together. Maggie tasted blood at the same time she realized she was held underwater by the weight of the man. Shoving him aside, she broke the surface and gasped for air, trudging toward the water’s edge.
“Did you have to land on me?” Sputtering and coughing, she turned on him.
He lay facedown in the water.
“Shit!” She plowed against the force of the jets and grasped the back of his uniform collar to haul him above the surface of the water.
Her arm around his chest, she dragged him to the edge of the whirlpool, grunting with effort.
Good thing she was a lifeguard.
Beneath her palm, his heart beat a strong rhythm. He was breathing. Breathing was good.
“Let’s get you out of these nasty wet clothes,” she whispered, flicking open one gold button after another. She’d sworn to be more aggressive on her cruise, and fate had dropped the hunk in her arms. True, he was unconscious, but that wouldn’t last for long. Who was she to buck fate? Unfortunately the man’s forehead was rapidly growing a nasty goose egg. Before her eyes, it darkened to a deep cherry red right before the skin split from the immediate swelling.
Having her way with him would obviously have to wait.
With a grunt, she rolled him to his side and thumped his back.
He coughed a few times and wheezed as he struggled to sit up.
Shoot. Mouth-to-mouth would not be needed.
“Are you okay?” His voice was croaky. He cleared his throat and looked at her through sinfully thick, blond-tipped lashes. The once-over from his baby blues had her sitting back on her heels in an effort not to squirm.
He traced the tender skin next to her eye where she’d bumped her head in the first fall, leaving a trail of fire.
Forcing back a wince, she reached out to touch the now huge bump on his forehead. It was hot.
His breath hissed. He leaned back a bit. “Ow.” He probed the bump. “I really whacked my head.” He glanced up. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine.” More than a whisper seemed inappropriate, for some reason.
He broke whatever connection they had and stood, helping her to her feet. “Thanks for dragging me out of the water.”
He scanned the room. “Where’s your husband, Mrs. Hamilton?”
“Ah, it’s Miss. Or Ms.” Her skin burned with his scrutiny. “I mean, I’m not married.”
“Excuse me?” She couldn’t have said what he thought he’d just heard. He wasn’t that lucky.
“I said I’m not married.” She frowned and brushed at her wet, see-through pant leg before meeting his gaze. “Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?”
“What purpose would that be?” Somehow his shirt was unbuttoned, so he began working the sharp buttons through the wet fabric. No need to get excited, despite her claim. Newlyweds often forgot they were married at first. Probably a tough acclimation.
“The purpose of the cruise, of course.”
The woman sounded annoyed and looked a little agitated. Maybe it was best to humor her. “I suppose different people take cruises for different reasons.” Although why a single person would take a honeymoon cruise was beyond him.
He gave her another once-over. She sure was a looker, he’d give her that.
She flashed a little lopsided smile that sent heat zipping through him.
Too bad she was married. And lied about it. Not to mention the fact she was more than a little wacky.
He turned toward the door. Best to cut his losses and get on with his day.
“Wait!” She grabbed his arm, the warmth of her palm doing funny things to his heart rate. “I don’t even know your name.”
He glanced at her hand and then back to her red-rimmed eyes. Their clear color seemed incongruous with the almost-painful-looking redness surrounding them.
“Drew. Drew Connor.” He extricated his arm and offered his hand. “Cruise director.”
She slipped her hand into his in what felt like an oddly intimate gesture.
Get a grip, Connor! The woman is just returning your handshake.
“Maggie Hamilton.” She shrugged and removed the temptation of her hand. “But I guess you already know that.”
“Ms. Hamilton?” He tilted her chin with his finger tip.
“Maggie,” she said on a breath. “Call me Maggie.”
“Maggie.” Despite his best intentions, he leaned closer. “Think hard. You’re not really single, are you?”
Her brow wrinkled. She stepped out of his reach and heaved a sigh. “Why are you having such an issue with my marital status?” She threw up her hands and strode to the side of the bed before turning on him. “Don’t you think I would know it if I’d married someone? What? Do you think I’d forget something like that?”
Maybe she was telling the truth.
Fists on hips—very shapely hips, he might add—she glared at him. “Why are you grinning like that?”
He took a step toward her.
“Mr. Connor—”
“Drew.” He took another step.
“Drew.” She held up her hand. “Okay, you can stop right there, Drew.” He took another step. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He closed the distance. Practically chest to chest, he felt the heat. He knew she felt it, too.
“You’re really single, aren’t you?” He raised her limp left hand and surveyed her ringless finger.
“I—” She swallowed and looked up at him with her incredible eyes. “I already told you that.”
Damn, this was stupid on so many levels.
He put his arms around her, half prepared to be kicked or slapped.
She reacted by encircling his neck with her arms.
Okay. Let’s think about all the reasons why this is a bad idea.
He pulled her closer.
One: it’s against company policy.
He leaned down, feeling the exciting warmth of her breath against his lips.
Two: even if she isn’t married, she should be off-limits, due to reason one. Plus, if she isn’t married, why is she on a honeymoon cruise? Maybe she’s an escaped criminal. Maybe she’s the female equivalent
