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Her response caught in her throat. “Yes.”
“Good.”
The zipper resumed its slow descent, the pressure of the skintight wet suit easing on her breasts, releasing them as the links separated. The sensation was as erotic as if he were undressing her right down to her skin. Her breathing turned shallow, her mouth dried and her heartbeat accelerated. She was as unable now to draw a decent breath as she had been only minutes ago forty feet under the water.
This was not good, she told herself. He’d just rescued her from drowning, her panic-driven adrenaline was still racing through her veins, and she was in a susceptible mood. Vulnerable.
She clutched his wrist. “I can get the rest.”
He glanced up and their eyes met. The heated look she saw sent waves of desire burrowing into her mid-section. The sensual movement of the boat beneath her feet, the gentle rocking, added something elemental to their contact. Something compelling.
Something she didn’t dare explore.
“I think—” She moistened her lips. “I think we’d better go back to the marina.”
He studied her a moment, his gaze so intense she felt as though he were reading her thoughts. “You sure? I’ve got a spare tank you could—”
“No. I’ve had enough excitement for today.” More than enough, and she wasn’t thinking only of her scuba-diving adventure. “I’ll just go belowdecks and change.”
She slipped past him, down the steps into the cabin. Only then did she draw an easy breath. Next time Addy invited her out on the town with the girls, she’d disconnect her phone and hide under her bed.
AT THE MARINA, Kristin made a hasty escape and Mike lingered on the boat until sunset. It had taken him hours to get past a persistent state of arousal. He couldn’t remember any other woman affecting him quite as powerfully as she had. Hell, when she’d gotten into trouble underwater, he’d been almost as panicky as Kristin. He’d sweated bullets getting her to the surface safely.
And then when he’d unzipped her wet suit—
Ah, hell! His own wet suit had become a torture device. Thank God she hadn’t noticed the telltale bulge in his crotch. She had the smoothest skin, the loveliest breasts….
He snapped the lock closed on the cabin door. It was time to get home, where he’d probably have to spend the whole damn night taking cold showers.
He carried his gear to his pickup, dropped it in the back and made the trip to Paseo del Real in record time, pulling into his carport at the rear of the apartment complex where he lived.
Mostly singles and young couples—thirty-somethings like himself—lived in the adults-only, two-story garden units, enjoying a communal swimming pool in the center courtyard and tiny patios off each apartment that gave them some privacy for barbecuing and entertaining. Sometimes tenants organized a potluck in the community room, but mostly the guys watched the girls—and vice versa—around the pool. The resulting romantic relationships revolved so fast, they were as hard to keep track of as the subplots in a Tom Clancy novel.
He entered the courtyard through the back. As he approached his unit, his footsteps faltered. In the muted lights that edged the flower beds he could see that someone was sitting on his front steps. A small someone.
“Randy?” he questioned, frowning. What the hell was the kid doing here?
The boy jumped to his feet. His hair was mussed, his eyes big and sad, and he looked like he’d just lost his best friend. Mike felt a punch to his gut.
“They’re gonna…k-kill Suzie,” Randy stammered.
Mike dropped his gear to the sidewalk, kneeling in front of the boy. “Who told you that, son?”
“Shane. He’s a big kid and knows s-stuff like that. He says the p-pound is gonna put a big rope around her neck and p-pull—” Randy wiped his forearm across his face. “You gotta stop ’em, mister. You promised—”
Closing his eyes, Mike took a deep breath. It didn’t matter that the animal shelter put animals down more humanely than with a noose. This was Randy’s dog they were going to kill. Mike had promised the mutt would be okay, and he sure as hell hadn’t gone to the trouble of rescuing Suzie just to have some bureaucrat put her to sleep—which they’d probably do if no one bailed her out of the pound soon.
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