he couldn’t have been more relieved when she coughed. He turned her head to help her to spit out water. Even a teaspoonful in the lungs was enough to drown a person.
Her trembling hand rose to her head and she mumbled, “Hurts.”
Her eyes opened, and her pupils were very large, surrounded by the creamiest hue of caramel he’d ever seen. Dark hair covered her forehead, and when he smoothed back the wet strands, he discovered a lump the size of a golf ball there. Just looking at the knot starting to discolor made him wince. She needed ice to keep the swelling down. Unfortunately, he had none.
He held up two fingers. “How many?”
“Four?”
“Great, you’re seeing double.”
“That’s why there’s two of you,” she muttered then closed her eyes.
“Oh no you don’t. Melinda, you can’t go to sleep. You have a head injury. Maybe a concussion.”
“Hurts.”
Helpless, she lay in his arms, but at least her deadly gray pallor had been replaced by a much more healthy-looking olive tone. “You need a doctor.”
“I need—” Her eyes suddenly opened again, and she bolted into a sitting position, wincing at the pain the effort cost her. “Who are you?”
She sounded as suspicious as an operative on his first assignment, and he almost smiled. He supposed many women might be frightened by his appearance, black leather pants and a black T-shirt—all sopping wet. His size alone could intimidate most men, and he hadn’t bothered shaving this morning, so his jaw sported more than a five-o’clock shadow. For her to wake up in the arms of a stranger had to be unnerving, especially one as scruffy-looking as he probably was.
Of course, she wasn’t exactly ready for a beauty pageant either—not with that bump on her head that was starting to turn a wicked shade of purple. But with her tight tank top plastered to her breasts and short shorts that outlined her hips, she appeared to be a prime candidate for a wet T-shirt competition.
Thank God, a man like him would never be attracted to his charge. He didn’t go for petite, curvy brunettes with eyes like melted taffy. He preferred his women cool, blond and intellectual. Melinda Murphy, with her delicate jaw and suspicious glare looked precisely like the type of woman who was trouble with a capital T.
She’d nearly died, he reminded himself, and she wasn’t out of danger yet. Luckily the escalating wind and rising current were on their side, hindering her pursuers’ progress back to shore. Within moments, they would be swept around the point.
He didn’t want to scare her by mentioning the men after her, not while her hands trembled and her eyes reflected confusion. “I’m Clay Rogan.” He pointed to the choppy sea, noting that the blue sedan and the swimming men were now totally out of view and around the bend. “When I saw your car go under—”
Bewilderment filled her eyes, and she frowned, her full lips forming a lusty pout full of suspicion. “My car? Underwater?”
“I’m lucky I got you out. I’m afraid I couldn’t do much about the—”
Her head jerked back and forth in denial, her eyes wildly searched the churning waves as if she’d lost a dear friend. “I don’t suppose you nabbed my purse?”
“Sorry.”
Her bottom lip quivered. Oh, hell, she was going to cry.
“Don’t cry.”
He hated when women cried, because then he gave in to their demands and hated himself for it later. Only, this half-drowned mermaid wasn’t making demands. Yet she was so suspicious of him that he didn’t know whether to feel sorry for her.
Her eyes brimmed.
“Don’t,” he repeated softly but firmly, as he would to an injured child.
She paid absolutely no attention to his demand. Tears overflowed her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
He bit back a curse and gently lifted her into his lap, cradling her against his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin. Her entire body shook, a sob escaped and instead of offering her additional reassurances, his first thought was how holding her in his arms made him feel like keeping her there for a long time. She had a toned body, teasing curves and a bottom lip he wanted to taste.
What the hell was wrong with him? The woman was crying and all he could think about was her bottom lip? Forcing his thoughts back to practical matters wasn’t easy, although usually his focused mind stayed on the subjects he intended it to. But her combination of strength and defenselessness called to him on a level he couldn’t quite comprehend. He only knew he had to regain control of himself, before he did something stupid—like kiss her.
“Are you in pain? You need a doctor?”
“Not a doctor. I need a psychiatrist.”
A shrink? Was she crazy?
Actually he must be the insane one around here. She wanted a shrink. And he wanted to kiss her. What kind of a secret agent was he anyway?
A bad one.
Damn it! This mission would be hard enough with a reasonably sane woman. And Melinda Murphy seemed anything but reasonable. Or sane. In fact, she hadn’t made much sense since the moment she’d opened those soulful toffee-colored eyes and raised his protective armor.
Perhaps he needed to humor her. “Okay. Why do you need a psychiatrist?”
“Because I have no memory.”
“What do you mean you have no memory?”
“Which word don’t you understand?” she countered. But the tears still rolling over her cheeks took the sting out of her strong words.
He suspected she was trying to be brave, especially since he could feel her trembling. So he gentled his tone even more. “You don’t remember your accident?”
She shook her head and angrily wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “Tell me what happened. Maybe it’ll come back to me.”
Finally, a good suggestion. But they needed to get out of here in case anyone else showed up. Before the men he’d seen swimming around the point made it to shore and headed back here for Melinda.
Still, Clay hesitated, knowing she was in a fragile emotional state. He couldn’t be so callous, wasn’t so pressed for time that he couldn’t make a few explanations.
Clay ignored the storm clouds darkening overhead. They were already soaked, their clothing sticking to them like a swimsuit. A little rain would only wash off the salt. “When I arrived on the beach, I saw a blue sedan force your car into the water.”
She straightened in his lap, pulling her head from under his chin. She looked up and down the beach, her spine stiff, her arms crossed over her chest defensively. “I don’t see another car.”
“The vehicle chased you into the ocean. And sank.”
“Really?”
