Page 42 of Hot SEAL, Under Pressure

“Please make sure no snakes get me. I don’t think I can move.”

“There are no snakes here on this island. Although the wild goats will get pretty close and try to steal your food.”

She managed to open her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“About the goats?”

“Not the goats. The snakes. I’ve been a wreck worrying about snakes.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Sorry. And you can move if you just try. Sit up. Drink some water.”

She tried to lift her arm to take the bottle he extended to her, but the limb fell back to the ground. “Nope. Can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can. Come on. I’ll help you.”

She felt him yanking her arm but didn’t feel compelled to help in any way. Finally, he got her into a sitting position, propped up against his body as he tried handing her the bottle again.

This time she managed to take it. “How can my whole body be sweating but I’m cold. And the top of my head is tingling.”

He mumbled something that sounded like cuss words before he said, “Drink more of that water. Then you need to change into dry clothes.”

She managed another sip before she said, “Are my feet bleeding? They feel like they’re bleeding. Except for the parts that are numb.”

More cuss words followed. “We’ll get your boots off in a bit. Rest now.”

“What place did I come in?” she asked when her brain started to function again and death wasn’t uppermost in her mind.

“Fourth.”

“Hey. Look at that. You told me to stay in the middle of the pack and I finished right in the middle. That’s pretty good. Right?” It was getting easier to breathe and talk. But she’d give anything for a nice shower. Or maybe a bath. A shower would require being upright and on her painful feet.

“Very good,” he agreed, as she began to think he was just humoring her.

He was being too nice. It was strange. Maybe she was delirious.

A thought hit her. “Who won?”

“Stone faced Barbie.” Stefan’s answer vibrated through her.

She realized she was still using him as a prop and decided it was time she sat up. She managed to do that and turned to glance at him. “Who?”

“The one who has that serious pissed off look on her face all the time,” he elaborated. “Like those pinched faced models on runways in Milan.”

She would have laughed at how accurate his description was if it would have required more air than she was willing to demand from her exhausted lungs. “She won?”

“Yup. Turned out to be a ringer. She’s some sort of marathon runner.”

“Hmm.” She couldn’t muster more of a reaction than that.

“You hungry?”

“I think so. But I also think I might puke if I try to eat now. I’ll wait until after the elimination ceremony. I probably should get myself cleaned up for that.”

No. Fuck it. She was beyond caring how she looked on camera at this point.

“The what ceremony?” he asked.

“Elimination. Tasha and Clay are coming back to reveal who came in last.”

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