sounded pathetic enough to touch even a skeptic. And he was beginning to really like her face, that pixie face with the incredible bone structure. She hadn’t taken her enormous eyes off of him, almost hadn’t blinked. She looked at him like he was a tiger crouched on the deck of her boat, ready to attack at any moment. She hadn’t exactly relaxed.
Her eyes were too big for her face and were heavily fringed with black lashes. Her hair was thick and a little wild, with ragged edges making her look even more like a pixie. Her chin was stubborn, her mouth generous.
She regarded him with suspicion, but he could see she might just have an Achilles’ heel—a soft spot for someone in trouble.
“A rogue wave knocked me off the boat. I found you in the water, but I have no idea where you came from. There’s a shelf down about thirty feet and you were being slammed into that. The fault line runs along there and I 38
managed to snag you before you dropped off it.” She poured cold water onto a clean rag and handed it to him, keeping her hands in sight and her movements slow. Then she handed him a glass. “Drink this.”
He took the tumbler from her, his fingers brushing hers. His heart jumped. Raced. His breath hitched. He frowned as he took his time drinking the contents. He didn’t have reactions to women—not real reactions. Not like that. Not unexpected and for no reason. His body was freezing. It felt as if he’d been beaten with several two-by-fours over and over. It wasn’t as if he needed sexual relief. So why the hell would he react to her touch? He didn’t like puzzles. And he sure as hell didn’t like things he couldn’t explain.
“Your name.” It wasn’t a question this time.
He ran his fingers through his wet hair and kept his expression as blank as possible. He frowned as if trying to remember. What to use? He needed something as close to the truth as possible. There was just something about her that raised a red flag. Like maybe she was one of those rare people who sensed lies. And he was damned good at lying—he didn’t know any other way of life. “Lev. I think it’s Lev. I can’t remember much.”
“Are you a criminal? A smuggler?”
He frowned and rubbed at the blood with the wet cloth. “I don’t know.”
Her expression didn’t change much. Her lips compressed and some of the storm in her eyes dissipated. He’d been right not to deny the accusation.
She was more comfortable with his lack of knowledge than if he’d denied being a criminal. He obviously wasn’t a fisherman. He was armed and he looked dangerous, even as battered as he was. She wasn’t going to buy an innocent act.
“Do you know how you got out here? I didn’t see any other boats before or after the wave hit.”
He looked her straight in the eye and allowed a touch of fear in his gaze. “I don’t know. My mind is a blank. I can’t remember what happened to me or who I am. But every time I think about going to the authorities, I get this very bad feeling.” That was a calculated risk. She was alone on a fishing boat out in the ocean. A maverick. A loner. One who didn’t frighten easily. She probably had an aversion to authority and police and questions. It was a connection between them, small, but at last he’d found one. He could find more.
“You need a doctor. What the hell am I going to do with you?”
Triumph swept through him. His teeth were chattering now, and he could feel the edges of his brain fuzzing over. He held on to consciousness 39
grimly. “Thanks for pulling me out of the water.” He touched his chest as if it hurt. “You did CPR.”
She scowled at him. “I used the regulator.”
It seemed important to her to let him know she had not touched her lips to his, no matter how tempting the thought might be. And—strangely—he found it tempting. She had a very attractive mouth and he mentally kicked himself for noticing. Never allow emotions to come into play. His life was at
Her eyes were too big for her face and were heavily fringed with black lashes. Her hair was thick and a little wild, with ragged edges making her look even more like a pixie. Her chin was stubborn, her mouth generous.
She regarded him with suspicion, but he could see she might just have an Achilles’ heel—a soft spot for someone in trouble.
“A rogue wave knocked me off the boat. I found you in the water, but I have no idea where you came from. There’s a shelf down about thirty feet and you were being slammed into that. The fault line runs along there and I 38
managed to snag you before you dropped off it.” She poured cold water onto a clean rag and handed it to him, keeping her hands in sight and her movements slow. Then she handed him a glass. “Drink this.”
He took the tumbler from her, his fingers brushing hers. His heart jumped. Raced. His breath hitched. He frowned as he took his time drinking the contents. He didn’t have reactions to women—not real reactions. Not like that. Not unexpected and for no reason. His body was freezing. It felt as if he’d been beaten with several two-by-fours over and over. It wasn’t as if he needed sexual relief. So why the hell would he react to her touch? He didn’t like puzzles. And he sure as hell didn’t like things he couldn’t explain.
“Your name.” It wasn’t a question this time.
He ran his fingers through his wet hair and kept his expression as blank as possible. He frowned as if trying to remember. What to use? He needed something as close to the truth as possible. There was just something about her that raised a red flag. Like maybe she was one of those rare people who sensed lies. And he was damned good at lying—he didn’t know any other way of life. “Lev. I think it’s Lev. I can’t remember much.”
“Are you a criminal? A smuggler?”
He frowned and rubbed at the blood with the wet cloth. “I don’t know.”
Her expression didn’t change much. Her lips compressed and some of the storm in her eyes dissipated. He’d been right not to deny the accusation.
She was more comfortable with his lack of knowledge than if he’d denied being a criminal. He obviously wasn’t a fisherman. He was armed and he looked dangerous, even as battered as he was. She wasn’t going to buy an innocent act.
“Do you know how you got out here? I didn’t see any other boats before or after the wave hit.”
He looked her straight in the eye and allowed a touch of fear in his gaze. “I don’t know. My mind is a blank. I can’t remember what happened to me or who I am. But every time I think about going to the authorities, I get this very bad feeling.” That was a calculated risk. She was alone on a fishing boat out in the ocean. A maverick. A loner. One who didn’t frighten easily. She probably had an aversion to authority and police and questions. It was a connection between them, small, but at last he’d found one. He could find more.
“You need a doctor. What the hell am I going to do with you?”
Triumph swept through him. His teeth were chattering now, and he could feel the edges of his brain fuzzing over. He held on to consciousness 39
grimly. “Thanks for pulling me out of the water.” He touched his chest as if it hurt. “You did CPR.”
She scowled at him. “I used the regulator.”
It seemed important to her to let him know she had not touched her lips to his, no matter how tempting the thought might be. And—strangely—he found it tempting. She had a very attractive mouth and he mentally kicked himself for noticing. Never allow emotions to come into play. His life was at
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