“No.” She tossed the clothes to the floor and folded her arms across her chest. The stance showed off her slight frame and tightened the thin white pajama top against her breasts. Her pebble-hard nipples put delicate tents in the material. Heat swirled in his gut.
“I get that you want to be defiant, but don’t be stupid. You’re likely to catch pneumonia.”
“If you’re so worried, take me to a hospital.” Her lips pursed.
His temper ratcheted up a notch. He clenched his teeth.
“Change your clothes or I’ll do it for you.” He might not be able to force her, but he could damn well scare her.
“Over my dead body.” Her shrill voice rang in his ears. Her foot jutted out to catch him in the kneecap. It took all of his willpower not to bend her over and slap her ass. He counted to ten. His breath came out slow and even. He’d had a hell of a night, and he wasn’t going to stand here and fight with her another damn minute. He didn’t have the energy for it.
“That’s fine. Sleep in wet clothes. I don’t care.” He cuffed her back to the bed, grabbed his own clothes, and went into the bathroom to wash off the salt water.
Good God, she was lucky he wasn’t Stamos! The slimy bastard who had hired him would have relished stripping her naked. She was scared and beyond exhausted, and the fact that she was still putting up a fight was admirable—almost. He stepped out of the shower and dried off. His gaze landed on the bruising ring of teeth marks on his forearm. Blood spotted a few holes, and annoyance spiked his temper all over again. She was tough, he’d give her that, but there was no way in hell she’d get another lucky shot like that.
He was going to have to keep a close eye on her tonight. Aside from pneumonia, she faced many other risks. Within the first twenty-four hours after a near-drowning, the victim could still die. Her organs could have been flooded with water, causing her kidneys to shut down. He had made her vomit as much as he could, but he had no idea how much seawater she had ingested. Hopefully, she would come to her senses as she lay in a cold, wet bed.
Something told him she would shiver all night.
He emerged from the bathroom in dry clothes. His eyes automatically sought her out. She lay curled on her side, the wet blankets tucked around her. The light in the room was dim. A dingy glow shone from the lamp he’d turned on when they’d entered. Dark shadows cast over the room.
She watched him through heavy lids but made no other attempt at acknowledgment. The blanket was thin, with wet spots visible all over it—more wet than dry. He shook his head. If she froze all night, it would be her own damn fault. Her hair curled over the pillow, her cheek nestled into her palm. She was so soft and sweet. His hands ached to run over her body, to take her full mouth to his. Her lids fluttered, and her long eyelashes finally fell shut. He pulled a bottle of water from his duffel bag and left it on the floor beside her.
“Lana?” Her lids fluttered again until cerulean-blue eyes found him, her gaze unsteady and unfocused. “I left you a bottle of water here, okay? Try to drink some. All that salt water will dehydrate you quickly.” Her eyes closed in response.
Best to avoid provoking a snappy response from her. Her slumber was a welcome reprieve. He went over to the fireplace to toss in some logs. He had a fire started in minutes, the flames warm as they licked around the wood. He stretched out on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Her soft, even breathing sounded from across the room, and again he wondered what in the hell he was doing. A glance at his watch told him it was after three in the morning. Fatigue hummed through his muscles. The waves had been strong, and fighting against another person at the same time had been damn hard and mentally draining. In a few minutes, he drifted off to sleep.
When he woke, the air was freezing. A chill made him yank the covers up. A strange, rattling sound froze him. His senses prickled. He threw back his covers and got to his feet. As he got closer, he was able to identify the sound: chattering teeth.
Goddammit. She was probably on the verge of hypothermia. He dropped to sit on the bed beside her. His hands ran over the bundle of wet blankets.
“Lana, wake up.” She stirred and pulled her body into a tighter ball. A whimper broke through her parted lips. A cold sweat broke out on his brow. He never should have let her fall asleep in wet clothes.
A cold draft blasted in from the old window beside her. He freed her from the handcuffs and wet blanket she clung to and sat her up on the edge of the bed.
“Go away.” She shoved at him.
Her fingers were as cold as icicles.
“Enough of this. We need to get you warm.” She didn’t lift her head to look at him, but he took her silence for as much of an agreement as he was going to get. Grasping the hem of her shirt, he lifted it over her head.
He didn’t want to look—tried not to—but the moonlight beamed in through the window, illuminating her creamy naked skin. Her delicate pink nipples were taut, her hair wild around her porcelain face. God, she gave him a hard-on like nothing he’d ever experienced.
Her hands clasped to her chest, her chin tilted up to see his face.
“Sorry.” He grasped the back of his own shirt behind his neck and pulled it over his head. It was warm from his body heat, and long-sleeved. He tugged it over her head, covering her nakedness. She fit her arms through the sleeves. “Stand up, please.”
She rose to her feet. Her knees wobbled beneath her. He rested her hands on his shoulders to steady her as he leaned forward, grabbed the waistband of her sopping wet pajama shorts, and pulled them down her legs. His shirt covered her to mid-thigh, shielding his view. Her fingernails gripped into his shoulders, either to balance herself or from unease, he wasn’t sure. Her knees knocked, and her breath sucked in sharply around the clattering of her teeth. He cursed.
“C’mon, you can’t sleep in this bed now, it’s soaked.” Not waiting for her to move, he scooped her up in his arms and deposited her in the center of the warm bed he had vacated minutes before. He went to the fireplace to restart the fire. He set the logs up to ensure longer burning time. When he finished, he turned back toward the bed. His insides clenched at the sight of her in his bed. Lana lay curled tightly, her cheek cushioned next to her slim hand. She hadn’t even pulled the covers up before she passed out. Her sexy legs were bent at the knees, her feet kicked out onto his side of the bed. He rubbed the back of his neck. There was no help for it. She was far too cold, and he wasn’t going to let her freeze to death alone in the bed. The fire wouldn’t last all night.
Not bothering to find another shirt, he climbed into the bed beside her and tucked the blankets up to her chin. He inched his body closer until they were touching. She moaned and curled closer to his heat.
Not in his wildest imagination had he imagined “cuddling” with a woman he hadn’t just banged—one he had kidnapped, as a matter of fact. Gradually her shivers subsided and she slipped into a peaceful sleep. The orange glow from the fire danced shadows over her face, and her soft lips parted. Her cheeks were slightly rosy from warmth, and her hair was strewn across the pillow.
His heart constricted. This might be his most difficult mission yet.
Chapter 6
Her body sank into a soft mattress, surrounded by blankets and warmth. A lead weight pressed down on her eyelids. She struggled to open them. A yawn escaped her lips as she stretched her legs out. Her body ached.
Why am I so sore?
The blankets piled in front of her face, blocking her view of the room. She stretched out her arm, and the sheets fell away. A large, brawny hand lay splayed near her face.
She gasped. Her blood pumped wildly through her veins. She looked around in search of the owner. The hand was attached to a long, equally brawny, muscular arm, which was draped lazily around her. Her back was curled into someone, his legs drawn up so her bottom was against his thighs. She scooted out of his grasp.
The