary. Boots thud in the mud. “You look like you’ve taken a dunk. Are you hurt?”
I flinch, throwing up a hand—stay back—and only then realize what’s in it. The leather folder. The card with Everett’s human smile. I forgot to ditch them. Of course I did.
The older man has white hair, a magnificent mustache, and a uniform that says marine police. His eyes drop to the license, and his mouth tightens like he recognizes the name. “I see. Did he hurt you?”
I try to answer, but what comes out is a raw little croak. My voice is a fish flopping on deck: not helpful, faintly tragic. Panic spikes—banished and mute? The universe is going for the full drama today.
“It’s all right,” he says, softening. Then, because I’m a brand-new foal with ideas above my station, he scoops me up like I weigh nothing and turns toward the waiting boat.
He holds me carefully, like he’s carried daughters. I clutch the folder to my chest like a talisman and try very hard not to call this a kidnapping. Technically, it’s a rescue. Technically, I asked for none of it.
Next time you break every law you’ve ever known for one forbidden kiss… don’t steal the man’s identification.
Chapter 4
Everett
Hospitals smell like lemon cleaner covering sickness. The window by my bed is a gray postcard of rain-slick parking lot and low clouds, and somewhere in my head, a song about life not always being pretty keeps looping like my brain forgot how to pick a new track.
Ricky and Kara are arguing at the foot of my bed about who gets to babysit me. The IV stand judders with their indignation.
“I’ll take him home,” Kara says, calm and immovable.
“You have a board prep,” Ricky counters. “I’ll take him and physically tape him to the couch.”
“I don’t need taping,” I say, staring past them at the glass.
The bruise on my temple throbs in time with the heart monitor. Weird thing is, life feels obscenely beautiful right now. Concussion hum in my skull? Sure. But also, a mouth on mine in the rain. Red hair like a flare. Blue eyes burning with something wild and intimate. Lips parted as if she wanted more.
Unless I dreamed her. Unless I never fell overboard at all, and the EPIRB grew a conscience and launched itself.
The ER doc says, “mild concussion,” “take it easy,” and “no boats for forty-eight hours,” which is fucking adorable. The plan is to smile, nod, escape at the first opportunity, find the woman who may or may not be a hallucination, and thank her for dragging my stupid ass out of the water. Also, maybe ask if she routinely kisses drowning men or if I’m an exception.
“I’ll drive,” Kara decides. “Ricky can keep watch. Please keep him on the couch. He won’t let you put him to bed—”
“I’ll be good,” I lie pleasantly. Kara’s eyebrows say Sure, Everett.
She heads out to bring the car around. The door hushes shut. Ricky thrusts my pants at my face.
“Listen,” I say, dropping my voice as I wriggle into them under the gown. “I need you to find someone.”
“Oh, my God.” He goes full scandalized aunt. “You nearly died and now you want me to Tinder you a ‘congratulations on not being dead’ hookup?”
“For—” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “For once in your life, breathe, Ricardo. She saved me. Red hair. Blue eyes. Pulled me onto the boat like she was part motor. Kissed me. I’m not saying that last part out loud to the doctor because I enjoy being released.”
He pelts my shirt at my head. “So, a siren.”
“Don’t be mean to my fantasy woman,” I mutter, struggling into the T-shirt. “She was real. I felt her.” Heat pricks my neck at how that sounds. “Like, physically. Arms. Legs.” Full breasts, wet and pressed to my chest. Silky thighs straddling mine. A kiss that felt more like a claim than a rescue.
“Uh-huh,” Ricky says, which is assistant for I will humor you until Kara returns and then narc. He hands me my keys. “Wallet?”
I pat my back pocket. Empty. “Boat, maybe.”
“Not today.” He holds out my soggy socks with two fingers like they’re biohazards. I decline. Barefoot it is.
Kara glides back in, efficient as ever. “Car’s out front. Let’s go.”
We round the corner into the waiting area, and every plan I had slams into a new one. A marine police officer steps through the automatic doors, dripping lake water onto the linoleum. In his arms is a bedraggled woman in an oversized, shredded blue shirt and nothing else. Red hair in wet ropes. Face tucked into the officer’s shoulder. Bare legs pale against his dark uniform. Her face is hidden… but I know.