“Which is why you’re here.”

“For one more year. Then I’m free to go back to France. Now that you have my entire life’s story, will you get your pretty ass back to the others?”

He thought her ass was pretty. Apparently she wasn’t suitably terrified because that warmed her more than it should. Although, in truth, his talking about his life warmed her more than his nice ass comment.

The man was human, and she’d just gotten proof. Looking into his chiseled, rigid features, she felt like she could finally begin to understand both his discipline and the walls he kept around himself. “What if you need help with Bobby?”

“He’d never risk his neck to do the same for you.”

“But if he’s hurt-”

“Then he’s the responsibility of the crew.”

The boat pitched suddenly, more violently than before, and they both hit the door. Dorie lost her footing and went down, and for one horrifying second, her face was underwater.

Then she was jerked to her feet, where she promptly coughed up icky, salty ocean water.

“You all right?”

She blinked the water out of her eyes. Christian had hauled her upright, against him. Her feet weren’t even touching the floor.

But they were touching water. “Christian.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely as she tossed her wet hair out of her face. She was cold, much colder than she’d thought possible, and she shivered with it.

Christian swore again, and ripped off his shirt. “Here.”

“Maybe we’re just being Punk’d,” she said, teeth chattering as she slipped his shirt on, hugging it close for the warmth he’d left in it, not to mention that it smelled like him. “Any second the camera crew is going to jump out at us.”

“Punk’d?”

“You know, MTV? Ashton Kutcher…?”

He shook his head, and she sighed. “Never mind. Not even Ashton would be this cruel. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Damn right. You should have stayed up on deck.”

“I meant on the cruise.”

He glanced at her, and some of the frustration left his face as he sighed. “None of this is your fault, you know that.”

“I know. But if I’d stayed home, I’d be-” Safe. Still dodging Mr. Stryowski, true enough, but safe.

And she’d never have gotten the kick in the ass she’d needed to get herself going.

“The storm’s a fluke. Without it, you’d be swimming and flirting with Andy right this minute. Having the time of your life.”

“I can’t even talk to him.”

“No worries. He doesn’t have talking in mind.”

She gaped at his back, bared now that she wore his shirt. A very tanned, smooth, sleek, strong back, the kind that said he was no stranger to hard, physical labor. “You’re… no. You’re not jealous.”

“Don’t be asinine,” he said, sounding extremely French. “I’ve never been jealous a day in my life.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He fought with the door handle. “Bobby!”

“Because being jealous,” she went on. “Well that would be… what did you call me?” she asked, much more politely than she felt. “Asinine.”

“I didn’t call you asinine. I said being jealous would be asinine.”

“Yeah, well, now I’m calling you asinine.”

This caused a completely baffled expression to cross his face. As if no one, especially a woman, had ever insulted him before. She found that extremely hard to believe, given his bedside manner.

He gave up on the handle and glared at her. “Why am I asinine?”

Because he didn’t meet the criteria on her list. “You know what? Ignore me.”

“If only it were that easy.”

She rolled her eyes and vowed to think much more quietly in the future.

“What else?” he asked, slapping his pockets and coming up with a set of keys.

“What else what?”

“What else am I besides asinine?”

“Arrogant. Cocky.”

He blinked. “Cocky.”

“Yes. And a tad bit difficult.” So much for keeping her thoughts to herself. She closed her mouth before more words could escape.

“Oh, don’t stop there,” he said softly. “You’re just getting started.”

“Well, I don’t really know you well enough to continue,” she demurred.

“I think you know me plenty. But let’s do you, shall we?”

“Oh, no thanks. I have my mother for that.” She reached for the door, as if she could budge it when he hadn’t been able to.

The boat was lilting to one side. Undoubtedly the weight of the water held it closed. Christian put his shoulder to the door and shoved again. The tendons in his neck stood out in bold relief, the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining as well.

“Christian,” she said, putting her hands on his bare back. “Stop, you’ll-”

The door gave away.

He fell in, and she fell on top of him. “Sorry,” she gasped, coming up to her hands and knees in the water. He did the same and pulled her in closer to steady her. Or maybe just because.

“Têtu,” he said. “You’re stubborn.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And bullheaded.”

“They’re the same,” she pointed out.

“Obstinate.”

“Again. The same.”

“Beautiful.”

Honestly, that French accent should be outlawed. She tried to catch her breath. “It’s a shame then that you don’t want to be with me.”

“What I said was that you were better off with Andy.”

She looked into those stone gray eyes that were not in any way cold.

His gaze dipped to her mouth. Lifting a hand, he slid his thumb over her lower lip, which had her mouth trembling open.

“I make you nervous,” he noted, his voice low and French and silky soft.

Nervous. Crazy. Aroused. She lifted her chin. “Don’t be-”

“Asinine?” He smiled tightly, then took a step away from her to look around.

Behind his back, she let out a breath and put her hands to her heated cheeks. It was like playing with fire. He was bad for her, very bad, and yet she remained mesmerized, because when he looked at her, when he touched her, when he so much as breathed in her general direction, her body reacted in a very specific way.

“Bobby,” he called out, flashing his light into the room. It was dark here, dark and dingy. Things floated past them; a brush, a cell phone…

Christian moved toward the bunk beds.

“Has anyone ever gone overboard?”

“Yes, but always on purpose, and never a crew member.”

“But it’s possible, right?”

“Not likely.”

Then where was he? Moving into the doorway of the bathroom, she used her light and heard herself gasp in horror. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t freak out on me now,” Christian called from the bedroom. “We’ll find him.”

“I-” Oh, God. She was going to be sick. “I think I found… some of him.”

TWELVE

The sound of terror in Dorie’s voice stopped Christian’s heart cold. He tried to rush toward her, but rushing through this much water was all but impossible, and half swimming, half running, he felt like he was moving in slow motion.

Jesus, why hadn’t she listened to him? Why wasn’t she safe with the others? When he made it to the bathroom door, she was staring at the sink and counter, at the mirror, all of which were spattered with blood, and he lunged to her side. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s not my blood.” She turned her ashen face to his. “Bobby’s?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s everywhere!” Her eyes were glassy, and she was breathing as if she’d just run a marathon. Her entire body shivered. Recognizing the signs of shock, he pulled her close.

Over her head, he eyed the blood. Bobby had been young and lazy as hell, and had definitely pissed off just about everyone he’d ever met, especially those he’d worked for, but Christian had a hard time picturing someone wanting him dead.

She pulled free. “There’s not that many of us on this boat. And one of us-” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Ohmigod. Did one of us do this?”

“Dorie, listen to me. I need you to-”

“No. I’m not leaving you.”

No, she wasn’t. No way in hell was she leaving his sight. “Sit down,” he ordered. “I need you to sit down before you fall down.”

She sat right there on the floor, right in the water. “You were in here. Earlier, right? Looking for him.”

He met her gaze. “What are you saying?”

She looked away. “Just asking. You didn’t see this?”

“No. We’re going upstairs now, where we’ll figure out our next step.”

“I vote for a helicopter ride back to Fiji, and getting the authorities involved.”

That was the best case scenario. He didn’t know how to tell her that it wasn’t likely to happen that way. If they could have gotten a helicopter evacuation, they would have by now. Unfortunately, they had no way of communicating with anyone on any shore. The truth was, their lives were in grave danger without this added complication.

Given the way she was looking at him, she’d already figured that out. She knew, and she was holding it together. She had guts.

She also had mascara running beneath her eyes, and her clothes plastered to her body. Her hair had completely rioted into a frizzy mane around her head, and she was shaking like a leaf.

Her eyes filled. “Do you think he’s… dead?”

“I’m hoping he’s up on deck, whining about the extra work.”

A tear spilled over and slid down her cheek, and something deep inside him cracked open.

“Not yet,” he said. “Don’t fall apart yet.”

“Okay.” She hugged herself tight. “I’ll just postpone that until later, say, when we sink like a stone. Does that work for you?”

“Yes.”

She let out a shocked laugh.

“Look, Dorie, I need you to be strong here. You can do it.”

“Is that how you get through life? Holding on to anger instead of dealing? Is that how you stay so completely calm, so cold?”

He nearly flinched at the accuracy of the accusation.