Page 115 of Her Reluctant Hero
No, she wouldn’t think about it as she walked into the surf. She gritted her teeth against the squeal—the rain had cooled the water significantly. It was an ice bath.
Even the waves didn’t get to the mud inside her blouse. Adrian stood a distance away, like a sea god, his arms raised, hands folded behind his head, the water lapping at his bare hips. She turned and unbuttoned her blouse, unhooked her bra to wash the mud embedded in the lace. Dropping to her knees and crouching to hide beneath the water, she scrubbed at the fabric, lamenting the effect the mud and salt water would have on the expensive garment.
“I can help you with that,” Adrian said, too close.
She whipped around, wrapping her arms around herself. Cautiously lifting one hand, she shoved her muddy hair back from her face and glared.
He moved toward her, and her eyes were drawn to a deep dimple in his cheek beneath the reddish stubble. Okay, actually her eyes were drawn elsewhere, but she forced herself to focus on the dimple.
“Go. Away.”
“A fine way to treat the man who saved your life,” he teased.
The tide flowed out and she caught a glimpse of bare hip. She had to get away from here, now. She didn’t trust her hormones. They remembered Adrian and wanted to party. Distance. She needed distance.
Still underwater, she tugged on her dirty T-shirt, giving herself another layer of defense. It wasn’t enough. His eyes flicked to the bra in her hand and she flushed. Damn it, she would not let him get to her. She rose and moved deeper into the water, holding his gaze, daring him to keep his eyes on hers and not glance at her breasts, no doubt clearly defined under her wet shirt.
He met her dare, his eyes only flicking to her cheek. “You have mud just there.”
Slipping his hand under her wet hair, he stroked his thumb over her cheek. She lost the will to pull away, slap him, any of the things she should do. She just looked into his eyes helplessly as he lowered his head.
A wave swept past them, and her ring floated free of her shirt, floated between them on its chain. Only then did she find the strength to yank away.
“Adrian,” she said, at once chiding and regretful. “It’s—it would be a mistake.” She walked out of the ocean, her shorts still full of mud. Maybe Linda was right. Maybe this site was cursed.
Mallory was still shaking as she helped put the camp in order, a cumbersome task, but one that left plenty of time for thinking. For a moment there, she’d wanted nothing more than to kiss Adrian, to feel his familiar mouth, the scrape of his stubble against her skin and the heat that had been between them.
She had forgotten all about Jonathan. A woman in love didn’t do that. Especially when her reason for forgetting her fiancé was a man who had hurt her.
She found Adrian settling Dr. Vigil in his tent. She softened when she saw the old man and smiled at him. His night in the truck had taken its toll—he looked exhausted. Adrian was good to look after him before he righted his own tent.
“I’m sorry to interrupt. I need the satellite phone. Or is it still in the truck?”
“Linda had it last. Ask her.”
She crossed her arms, feeling the need to explain. “I’m calling the airline and Jonathan.”
Adrian nodded, bending a leg of the cot in place, not looking back. “Go ahead. Just don’t tell him what we have out here.”
It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t talking about the two of them and their almost-kiss. She gaped. “Surely you don’t think Jonathan—”
He straightened and turned, exasperated. A fine sheen of sweat coated his skin. She hadn’t noticed it was all that hot. Now she did.
“I tell everyone the same thing, Mal. Don’t get your panties in a knot.”
“Can’t,” she muttered, shoving aside the tent flap. “They’re still too muddy.”
Adrian snorted a laugh and she flounced out.
“It’s good to see her again,” Robert said with a sigh, reaching in his breast pocket for the bottle of pills. “Good to hear the two of you bantering again.”
The pain must be bad after spending the night in the Land Cruiser. Robert never took the pills in front of anyone. Adrian pretended not to see. “It’s called fighting, Prof, and don’t get used to it.” He tested the cot’s stability, pressing both hands in the center. Either it was stable or had sunk deep enough in the sand. How the scrawny old man could sleep comfortably without padding, Adrian had no idea. “She’s not the same person. Neither am I.”
“Surely that can only be a good thing.”
Maybe, if they’d grown to want the same things. But no, if anything, the gap between them was wider than before. He needed this find; she needed a home.
“There’s no going back.” He hefted himself to his feet and walked over to the chest where Robert kept his books. It had survived several continents and a mudslide—had it kept the books dry in last night’s storm?
