screamed as he forced them open.
No!
He willed away all discomfort and dove under the waves. His arms stretched out painfully as he searched the inky darkness for any part of her he could grab. Dammit, he should have tied her feet too. He never should have let this happen. His lungs protested and demanded air. But if his lungs hurt, Lana’s were filling with water. He dove deeper and searched. His eyes strained to see beyond the black that surrounded him.
He’d lost her.
His chest tightened. His heart rate skidded to a stop. His nose burned as water forced its way in.
What have I done?
From the moment he’d taken this job, he’d only wanted to protect her, and he was doing a real shitty job. Something brushed him—a light, feathery feeling across his hand. Knowing it could be seaweed, he reached and snagged a handful…her hair. Relief spread through his ice-cold veins. He pulled her close, clutched her to his chest, and kicked as if his legs were on fire. They propelled to the surface. He gasped, his lungs hungrily sucking in air as he paddled. She remained motionless, her body weightless in his arms as he kept them both above the rough waves.
Half-carrying, half-dragging her, he got her to the shore. Her body was heavy and limp. He collapsed on the sand beside her, examining her. Her lips were soft and parted, unbreathing. He tilted her head back gently, swept the hair away from her face, and began mouth-to-mouth.
Her lips were salty and wet as his sealed over hers. He breathed into her mouth a couple of times and pulled away. Her face showed no sign of response. Goddammit. He began chest compressions. Her body jerked with the force of his pumps. Her pale, oval face was slack and expressionless. His heart clutched as he continued to work on her.
Nothing.
His stomach turned to lead.
Please don’t let her die.
He was on autopilot, his brain focused on the task. He couldn’t give up. She had to live. His flesh burned beneath his cool skin. Despite the cold water and chilled air, sweat mixed with water on his forehead.
He counted the next thirty compressions, then pinched her nose and molded his mouth over hers again.
One breath…two…
Her body gave a responsive jerk, and water rushed out of her mouth. His shoulders sagged. His eyes closed. Hope soared through him, but she wasn’t out of the woods yet. He rolled her to her side as she fought a coughing fit. She desperately gasped for air at the same time that her body rejected the water.
“Shh…it’s okay, relax. Try to breathe.” He placed his palm on her cold, thin back to calm her. Sharp gasps seized her, and her whole body shook. He closed his eyes on a sigh.
He stared at the soft lines of her profile. The moonlight touched her face, and even now, he could see how pretty she was. Soft, fine-boned… She brought the back of her hand up to her lips as she struggled on a ragged breath… His fingers tingled with the need to touch her cheek. He curled his fingers in the sand, resisting the urge.
After a couple of minutes, the gasps subsided, and she took slow, shallow breaths.
He wasn’t an expert, but she had swallowed a lot of seawater that she needed to get out.
“Do you know how to make yourself throw up?” he asked. He gently grasped her shoulders and helped her to a sitting position. Big, dumbfounded blue eyes landed on his face.
“What?” Her brow furrowed at him. Her voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper.
“You’ve swallowed a lot of seawater, and it could make you sick. I’m going to help you throw up, okay? Can you handle that?”
“No. Leave me alone.” Her plea was weak and lacked venom as she shrugged him off.
“Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’m not going to hurt you.” She said nothing. He slid his body behind hers and let her rest against his arm. “I’m going to put my fingers in your mouth and make you throw up. Don’t bite them off if you can help it.” His attempt at humor was lost on her as she sagged against his left arm, her body boneless.
He pulled her mass of hair back and tucked it between them. He leaned them both forward and inserted two of his fingers into her mouth. She panicked, as he had expected her to, and grabbed for his hand.
“It’s okay, hold on to my wrist if you need to.” She relaxed only slightly. He eased his fingers down again. She gagged, and her body shook. Saliva swarmed around his hand, but he delved deeper.
She retched, purging the salty water. She coughed and sputtered. He waited until she was done, then patted her back until her body crumpled against his. He brought her wrists to his teeth and tore off the duct tape. She was shaking now, from the cold and the effects of the night. He scooped her up and got to his feet, gathered the clothes he had managed to shuck off before his dive on top of her, and carried her across the beach to the cabin he had rented.
She lay spent in his arms, her body cold and lax against his. She didn’t struggle or open her eyes. His stomach muscles clenched. Not a good sign. Her breath came out in soft puffs, and her eyes moved beneath her lids, as if she was asleep. He struggled at the doorstep but managed to wrestle the keys out of his pants pocket and kick open the door.
The house was tiny. It consisted of one main room that served as bedroom, kitchen, and living room. The bathroom was at the back of the cabin.
He had come here a couple of days ago to prepare. There were blankets on his bed, which was situated near the fireplace. Close to the kitchen area was a futon pushed up against the window, which was where Lana was to sleep. His bed stood between hers and the door. He carried her to the futon and laid her down gently. She was sopping wet, and in seconds the bedding was drenched. He got some towels from the bathroom, threw one over her, and began to dry her body. At his touch, she stirred. Her tired, untrusting eyes narrowed at him.
“What are you doing?” she demanded as she coiled away.
“You need to dry off and get out of those wet clothes.”
“Get away from me.” Her voice was rough and sore sounding. A tremor laced her words. Fear? Or from the cold? He strived for a reassuring, patient tone.
“I’ll leave you alone as soon as you’re in some warm clothes. I have some I took from your house. I need to get them from the car.” She struggled into a fetal position, and pulled her knees to her chest. Her stony gaze stayed trained to the floor. He got to his feet and went to the duffel bag he had brought to the cabin earlier in the week. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
Her eyes grew wide.
She leapt up from the bed. Her exhaustion made her movements awkward. She pitched forward off the edge, and dove headfirst into the hardwood floor. A squeak split the air as she landed with a thud. He rolled his eyes. God, he needed a drink.
“You really need to stop getting so worked up. This is exhausting,” he mumbled, as he hoisted her up by her arms and deposited her back on the bed.
“You need to get a life and not kidnap young women, you pervert.” Despite her breathlessness, her face was hard, daring him.
“I need to handcuff you while I run out to the car. After that I will uncuff you and you can get dressed.” He snapped one cuff to her wrist and the other to the bed frame. She glared at him.
He grabbed his car keys and ran out to the truck to get her clothes. A cool breeze blasted him reminding him that he, too, needed to change. The air was cold. January in Seattle was damn near freezing. Lana was going to be a handful. For some reason he had expected her to be quiet and compliant. He hadn’t considered that she would try to escape. Kidnapping was a new concept for him, something he would never do again.
He returned to the house to find Lana how he had left her, with a scowl still etched on her face. He unlocked the handcuffs and set the clothes down beside her.
“You