Hot as Hell (Deep Six 0.5)(39)

But before she could come back with some clever reply à la Joey Tribbiani—How YOU doin’?—Bran cupped her chin in his hand.

Whoa, Nelly.

Gone was the smile. Gone was the twinkling light in his eyes. Now his expression was serious as death. Just flip! As if he had some sort of internal switch that could change him from Teasing Bran to Terrifying Bran.

“Hey.” His palm was warm and dry against her clammy skin, his calluses a gentle abrasion. “You’re doing great. Just keep stitching and talking, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

Aha! Now she got his game. He wasn’t coming on to her so much as trying to distract her from the gruesomeness of her task. Darnit.

“I think I can accomplish the first,” she admitted, swallowing the bile that climbed up the back of her throat when she pushed the two halves of his wound together before threading the needle and string through the flesh on the opposite side. “But the second might be askin’ too much.”

The new-penny smell of blood hung thick in the humid air. She ignored it, breathing out of her mouth as she tied off the first stitch. She tilted her chin, admiring her handiwork.

Not too shabby, even if I do say so myself. Grandma Bettie would be so proud.

“So, you sew,” he said. “I’ll talk.”

“Deal,” she agreed, going to work on the next suture. If she didn’t think about what she was doing, she could pretend she was just stitching together two pieces of really tough, really leaky fabric.

“I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your email,” he said. Just like that.

She thought about herding him toward the end of the conversation the way a cattle dog herds a cow toward an open gate, with a bark and a few nips at his heels. But then she thought, Why the hell not? If he was willing to air their private business in front of two audience members, by God, so was she.

After she finished the third stitch, she lifted her eyes to his face. “I was wondering about that. And a little…hurt, I guess.”





Chapter 7


7:29 p.m.…

Hurt.

The word rolled over Bran’s heart like an Abrams tank, smashing the organ beneath its steel tracks.

“Maddy…” He whispered her name. “I…” He stopped himself from saying, I woulda answered if the satellite dish hadn’t blown down. Because he wasn’t sure that was the truth. And he was many things. But a liar wasn’t one of them.

The muscles in the back of his neck tensed, and he ran his hand over them before blurting, “The truth is, I didn’t decide to come ’til the last minute.”

“Why?” She blinked up at him, her stormy eyes searching his face.

He didn’t say anything, simply raised a brow and waited. Maddy was a smart cookie, so it didn’t take her long to figure it out. He saw the moment shock and realization struck.

“Oh.” She shook her head, frowning. “Sorry… I thought maybe we were… Because there was that thing on my father’s yacht. And then the last three months we’ve… But…never mind. Doesn’t matter. My bad.”

Bran didn’t know which he regretted more. Seeing that look on her face, or the burning mothersucker of a gash across his thigh.

On second thought, I do know. It was definitely her expression. His thigh would heal with time. But he’d never forget that he’d hurt Maddy. Hurt her, mislead her, and…embarrassed her in front of Mason and the park ranger.

“Maddy.” He cupped her chin in his hand again. Partly to make her meet his eyes, and partly because he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. Her skin was so soft and warm.

“Sure, I get it.” She jerked her chin from his hand.

“Well, I sure as shit don’t,” said the park ranger whose embroidered name read “Rick.” Seriously? Ranger Rick? He was once again in front of the kitchenette’s counter. But he wasn’t leaning against the Formica countertop. He was pacing back and forth. Back and forth. “I don’t get anything about this.” There was a slightly hysterical edge to his voice. “Who are those men? What are they doing here? And who in God’s name are you guys?”

Bran stared down at the golden crown of Maddy’s head glinting brightly in the dim light. His fingers itched to run through the strands of her short, silky hair. Then his fingers weren’t itching to do anything but curl into fists. She no longer hesitated on his stitches, instead going after them like a dollar-a-day factory seamstress. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from sucking in a harsh breath when the needle punctured fresh flesh.

He thought about asking her to take it easy, but she had made that comment about his Grand Master of Ceremonies—which he’d like to keep fully intact and sporting just the one hole. So he decided to keep his mouth shut and endure. And besides, he probably deserved it after the way he’d bungled things between them.

“I can’t answer the first question,” he told Ranger Rick, his eyes nearly crossing when Maddy hit a particularly tender spot. Sweat broke out across his brow and the back of his neck. “But if I had to guess, I’d say the answer to the second question is ransom. Maddy’s family is beyond rich—we’re talking Daddy Warbucks—and whoever these *s are, they probably thought it’d be easy to snatch her from a remote island in the middle of the Gulf.”