Falling Light (Game of Shadows #2)(32)

A battery-powered emergency light was fastened high against one wall. By its faint glow she could see a tiny kitchenette and a small table bolted to the floor, surrounded by booth seats. Against the far wall of the kitchenette was a narrow doorway that led to darkness.

The boat rolled, and Michael staggered. He pushed her into the nearest seat. “Can you strip off your wet clothes and shoes?”

“S-sure.” She fumbled with the buttons of the flannel shirt but she couldn’t feel her fingers, so she dragged it over her head and dropped the sodden material on the floor.

The boat creaked and groaned. It sounded like it was alive and in pain. Michael made his way to the shadowed doorway beyond the kitchenette.

She struggled to remove her wet shoes as he dragged two narrow mattresses onto the floor from bunks on either side of the doorway. He stacked them on top of each other. Then he opened a cabinet, pulled out a pile of blankets and pillows and threw them on the mattresses.

He walked back to her, maintaining his balance with bracing handholds on nearby cabinets. She managed to get her jeans unbuttoned and unzipped as he knelt in front of her. He took one of her narrow feet in his hands and stripped off her sock.

“Jesus,” he said. He took her other foot and peeled the sock off. “Your feet are like ice. Lie back.”

She complied, flopping back in the booth and lifting her hips when he told her to. He dragged her heavy wet jeans over her slim legs. She sighed in relief as the freezing denim left her skin.

Michael pulled her back to a sitting position. The blanket she’d kept draped across her shoulders fell away. She was naked except for her panties. He stared for a long silent moment at the high, gentle curve of her br**sts, her narrow rib cage and the slight swell of her abdomen.

Her blue-tinged skin was raised with goose bumps and mottled with several small purplish marks. He gently touched the purple mark on her rib cage under her left breast, then the one at her collarbone.

“Jesus,” he said again. “How many times did you get shot?”

“F-four or five,” she replied. “I l-lost count.”

His eyes were stark and black in the dim light. They shimmered with sudden wetness. “I’m so sorry,” he said from the back of his throat. He pulled the blanket tight around her with hands that shook. “I didn’t sense them hiding there. I never would have told you to run to the dock if I had. I didn’t sense anything but that creature guarding the shoreline—”

“Shut up, Michael,” she said wearily. A convulsive shudder rippled through her aching body. “It’s not your f-fault. God, I feel like I’m never going to be warm again.”

He reacted immediately, standing and drawing her to her feet. With one arm around her waist and the other protecting their progress against the roll of the boat, he helped her to the mattresses on the floor.

She crawled on them and, wracked with violent shivers, she fell face-first onto one of the pillows. She felt weight on her body increase as he piled more blankets on top of her. They smelled like mothballs.

The small room was in near total darkness, like a cave, shot intermittently with white flashes of lightning that showed through two small, round portholes set high near the ceiling. Michael tucked cushions from the booth on either side of the makeshift bed. Then he lifted one corner of the blankets and slid the length of his naked body next to hers.

Compared with the hazardous chill of her body temperature, his skin felt furnace-hot. He pulled her against the wide bulk of his chest, wrapping his arms tight around her, and he hooked one heavily muscled leg over hers. She put her arms around him, rested her head on his chest and groaned as spasms racked her body.

“Shh,” he murmured. He rubbed at her back, her arms and her legs. “It’ll get better in a minute.”

“I know,” she gritted.

Soon the combined warmth from their bodies soaked in deep. Bit by bit the clench of her muscles loosened. She rubbed her cheek against the sprinkle of crisp hair on his chest, savoring his warmth and the simple animal comfort of being held. That was when she realized he was shaking almost as badly as she had been.

She tried to lift her head but his hold on her was too tight. She stroked the broad, taut muscles of his back. “Michael?”

In a voice so low and raw, she could barely hear it over the creak of the boat and the lash of the wind, he whispered, “I can’t lose you. Not so soon after finding you again. Not after so long.”

She was glad she had warmed enough so her reply could be steady and gentle. “You won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere. My memories are returning, and I’ve got my sense of identity back. I’m not about to let go when I’ve just started to really live. Did you see? I even shot your damn gun.”

With one hand at the back of her head, he pressed her face into his neck. A smile threaded through the other emotions in his voice. “I know, I saw.”

She stroked his hair. “Do you think I hit anything?”

“Probably not. But you made them duck for cover, which is the most important thing.”

Was it? She relaxed further. “That’s all right then.”

“Yes.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and kept his mouth there. “That’s all right then.”

The boat pitched and tossed, the movement unpredictable. Michael rolled onto his back and held her tight against him, one arm wrapped around her waist and his legs spread wide as he braced them both from the worst of the rolling.