Page 85 of The Last Lost Girl

Smee stands me up and Hudson’s deft fingers make quick work of the button and zipper of my jean shorts before working them over my hips. They fall to the floor, leaving me clad in my olive green bikini. I try to lift my legs to step out of them but can’t.

The trembling in my body turns violent. “I can’t do this,” I tell them.

But then I’m swooped up into Hudson’s arms. He sweeps one leg over the tub’s side and before I know the other one has landed, we sink together into a torturous, frigid, aquatic hell.

“H-Hudson!” I try to breathe.

“Shh,” he says, tucking me against his chest. He cups his hand and pours water over my back and shoulders, making me cry out.

“Don’t do that!” I shriek.

“I have to. I’m sorry.”

Tears streak down my face. “It hurts.”

I tend to cry when I feel awful, and this is the worst I’ve ever felt, so I cannot hold my emotions or sobs at bay. Hudson relaxes further against the tub’s back and pulls me down into the water with him, careful to keep my head out of it.

“It’s ice water,” I chatter.

His hand sweeps tenderly down my hair before he starts again near the roots, dragging down to its tips. It’s comforting. Unexpected. Nice.

“The water is lukewarm.” His voice sounds strained.

“Then why do you sound miserable?” I ask. I look around for Smee and see that he’s stepped out from behind the partition and maybe from the room.

“I suppose I sound miserable because you’re miserable, and I don’t like it.” He’s quiet for a moment before asking, “Can you just lay against me and try to relax?”

I try. I lay my head on his chest, wrap an arm around his middle, try to will the shivers out of existence, and tell myself to stop crying. His heartbeat is the only thing that’s right in the world.

Hook breathes in and out slowly. And when he’s not stroking my hair, he’s cupping water and spreading it over my skin.

“You’re warming the water,” he says as my eyes drift closed. Then his body goes rigid beneath me. “Lifeguard?”

“Hmmm?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, worry in his tone again.

“Stop fussing, Captain. I’m going to live.”

I hear him smile. “This isn’t exactly what my imagination came up with when I thought of getting into this tub with you.”

I wait for him to laugh, but he doesn’t. My lashes sweep his chest as I open my eyes to peer up at him. “You’re just trying to keep me awake.”

He quirks his scarred dark brow and runs his fingertips up and down my arm. When I lower my head to his chest I still, wondering if I’m imagining the faster pace of his heartbeat.

His deep voice rumbles into my ear when he adds, “I’ll tell you what I had in mind for the swing when you start dozing again.”

“Very funny,” I rasp.

“If only I was joking.”

We sit in silence until our fingers start to prune.

He sits up and waits until I join him, then drags the back of his hand over my brow. “Much better. Ready to get out?”

I nod, my throat tight. “Yeah.” I grip the copper edge and begin to pull myself up when he tuts and calls for Smee to help me.

Smee swoops into the captain’s quarters with his arms full of fabric, some of which he places next to Hudson’s bed. Then he hurries to the tub, draping swaths of linen over the chair’s back before helping me from the water.

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