were shaking from being cold and drenched, you could forget your head was spinning as if somebody had attached a string to it and was using it as a yo-yo.
“Maybe I’ll get lucky and the storm will wash me overboard so I can drown.”
“Please don’t, then I’d have to jump in and save you, and I’ll ruin my new boots.”
She managed a weak smile. But it quickly faded when the ferry dipped, rolling on a swell that made the rickety old boat sound as though it was going to split apart at the seams and plunge to Davy Jones’s locker. The redhead gripped even tighter, and a low groan escaped her lips. “Make it stop.”
“We’re almost there,” he said, edging closer, feeling protective of her, this pretty stranger, the way he might have of a kid left outside in the cold.
“What is wrong with good old-fashioned bridges?”
“It’s twelve miles to the island.”
“Haven’t they heard of the Donghai?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a bridge that’s twenty miles long.”
“Across Lake Michigan?”
She rolled her eyes. He bit back a smile, glad he was distracting her.
Another dip. Another groan. “There’s an even longer one going over Lake Pontchartrain,” she said, forcing the words out from between clenched teeth.
That one he had heard of. “I hear they get a few more tourists to New Orleans than they do to Wild Boar Island. I don’t think tolls would pay for a bridge here.”
That was an understatement.
Wild Boar Island, Michigan, his new home as of a few months ago, might claim it was one of the most popular tourist destinations in the state during the summer months. Hell, it might even be true. But somehow, having a population that swelled from about eighteen-hundred nine months out of the year up to ten-thousand in June, July and August, didn’t quite equal the Big Easy during Mardi Gras.
A strong gust of wind blew down from the thunderous storm clouds blanketing the sky—clouds which hadn’t yet released a torrent of rain, but had done a fine job whipping the massive lake into a trembling ocean. The old ferry rocked and rolled like a theme-park ride, and his stomach rocked and rolled along with it.
“Oh, God, why did I ever agree to move to a place you can only get to by ferry?” she groaned, leaning over the railing.
She leaned a bit too far, gasping and heaving, and he had a sudden vision of her tipping head-first into the choppy green wake. He didn’t know her from Adam, but he sure wasn’t about to watch her take a nose-dive into the deep. So he stepped close behind her, shielding her body with his own and wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her steady, braced on the deck. He dropped a free hand onto one of hers and squeezed, hoping she got the message that he was just trying to help and wasn’t some pervert going for an easy grope.
Not that the woman wasn’t eminently touchable.
He could feel shudders wracking her tall, slim form, even through her heavy raincoat. But she made no effort to pull away, and instead gripped his hand.
“We’re going to capsize,” she groaned.
“No, we aren’t.”
“Yes, we are. We’re going to flip over and sink.”
“Well, at least then we won’t feel sick anymore.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, long strands of wind-blown red hair whipping across her face. “You, too?”
“Why do you think I’m out here?”
“I figured it was so you could rescue me.”
“Yeah, let’s go with that,” he said as the ferry bounced again and he let out a small groan of his own.
She laughed suddenly, a light, musical peal of merriment that was at odds with the wild, wind-whipped day. Her whole face lit up when she laughed, and he noted the sparkle in her eyes, which were a dazzling shade of emerald.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, torn between indignation and relief that she no longer looked like she was about to jump overboard.
“Nope.” She lifted a slender hand and pointed. “I’m laughing with sheer relief because I see land ahead!”
“Hate to break it to you, but that’s Little Boar, not Wild Boar.”
“Close enough. I’m getting off.”
“The ferry doesn’t stop there—it’s uninhabited.”
“I’ll take my chances with the little boars, just tell the captain to pull over.”
“There’s nowhere to dock.”
“So I’ll jump overboard and swim for it.”
“Have you forgotten my new boots?”
“You’d really leap in after me?”
“It’s in my job description.”
“Are you a lifeguard?”
Lately he’d been a jack-of-all-trades—from cat-rescuer, to crossing guard, to 911 operator—as well as Chief of Police, his official title. And he didn’t imagine lifeguarding would be out of the question this summer when Wild Boar filled up with tourists anxious to test the sometimes rough waters of this very great lake.
“Let’s just say I’m your self-appointed lifeguard right now. If you jump, I jump.”
She took a few deep breaths, letting his words calm her, as he’d wanted them to. Finally, she nodded and began to straighten. The chop had died down, at least momentarily, and the planking seemed steadier beneath his feet. At least, it did as long as he didn’t think about how easily his arm encircled her slim waist and how her long legs felt when practically entwined with his. And if he dwelled on the way her curvy ass was brushing against his groin, he was a total goner. The dizziness would have nothing to do with the waves and everything to do with a hot rush of lust that threatened to drown him. As a matter of fact, the tide was lifting things up already.
Mike immediately let her go and stepped away, willing himself back into she’s-a-stranger mode and out of the damn-she’s-hot one.
“Do you think the water’s calming down now?” she asked, pushing her tangled hair away from her face with a shaking hand.
“Seems like it.”
“God, I hate being sick like that.”
“Ditto.”
She eyed him. “It’s not just the nausea, it’s the complete lack of control over it. I know when I step off this boat, it’ll go away—mostly. And it infuriates me that I can’t make it go away right now.”
He
