Chapter 20
Robert
Finding secluded, beautiful places in Croatia is easier than I expected, but calling them beautiful feels like an insult.
The landscape is breathtaking. The view fades from pale, morning-blue sky to the deep, blue-green shimmer of the Adriatic, divided by sharp white limestone cliffs that glow in the sun.
We’ve taken a small boat out to a hidden cove, one of the perks of the resort. But the best view isn’t the sea or the cliffs—it’s Rhiannon, lounging on the deck in a royal-blue bikini that should be illegal in at least four countries.
There’s a stark white line where her rugby shirt and shorts finish and her tan starts.
Am I staring?
Do bears shit in the fucking woods?
She’s a goddess. That body should be in a museum, studied by scientists, and be the epitome of what people are striving to achieve when they think “perfect body.” She’s toned, fit, and thicc in all the right places.
The blue fabric provides the perfect contrast for her broad shoulders and strong thighs, drawing my attention to all the right places. Or wrong places, since my swim shorts have a very hard and painful dick pitching a tent in them.
But it’s her energy that’s the most beautiful part of this morning. The casual way her shoulders relax, the easy, languid smile teasing her lips under the wide-brimmed hat, and how even her breathing is, slow, steady, deep.
I haven’t taken my leg off yet; I’m not sure I’m going to. Despite being so isolated out here in the middle of nowhere, I don’t know the person sailing the boat, and he’s already spent an inordinate amount of time staring. I’d rather not give him something else to look at.
Rhiannon even caught him staring once, and when her eyes met mine, they softened, quiet support being shared without words. Then she stared at the captain until he caught her attention, and she glared at him with wide, angry eyes until he blushed.
When the boat comes to a stop in the cove and the engine is cut, all we can hear is the sea. Its rhythmic lapping against the boat, the cliffside, and the more I stare at the water—instead of Rhiannon’s epic tits, because I don’t want to be a creeper—the more I see.
Like the bloom of jellyfish getting a little too close for comfort. Yes, I did a quick internet search to make sure we weren’t going to be dinner to some weird sea creature on our fake honeymoon.
Rhiannon doesn’t wait. She barely looks over the bow of the boat. She leaps up off the deck and charges the length of it like she’s about to jump. Before I can warn her, shout, or even move, she bounds into the water.
As she surfaces, she screams. It’s piercing, shattering the peace and bouncing off the cliff. My heart races, thrashes in its bone-cage. As much as I read about jellyfish, and I know it’s not likely that they’re lethal, she’s hurt.
That woman acts first, thinks later, and half the time it’s what saves her. The other half? It gets her stung.
I’m halfway back in the Middle East for a second—the rush of blood, the helplessness, the bolt of fear. I swore I’d never run toward danger again, but here I am.
Blood roaring in my ears, I grab a float and launch myself off the edge of the boat.
The bracing cold I expect to hit, never comes.
In fact, it’s like a tepid bath. I swim toward her, my prosthesis creating an unbalanced drag on one side, but I don’t have time to care.
Her face is twisted in pain, and she’s swearing like a sailor.
“I don’t need saving,” she calls to me as I reach out to grab her.
“Tough shit, I’m doing it anyway. What you’re supposed to say is, ‘Oh my, Robert, you look so sexy powering through those waves to rescue me from the army of jellyfish I just jumped into without fucking looking.’ ”
She rolls her eyes but accepts my arm to pull her toward me. “I am not letting you piss on me.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes at her as I help hoist her over the edge of the boat. “That’s a myth. A saltwater rinse is reported to work better.”
She offers me a strong arm to help me get back on board. The sun dances off the beads of water sluicing down her muscles. Her body is so fucking impressive.
I flop onto the deck like the catch of the day, heart thumping, adrenaline high, and the heat of Rhiannon’s surprisingly close body sending all manner of signals to my crotch.
The tendrils of wet hair on her shoulders send streams of sea water down her chest drawing attention to the swell of her breasts in that bikini, driving me wild.
She’s so close I can taste the salt from her skin in the air. It’s the kind of closeness that makes a man forget where his body ends and hers begins.
“You jumped into a sea full of jellyfish to save me.” There’s an awe in her voice I’ve never heard before. “Truth be told I half expected you to rip your leg off and use it to defend me.”
That draws a chuckle from me as I examine her leg. There are angry red welts, raised blisters, and a lattice of burn marks—almost like someone dragged a hot wire across her thigh. There’s a halo of inflammation forming around the area as well. “How does it feel?”
I reach for a plastic cup to collect sea water to pour over it.
“It’s burning. It’s a sharp pain, hot… almost electric. It’s throbbing and tingling and radiating down my leg a bit.”
I nod. “Not much you can do, I’m afraid. It may sting for a couple hours, and there could be a rash.”
She smirks at me. “Okay, Doctor Rob.”
“I looked up what monsters we might face in the sea before I left. In a couple of hours, swelling will set in, the redness will deepen to almost purple pink in the center. And tomorrow the lines may turn brownish or bruise-colored, before fading over three to five days.”
“Fuck.” She lets of a hiss of a breath. “How the fuck did I miss them?” She jerks her chin overboard. “They’re right there!”
I offer her a sympathetic smile. “You were a little excited to jump in the sea.”
She nods as the captain hands me a medical kit. “You know what to do?”
I nod. She might think I’m a geek, but I’m a geek who knows his shit.
I work quickly, rinsing the area with saltwater, using the tweezers to pull off the tentacle still clinging to her skin, dousing with vinegar to neutralize the nematocysts, and applying some hydrocortisone cream to help with the pain.
My hands are careful, clinical, and quick, but when her breath catches, something flickers in my chest next to the guilt from hurting her more than those damn jellyfish.
When I lift my gaze, she’s watching my face with an intensity I’ve never seen from her before. Her hand trembles as she reaches for me. “Thank you,” she says, quiet like she doesn’t trust the words not to bite her.
“Guess I can add jellyfish whisperer to my CV. Next time, try not to flirt with wildlife. They’re clingy.”
She flashes me a cautious smile. “Says the man who dove headfirst into jellyfish just to impress me.”
“Don’t mention it. I heroically save women from sea creatures all the time.”
She gasps, her hand flying to her chest. “You’re telling me I’m not your first damsel in distress? I feel so cheap. I mean it though, thank you.” She reaches out to touch my forearm and suddenly getting bits of sand and salty sea water eroding my prosthesis doesn’t matter at all.
I told myself I’d jumped in to help her. But the truth is, I think I’d have jumped even if it meant going under.
For a long heartbeat, she looks at me like I’m not broken. And for a moment, I almost forget I am.