The moment he broke the surface, he spun, fists up and ready. He blinked hard to clear the stinging seawater from his eyes, but when he did, he had to blink again.
Corinthe.
She’d changed her clothes. She wore faded jeans that hugged her hips, a simple black T-shirt, and a fitted cotton hoodie, unzipped and now soaked through. He couldn’t keep his eyes from running up and over her body.
Light caught on the dangling crystal earrings she still wore from the party, and they drew his gaze to her neck. To that curve where it met her shoulder. He swallowed hard. She’d looked hot last tonight, but now, against the early morning sun, she was more than that. Otherworldly.
“You!” she gasped. She’d been the one attacking him, so why did she look so surprised?
“Christ,” he panted. He pushed his cap back off his face. “You almost—”
A knife flashed in her hand and she lunged at him. Before he could move, his back was pressed against an unyielding wooden pillar supporting the dock, and her knife pushed against his throat. She used her body to hold him there, and he didn’t dare swallow for fear it would force the blade into his skin.
Heat radiated between their bodies, a startling contrast to the icy water swirling around them. He realized his hands were gripping her waist, holding on to her as if they were about to kiss. He watched the black of her eyes slowly eat up the pale irises. Her breathing came out in bursts of warm air that tickled his chin.
She moved a fraction of an inch closer. Her lips parted. All he had to do was move just a little bit and … God, he had to be crazy. She had a knife to his throat and all he could think about was how her lips would taste.
Insanity. It had to be.
But he wanted to kiss her more than anything right that second. Press his lips against the soft curve of her neck. He pulled her hips forward instinctively, molding them against his body.
Corinthe made a sound deep in her throat, and his pulse leapt. Fire raced through his veins.
She moved closer and the knife nicked his throat.
Luc grabbed her wrist.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, breathing hard. He tightened his grip and spun her arm around, pinning her with her back to his chest. She jammed her leg back and twisted her foot between his legs, hooking him on the ankle. When she twisted her body left and kicked out with her foot, Luc lost his balance.
Instead of letting her go, though, he took her down, under the water with him in a tangle of arms and legs. Corinthe kicked out and made contact with his shin, and even underwater, the jolt shot up his leg.
He fought to keep hold of her, and she fought harder to get away from him.
His lungs burned. The second his arms loosened, she was gone, and he surged above the water, gasping for air.
He wiped the water off his face and saw her a few feet away, poised to attack. Wet hair clung to her cheeks, and she was focused on his face. She held the knife casually, and it finally hit him: this was easy for her.
Self-preservation kicked in then, fierce and hot. She was trying to kill him. Clearly, she had lost her mind. Maybe the accident really had messed with her head. He lunged suddenly, grabbing the knife and driving his shoulder into her body. She stumbled backward, and he ran.
He sloshed through the shallows and scrambled over the rocks lining the shoreline. Once back on solid land, he tossed the knife as far as he could and sprinted across an empty parking lot. Water squelched in his boots, and his footsteps pounded loudly, echoing in the still dawn air. Thud, thud, thud.
He could hear footsteps behind him, too, half as loud but twice as fast.
No way.
He looked over his shoulder. She followed him, too close for his comfort.
His wet clothes made it hard to move. There was no way he could keep running. Not fast enough, anyway. Already his breath was rasping in his chest; his heart felt as if it would explode.
Ten feet ahead of him was a line of run-down apartment buildings. He shoved the door of the closest one and was relieved that it swung open, practically popping off its hinges.
He took the rickety stairs two at a time, not sure where he was going. There must be a fire escape off the roof, or at least a room where he could lock the door. Corinthe must have lost her mind—or she was having some kind of a bad drug trip. The faster he got away from her, the better.
He ran without thinking. The stairs stopped and he burst through a door, onto the roof. His lungs burned as he gasped for air. The fire escape was on the far side of the roof, but the only part that remained was a small portion of the rail. The ladder, the steps—everything else had been dismantled or fallen away.
It was a sheer drop straight down to the alley.
Back down the stairs, then. He yanked the rusty door back open and froze.
Corinthe.
God, she was fast.
She wasn’t even winded. Her breathing was slow and deliberate, and she took several steps toward him as he backed up, raising both hands so she would know he wasn’t going to hurt her. The door slammed with a bang and he jumped. Shit.
“Look. Look. Whatever’s going on—we can talk about it, okay?” Luc didn’t even know what he was saying. He needed time. Time to figure out a plan, time to talk her down.
Corinthe stopped and cocked her head. She had retrieved the knife from the beach, but at least she wasn’t leveling it at him. She watched him with intense focus, her gaze moving with each twitch of his body. It made him feel extremely exposed, vulnerable. Jesus Christ. Her eyes were practically purple.
“Can you talk to me? Can you tell me what the hell is going on?”
She wasn’t coming at him anymore. Maybe it was working—the talking. He had a sudden memory of Dr. Asswipe telling him to talk out his feelings, and he felt the wild urge to laugh. What he needed now was a weapon and an escape route.
“Whatever I did to offend you, I’m sorry, okay?” He watched her carefully. He had assumed she might be on something, but her eyes were too lucid, her movements too steady. So what did that leave?
Batshit crazy?
“Look—last night and this morning have kind of sucked for me, okay? I’ve been looking for my sister. If I scared you, I’m sorry.”
The thought occurred to him that maybe Corinthe had been sleeping on one of the boats in the Marina. Was she a runaway? Maybe he had startled her and she had come after him in self-defense. Assumed he was going to turn her in.
It had to be a misunderstanding.
Now that the hard lines of her face had softened, she looked like the girl he had talked to at the party. Luc allowed himself to relax just a little. There was some need in her eyes—something he couldn’t identify. He wanted to put his arms around her; he wanted to tell her it would be okay.
Great, now he was feeling sorry for the crazy girl who just tried to stick a knife in his gut.
“Can I walk you back to the Marina?” he asked gently. “Is there someone I can call? Someone at home?”
At the word home, her shoulders went rigid again. She sprang forward, the knife pointed at his chest, and he barely had time to react. She forced him to back up until he was almost at the edge of the roof.
He glanced over his shoulder, feeling a moment of swinging vertigo. Wind buffeted the clothing clipped to the lines strung between the buildings. Jumping was out of the question. There was another building ten or fifteen feet away. He’d never make it over the gap.
Anticipate your opponent. Look for an opening. His coach’s barked commands fired through his head. But there were no openings. He dodged left suddenly, then right, tried to get past her, but she anticipated every move he made.