“The wound is pretty deep,” the nurse stated. “The doctor will be in to stitch you up in a few minutes. When was your last tetanus shot?”
Bree’s heart stopped. Stitches and a shot? “In high school,” she mumbled. There hadn’t been a need for one since then. She wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy kind of gal.
The nurse raised an eyebrow. “And you’re thirty-three now?”
Bree nodded her head and frowned.
The nurse made a note in Bree’s chart. “I’ll be back with the booster when the doctor has finished stitching you up.”
“It’s not that bad,” Nick said when the nurse left them alone. He must have seen her panicked expression. “They’ll numb you and—”
The doctor knocked before opening the door, a syringe visible in his hand.
“Numb me? With a needle?” She was suddenly light-headed. “I don’t feel so well.”
Then everything went black.
* * *
NICK FOUGHT OFF CONSCIOUSNESS without success the next morning when bright light stabbed through his eyelids to penetrate the center of his brain with white-hot fire.
He moaned in agony, brought his hand to his head and squinted at the source of his torture.
A sliver of daylight shone through the room-darkening drapes where they hadn’t closed completely.
He rolled from his left side to his back and realized he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t even on the tiny bunk on the boat, which meant this wasn’t his bed. His head jerked to his right, the pain slicing through his skull again.
“Bree!” he gasped. They were in her cottage.
“Hmm?” She lay on her right side, her back facing him.
Nick knew the minute Bree regained consciousness, because she rolled to her back before abruptly sitting up straight. Her hands flew to her head and she moaned. She pulled up the sheet to protect her modesty, but there was no need.
She was fully dressed in the shorts and tank top she’d changed into after they’d gone to the hot tub.
How had he—they—ended up in such a compromising position?
“What happened?” Bree demanded in too loud a voice for his ears to tolerate. Her hand flew to her temple and she lowered her voice. “What are you doing here?” She got out of bed and looked around the room as if there was an answer. “Did we—?”
Nick lifted the sheet to look at his lower body. Definitely fully clothed, too. “I wish I could remember, but I don’t think so.”
“You don’t remember?” Bree’s bug-eyed expression would have been laughable if there had been anything funny about the situation. “Believe me, if we had—you know—there’d be no way you wouldn’t remember.”
“Right back atcha,” he countered.
Bree turned away in a huff, nearly losing her balance on her one good foot before she grabbed on to the bedside table. “Why are you in my bed?”
He sat up too quickly, his head throbbing from the effort. “I have no idea. I’m going to take a guess and say we both passed out last night. Or very early this morning.”
He had this nagging memory of Bree being anything but prudish as she—
Damn. Why couldn’t he remember?
It was more than eight excruciating months since he’d had sex, and here he was with no memory of what could well have been a truly memorable experience. Never mind. He’d obviously passed out before anything happened or they wouldn’t still be fully dressed.
Unless...
“Do you remember anything about last night?” he asked tentatively. “Did we—?”
“You really don’t remember?” She glared at him and then turned away before answering. “Of course we didn’t do anything.” Her words said one thing, her attitude another. She didn’t have a clue, either.
He looked on the floor around the bed and then walked over to check the wastebasket. No sign that they’d used protection. He could only hope they hadn’t been completely stupid. “So do you remember everything?” he asked.
She stomped toward the bathroom in a huff, her hurt foot preventing a full demonstration of the desired impact. She stopped short, put her fingertips to her temple and then faced him. “I’m going to take a shower. I expect you to be gone when I come out.” Her words were succinct, and, judging by her wincing, her head obviously hurt to utter them.
Bree didn’t wait for his reply and slammed the bathroom door behind her. He felt the noise pound like something was trying to escape from his head, and at the same time he heard her moan.
Instead of leaving, he came around the bed to talk through the closed door.
They had to talk. If not now, then later if she needed time to pull herself together. He had to fill in the missing pieces. He couldn’t leave things between them like this. He’d really enjoyed their time together—at least what he remembered—and he didn’t want her to think of him as a bad guy.
He checked the bedside clock. It was just after nine, so they had at least eight blank hours. The last thing he recalled was planning to bring Bree back to her room after the doctor stitched up her foot. But when they heard her girlfriends frolicking in the hot tub, they’d made a detour to see them. After that, a blur.
Nick had opened his mouth to speak when the sunlight streaming through the crack in the drapes shone on a napkin with an embossed W and an anchor on the dresser across the room. He walked closer and his breath caught in his throat.
He was beginning to remember.
Damn, damn, damn.
They’d all gone back to the boat, where they’d done shots. It came back to him now.
Pete had come to the hot tub when Nick had texted him where they were. Pete then invited everyone to the boat. It was obvious that he’d made a liquor run, because the booze had been free-flowing.
Nick also remembered that Bree had refused to take any pain medication since she’d already been drinking, so Nick had figured the shot or two she’d had afterward would at least dull her pain. But from the look of her this morning, she must have had more than he’d known about.
From the other side of the bathroom door, Bree let out a yelp.
“Is everything okay, Bree?” Nick yelled over his shoulder, and opened the door to check on her while mumbling softly to himself. “’Cause it sure as hell isn’t okay out here.”
* * *
BREE HUDDLED IN the corner of the large bathroom, trying to ignore her queasy stomach and aching head. She kept her eyes focused on the creature in the glass-enclosed shower stall.
Nick came straight through the bathroom door she’d neglected to lock after slamming it, his gaze taking in the room until it stopped on Bree. “What’s wrong? Is it your foot?”
Bree’s hand shook as she pointed to the shower stall. “In there.” She hated that she needed his help, but there was no way she was touching that slimy creature.
Nick stepped closer to the stall and laughed. “It’s just a harmless frog. I’ve seen them all over the island, either live or painted on something. It’s called a coqui, I think, named after the sound it makes.”
“Don’t tell me,” she grumbled, the slightest sound piercing