Into a hard wall.
A hard wall that went “oomph.”
Then that hard wall gave, and she was sailing down the way she’d come-
Landing in a pile of limbs, half of which did not belong to her.
“Fuck.”
Since that single oath was muttered in an unmistakable French accent, with both irritation and resignation, she knew exactly who it was before she even opened her eyes.
The bane of her existence, of course.
The boat pitched again, and together they went sliding across the floor. Dorie gripped her purse with one hand and him with the other, and watched the hull wall come directly at her. She closed her eyes and winced in anticipation, just as Christian tucked her beneath him.
She still hit, but not the wall.
Nope, Christian did that for her, and then she hit him.
Hard enough to produce stars in the daylight.
Flat on her back, she opened her eyes and groaned.
Christian leaned over her. “You okay?”
“I think so.” For such a long, lean, hard body, he was quite the cushion. “Thanks.”
He frowned and held her down when she would have sat up. “Make sure.”
She must have hit her head or something, because the way he was bent over her, eyes narrowed, mouth tight, jaw bunched, he looked concerned.
And hella sexy with it.
Definitely, she’d hit her head. She lifted a hand to it but it didn’t hurt. So far so good. She rolled to her back and winced at the splinter in her butt.
Still there.
“What is it?” Without waiting for her to answer, he began running his hands down her limbs. Arms first, all the way to her fingers. She was so shocked she just stared up at him as he shifted his attention to her legs, his warm, firm hands checking her ankles, calves, knees-“Hey!” Finding her senses, she slapped at his hands.
“Checking for broken bones.”
“You’re copping a feel!”
“If I were ‘copping a feel’ as you say, I’d have my hands somewhere else entirely.” He leaned back on his heels. “Good news. You’re fine.”
“I know!”
“Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you want me to look at your ass.”
“What?”
“You hurt it that first day, and you’re still hurt.”
“I said I was fine!”
“I’m a doctor.”
She got to her feet, hands on her bottom. “I’m not showing you my splinter!”
His brow shot up so high it all but vanished into his dark, wavy hair. “Splinter?”
She looked away. “It’s nothing.”
He pulled her around, and this time he wasn’t thinking about smiling. “It needs to come out.”
“Uh-huh. And when it does, naturally, you’ll be the first to know.”
He stared at her, apparently-and correctly-gauging her determination and stubbornness as nonnegotiable. “Okay, but when you get infected-”
“It won’t.”
“It will.”
He was deadly serious, and she swallowed hard. “I’ll be fine. I am fine.” Staring up at him, she realized that while she was fine, he was not. His mouth was bleeding, and before she could stop herself, or remember last night’s humiliation, she put a finger to his lip. “I hurt you when I fell on you.”
He lifted a hand to his mouth, looked at his bloody fingers. “It’s nothing.”
“So we’re a fine pair then, aren’t we? You need some ice.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“Hey, I’m the aunt of two very agile, slippery, weasely nephews under the age of five. I know my first aid.”
“Is that right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” He nodded. “You’re so eager to be up and about, you’re hired.”
Hired. To doctor him up? An incredibly inappropriate vision of doing just that came to her, of slowly stripping him down to skin to play doctor-
“On n’est pas sorti de l’auberge.”
“Translation?”
“We’re not out of the woods yet. This storm isn’t just a stubborn bitch, it’s a hurricane. Winds at ninety miles an hour, and the waves are topping at thirty-five feet. People are mal de mer. Seasick.”
So he didn’t mean play doctor with him. Damn. “How did this happen?”
“The low pressure system hit a jet stream and just like science, here we are.”
She crossed her arms. “You have such a way of making me feel better.”
“No time for coddling. Wear your life vest if you come above deck.”
“Why?”
“No one goes up there without one until further notice. Let’s get going. You’ll need some supplies.” He pulled her down the hall and into his quarters. “The others are on their deathbeds. Just ask them, they’ll be happy to tell you. I think Brandy’s probably the sickest, so check on her first. Keep rotating through the rooms.”
“Where will you be?”
“Helping Denny.”
Outside. Vulnerable to the elements. In danger. “Why can’t we go back?”
“To Fiji?”
“Yes.”
Something crossed his face at that, a shadow, a grimace, whatever, but it caused a terrible foreboding to seize her, from the inside out. She took a step toward him and gripped his shirt. “Christian? Talk to me.”
He looked at her hand fisted on him. “There are some technical difficulties.”
“Skip the cryptic. I hate cryptic.”
“We were hit by lightning last night.”
She gasped. “My God.”
“Several times. And then there are the thirty-five footers. Some of our equipment’s been damaged.”
“Damaged,” she repeated carefully.
“Actually, gone.”
“Explain, please.”
He seemed to weigh his next words carefully, but gave her the truth she’d asked for. “The blast of lightning bent the steel deck of the compass room, wrecked the compass, and swept some of the equipment onto the main deck where it was washed overboard.”
She just gaped at him, trying to understand.
“The oiler’s door on the starboard side was smashed in by a rogue wave, and some of the windows on that same side have been blown in as well. Is that enough?”
“There’s more?”
“We’re taking on water, and without functioning sails, we’re not in control of our direction. We’re off course, way off course. How about now? Enough now?”
She swallowed hard. “Are we drowning today then? Because if we are, I should schedule in my panic attack.”
“There is good news.”
“I’d like that please.”
He slid open a supply closet. “The storm is losing strength.”
She stared at his broad shoulders, shoulders that took on so much. “So are we drowning today or not?”
“Well, it’s not on my agenda, no.”
“Even without the storm, if we’re damaged beyond control…”
He turned back, acknowledging that with a slight bow of his head.
She drew a shaky breath and gave up on trying to get promises. There were none to be had, and she didn’t want false ones anyway. “Okay. Let’s-”
The boat jerked, nearly sending her flying against a wall, but Christian reached out, snagged her by the shirt, and hauled her to his side, saving her from more bruises and who knew what else. When she could stand on her own, he grabbed a bag and handed it to her, filling it with things she might need from his shelves: ice packs, Band-Aids, aspirin…
She watched him work quickly and efficiently, and when he caught her staring at him, he stopped. “What?”
She dug into the supplies he’d just given her for gauze, and then shifted close, dabbing at his lip.
He hissed out a breath.
“Baby,” she murmured.
His gaze slid to hers, surprised. “Baby? As in infant?”
“That’s right. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”