was older than her brother.
She felt uncomfortable with the close physical contact that was necessary now, but she forced herself to yield to the situation. He couldn’t very well stay down here on the beach all day.
She eased under his arm and slid her hand around his back. His skin was olive tan and silky, rippling with muscle. He was fit for a man of his age, she thought, her eyes dropping involuntarily to the broad chest with an incredibly thick mass of curling black hair that ran in a wedge from his collarbone all the way down into the low-slung swimming trunks around his lean hips. Most men, since her marriage, repelled Nikki. This man, strangely, didn’t. She already felt comfortable with him, as if the sight of his almost nude body was familiar to her.
Of course, he had the kind of body that even a disinterested woman couldn’t help but admire right down to long, tanned, powerful legs with just enough hair to be masculine and not offensive. She drew his arm over her shoulder, holding it by the hand. He had nice hands, too, she thought. Very lean and big, with oval nails immaculately kept. No jewelry at all. She wondered if that was deliberate. Where his watch had shifted, there was no white line, so his tan must be of the year-round variety.
“Easy does it,” she said gently. The feel of all the muscle so close was really disturbing. She hadn’t been so close to a man since her tragic marriage. He attracted her and she immediately forced her mind to stop thinking in that direction. He needed her. That was all she must consider now.
“I can walk by myself,” he said gruffly, and then stumbled as he tried to prove it.
Nikki managed not to smile. “One step at a time,” she repeated. “You’re injured, that’s all. It’s bound to affect your balance.”
“Are you sure you first name isn’t Florence?” he muttered. “Maybe it’s Polyanna.”
“You’re very offensive for a man the ocean spit out,” she remarked. “Obviously you left a bad taste in its mouth.”
He didn’t smile, but his chest tightened a little. Nikki guessed he was repressing a laugh. “Maybe so.”
“Do you feel sleepy or nauseous?” she persisted.
“No. Dizzy, though.”
She nodded, her mind running quickly through possibilities. She needed to get a look at his eyes to tell if the pupils were equal or overly dilated, but that could wait.
“Are you a nurse?” he asked again.
“Not really. I’ve had some first-aid training, and,” she added with a mischievous glance upward, “a little experience with beached whales. Speaking of which…”
“Stop right there while you’re ahead,” he advised. “God, what a headache!” His big hand went to his head and he groaned.
Nikki was getting more nervous by the minute. Head injuries could be quickly fatal. She didn’t have the expertise to deal with something this serious, and she had no telephone. What if he died?
He glanced sideways and saw the troubled look on her face. He glowered even more. “I’m not going to drop dead on the beach,” he said irritably. “Are you always this transparent?”
“In fact, I’ve been told I have a poker face,” she said without thinking. She looked up into his dark eyes and found herself staring into them with something approaching recognition. How frightening, she thought dimly, to be like that with a stranger, and especially such an unfriendly one!
“You have green eyes, “Florence Nightingale,”’ he said. “Green like a cat’s.”
“I scratch like one, too, so watch out,” she murmured with far more bravado than courage.
“Point taken.” He eased the pressure of his arm around her and went the last few steps up to the deck under his own power. He stopped, holding his head and breathing deliberately, for a few seconds.
“I could do with a cup of coffee,” he said after a minute.
“So could I.” She eased him through the sliding glass doors and into the kitchen, watching him lower his huge frame into a chair at the kitchen table. “Are you going to be all right?”
“I’m sure that I’m tough as nails normally.” He rested his elbows on the clean surface of the oak table and held his head in his hands. “Do you often find strange men washed up on your beach?”
“You’re my first,” she replied. “But considering the size of you, I’m hoping for an ocean liner tomorrow.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her as she busied herself filling the drip coffeemaker.
“Have you lived here long?” he asked, making conversation.
“We’ve had the place a few years.”
“We?”
“The, um…man who lives here and I,” she replied noncommittally. It wouldn’t do to tell him she was single and on her own. “He normally drives down on Friday evenings,” she lied.
He didn’t seem to register the information. Perhaps he didn’t know what day it was.
“Today is Friday,” she said, just in case. “My friend is very nice, you’ll like him.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Any nausea yet? Drowsiness?”
“I haven’t got concussion,” he replied tersely. “I’m not sure how I know that I’d recognize the symptoms. Perhaps I’ve had it before.”
“Perhaps you haven’t.” She picked up the telephone and dialed.
“What are you doing?” he asked curtly.
“Phoning a friend. He’s a doctor. I want to…Hello, Chad?” she said when the person answered. “I’ve just rescued a swimmer who was suffering from a bang on the head. He’s conscious and very lucid,” she added with a meaningful glare at her houseguest. “But he won’t let me call an ambulance. Could you stop by here when you get back from the golf course and just reassure me that he isn’t going to drop dead on my floor.”
Chad Holman laughed. “Sure. No sweat. Let me ask you a couple of questions.”
He did and she fielded them to her guest, who replied reluctantly.
“I think he’ll do until I get there,” Chad reassured her. “But if he drops off and you can’t wake him or if he has any violent vomiting, call the ambulance anyway.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
“Any time.”
She hung up, feeling relieved now that she had a professional opinion on her guest’s condition. “Well, I don’t want any dead bodies in my living room, especially not one I can’t even drag!” she informed him mischievously.
He scowled at her. “Dead bodies. Dead…” He shook his head irritably. “I keep getting flashes, but I can’t grasp anything! Damn it!”
“The coffee’s almost ready. Maybe a jolt of caffeine will start your brain working again,” she suggested.
