Chapter Nine #2
“Oh my God,” she said, setting aside her drink.
She scrambled upright and ran forward. He probably had a muscle cramp in that shoulder, or another bout of respiratory distress.
He shouldn’t be so far from shore. Why hadn’t she anticipated this and warned him of the danger? What if he couldn’t stay afloat?
Trying not to panic, she jumped in the lake and swam toward him.
She wasn’t sure she could rescue him. He was a big man and she was no lifeguard.
Thankfully, he didn’t sink beneath the surface or thrash around on top of it.
By the time she reached him, he’d rotated onto his left side to perform a stilted breast stroke.
“I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “Go away.”
She didn’t go away, but she gave him space to swim on his own.
It was a short distance to the shallow water.
As soon as his feet touched the lake bottom, he started wading to the shore.
His left arm hung by his side, as useless as if he’d dislocated his elbow.
She watched without speaking as he staggered forward, water streaming from his taut body.
Her stomach dropped as she spotted the puckered flesh on his shoulder.
If she wasn’t mistaken, it was a scar from an exit wound.
He’d been shot.
Vanessa had seen victims of gun violence in the ER.
The impact of a bullet on the human body was devastating.
She’d witnessed life-or-death battles in otherwise healthy young people.
Paul had been lucky as far as the location of the wound.
No major organs hit. Even so, it took time to recover from muscle and tendon damage.
She wondered if he was getting the aftercare he needed or taking the right medication.
She followed him to the shore, her brow furrowed. When they reached dry land, he lowered himself to a sitting position and glowered at her.
“Muscle cramp?” she asked in a neutral tone.
“It will get better in a minute.”
She glanced at Emily, who was still napping less than twenty feet away. Then she studied Paul’s face. Beneath the suntan, he looked pale. His mouth made a grim line of discomfort. He wasn’t even trying to massage the shoulder. It hurt too much.
Vanessa didn’t wait for permission. She knelt behind Paul and placed her right hand on his collarbone, left on his deltoid.
His shoulder muscle made a hard, quivering knot under his skin.
With her thumbs, she kneaded the affected area.
Her touch was firm, but gentle. She increased the pressure steadily and listened to his ragged breaths.
After a few moments, the spasm eased and the knot loosened.
He made a grunting sound, and his spine slumped with relief.
She patted his back in sympathy and moved to sit beside him.
She angled her body so she had a clear view of Emily, but she didn’t leave.
No matter how difficult the circumstances were, or how ornery the patient, she enjoyed her work. She’d assisted grumpier men than him.
“Thank you,” he said in a formal tone.
“Don’t mention it.”
“That was magic.”
“It was basic PT,” she said, though she appreciated the compliment. “You shouldn’t be swimming in deep water.”
“Noted,” he said.
“You’re working too hard.”
He didn’t disagree, so she dropped the subject.
Paul struck her as a type-A person who didn’t like to slow down or show weakness.
He would do himself more harm, and prolong his recovery, if he continued to overwork the healing muscles.
Instead of pointing this out, she stayed quiet. They shared a companionable silence.
The cool dip had enlivened her senses. She was aware of the sun on her head, her wet hair dripping down her back, and the sandy earth beneath her bottom. It all felt bold and bright, like summer, like life. Paul’s presence beside her added an extra thrill.
He wasn’t dull; she’d give him that.
She decided she didn’t hate him. She couldn’t hate a man who played dirty Scrabble and told her daughter silly stories. Plus, he looked fantastic without a shirt. She wanted to peel away more of his layers, to discover the secrets beneath.
“My dad shot someone not too long ago,” she said. “There was a hostage situation at the Crazy Horse Saloon.”
Paul’s brows rose. “Your father was involved in that?”
“Yep.”
“I read about it.”
“The whole thing started because this guy found out his wife was having an affair. She was a barmaid at the Crazy Horse. Her husband came in with a firearm, barricaded himself inside with her, and wouldn’t come out.
” She glanced sideways at Paul, who was listening intently. “Guess who she was sleeping with?”
“Your father?”
She made a gun shape with her hand and pointed it at him. “Bingo.”
He smiled at her then, a real smile that devastated her senses. There was nothing funny about her father’s philandering, or hostage situations. Paul’s expression was more of a wry acknowledgment of the vagaries of life.
Vanessa smiled back at him, a little sadly. She felt the pull of attraction between them, stronger than ever. The color had returned to his face. His eyes were a calm gray-blue. Not glacial, as they’d been before. The ice in them had thawed.
She hadn’t forgotten what he’d said before his swim, however. He didn’t want to see her? That was fine. She glanced at Emily, who hadn’t roused.
“Did the guy live?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, studying his physique. “The bullet went through his shoulder. It was a flesh wound. Like yours.”
Paul didn’t use this opportunity to share details about his own injury.
She found his reticence intriguing. Most men bragged about scars and close calls with danger in an attempt to pump up their masculinity.
Paul remained silent on the issue. He seemed reluctant to talk about himself, but in no hurry to leave.
His gaze lowered to her lips and lingered there.
She moistened them reflexively, realizing how close they were.
She’d leaned into him as she spoke, and he must have done the same.
Their mouths were inches apart. It was as if an invisible thread had tugged her forward.
Her pulse throbbed with desire. She wanted to drift closer, until their lips met. He seemed to want that, too.
He dipped his head to kiss her.
Vanessa hadn’t expected the move, but it felt natural, inevitable.
Her entire body tingled with sensation as his mouth brushed hers.
His lips were softer and gentler than she’d anticipated.
His touch was surprisingly chaste. He tasted cool and clean, like lake water and natural elements.
She thought he might end the kiss this way—a sweet nothing, quick and meaningless.
Then his hand curled around the nape of her neck, her lips parted for his tongue, and the kiss turned from innocent to carnal in about three seconds.
Vanessa didn’t object to the quick escalation.
The only sound she made was a hungry little gasp of encouragement.
She reveled in the contact with his mouth, the wet heat of his tongue, and his callused fingertips on her skin.
His touch had an electric quality; she was instantly aroused.
She moaned and threaded her fingers through his short, damp hair.
His kiss was hot, and wet, and wildly exciting.
He readjusted his head for a better angle and settled his free hand on her waist. Then their torsos were aligned, because he’d pulled her into his arms. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and he groaned.
Her nipples tightened beneath the wet fabric of her bikini top, stimulated by the contact, as he explored her mouth in delicious strokes.
She wanted more. She wanted his hands on her body, stripping away her bikini. She wanted his hard weight on top of her. She wanted to drag him down on the sand and devour him. She might have let the embrace cross the line into public indecency, but they were interrupted by a child’s voice.
Emily.
Vanessa broke the kiss with a light shove and turned toward the sound. Emily had woken from her nap and was making her way toward them. Vanessa exchanged a glance with Paul. He inhaled a ragged breath, his features tense with arousal. His gaze dropped to her breasts, and visibly hard nipples.
Pulse pounding, she checked her bikini top to make sure she was covered. She was, though the fabric had shifted a bit. She adjusted it quickly and scrambled to her feet to intercept Emily before things got any more awkward.
The little girl held a soggy, dirty Penelope in one fist. She rubbed at her sleepy eyes with the other. “Penelope got bit.”
Vanessa gave the doll a cursory inspection. “By a mosquito?”
“A snake.”
Her head jerked upright. She studied the blanket where Emily had been sleeping. “There was a snake?”
Emily nodded, and yawned.
Paul, who’d overheard the exchange, stood abruptly.
He strode toward the shaded area and shook out the blanket, which had become tangled.
No snakes fell from the fabric. Vanessa lifted Emily into her arms and joined him in the search.
She didn’t see any reptiles on the ground.
There wasn’t a mark on Emily, either. Vanessa checked her from head to toe.
“I think you dreamed it,” Vanessa said.
The little girl stuck her fingers in her mouth and buried her head against Vanessa’s shoulder. Vanessa patted her back gently, more amused than concerned. Emily had a vivid imagination and often told wild stories about Penelope.
Paul tossed the blanket aside and picked up a long stick to poke around under the tree.
There wasn’t anywhere for a snake to hide, but he did a thorough inspection.
He wasn’t familiar with the unreliable accounts of a four-year-old.
Vanessa had to bite her tongue to stifle a nervous giggle.
She suspected that he’d been unable to stand after the initial interruption.
He’d made a swift recovery and rushed to Emily’s aid.