Out Of The Blue (The Wrong Bed #12)(24)

Never.

Dammit.

She shifted, levering herself up with her arms to look at him. "Zach—" Her legs slid over his so that she was straddling him. In that position, that innocent but oh-so-erotic position, she suddenly went utterly still.

"Oh, my," she whispered. "You're…"

"Aroused?" He gave her a tight smile. "I've been in this sorry state for two nights now, thank you very much. Can you see how wrong you are now? It isn't you, surely you can feel that much."

She licked her dry lips. "But I don't get it. This should be so simple. I know your life down in L.A. is important to you. I know you crave wild adventure and excitement, you've always craved that. And I know Avila doesn't do it for you. I'm not expecting anything other than this, Zach. I'm not."

"You should." Unable to help himself, he slid his hands up her smooth thighs, around to her bottom, beneath her T-shirt. He filled his hands with her.

"I'm not going to beg you," she whispered.

In a second, he'd be the one begging. He couldn't stop his fingers from roaming, from skimming over as much of her as he could.

"Zach…"

"No," he whispered, forcing his fingers still, though it was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

She let out a rough sound of wanting, but she rose with grace and dignity, took her book and left him alone.

Sleep was impossible.

*

The next afternoon, Hannah ran across the bluffs to the stairs, then down to the beach. The sand sank between her toes as she walked to the water's edge.

She swam like clockwork every day—except when beautiful men named Zach Thomas came to town and messed up her thought process—which was why she could tear off her clothes and have her bathing suit already beneath.

Today she had the beach to herself. And though she loved their guests, loved talking to them, for once she was grateful for the solitude.

The water was icy, and did exactly what she'd banked on—cleared her brain in one quick wave that sucked the air right out of her.

She held her breath and dove into the next wave, gliding beneath the water she knew better than the back of her own hand.

Here she was at home. Alone. No demands on her time, no one needing her.

It went without saying that she needed no one in return.

There was a storm brewing, and the water was choppy, but she could handle it. She needed to handle it. She swam straight out.

From shore, someone called her name.

Zach.

He was standing, some twenty-five yards back now, watching her with grim worry.

"I'm fine," she shouted.

"Too far," she thought she heard him call. He glanced up at the churning sky.

"I'm fine," she said again, but he ripped off his shirt, toed off his shoes and dove in after her. Hannah sighed in annoyance, but there was something else there, too, something far too close to a thrill.

He was coming after her. She glanced at the sky and decided maybe he was right, there was a storm moving in. Just as she turned back, Zach called her name.

She couldn't help it, laughter bubbled, and enjoying that he'd come for her, she pumped her arms and legs faster, heading toward him now.

That's when it hit, a cramp that shot up her entire right leg and nearly paralyzed her with shocking pain. She couldn't believe how much it hurt—it was everything she could do just to breathe.

A swell towered over her head, but she couldn't duck it, couldn't body surf it, couldn't do anything but double over with agony.

The wave hit full force, dragging her under.

When she managed to surface, Zach was right there in front of her, his face filled with terror.

She had time to think he must be a fantastic swimmer to have covered that distance in a fraction of the time it had taken her, before she went under again. Then Zach had her.

"What is it?" he demanded as he reached for her. "What's wrong?"

"Cramp." She gasped, struggling to take in only air and not the entire ocean.

The wind had picked up, and so had the size and the frequency of the waves. She squirmed to try to alleviate the pain, and went under again.

"I've got you." Zach's arms slipped around her, and they were firm and filled with welcoming strength.

The storm hit with a vengeance, sending a harsh, driving rain in their faces in tune with the choppy swells.

"Hold on to me!" he yelled, as he started toward shore.

But she couldn't hold on, couldn't do anything but convulse with pain. Another swell hit them. They both went under then, but he had her, had her tight to him, and she knew he wouldn't let go. The pain was incredible, but it blocked out the heavy current, the stinging rain, everything but the shore wavering in and out in front of her.

Zach never hesitated, just swam with long, sure, powerful strokes, though she could feel the tension radiating from every bone in his body.

Another huge swell hit them, and Hannah was certain she'd be ripped away from Zach, but he held tight, refusing to let her go.

"Almost there," he said breathlessly.

Hannah was lost in her world of agony. When she finally felt the sand beneath her feet, she nearly burst into tears, would have burst into tears, but she couldn't breathe for the pain.

They dropped heavily to the wet sand, gasping for air.