Instead, I lower her at the threshold.
“I have to?—”
“Not a word.”
Jesus, where’s her self-preservation?
She drops into the cabin and I come in behind her, slamming the door shut. My hands land on my hips as I stare down at her, part-infuriated, part-worried, part-relieved she’s in one piece. One sopping wet piece, that is.
Her hair hangs in dark ropes, a Cape Cod tee-shirt plastered to her skin, dripping water onto the carpet at our feet. It’s either a blessing or a curse that she’s wearing a sports bra beneath the see-through fabric. Her eyelashes are wet spikes around big, vulnerable eyes that gaze up at me.
“I know you told me to stay in my car, but?—”
“Eliza, there’slightningoutside,” I articulate, sweeping a hand to the tiny-ass windows.
Her face scrunches in distress. “I wasn’t just going to sit there. I had to dosomething!”
Yeah, likewait.
The reply is on the tip of my tongue, but I shove it down. She isn’t as panicked as she sounded on the phone, but she’s upset. Shaken.
Moving on instinct, I gather her in my arms. She comes without resistance, pressing her cheek against my neck and hands on my chest as I secure my grip on her frame. Her chest moves in shallow, quick breaths against mine, belying just how upset she is.
Save for the soaked floor, the small, rickety cabin is a startling contrast to the clusterfuck outside. Plants, fluffy pillows, and lamps emitting a soft yellow glow have made the space warm. Feminine. It even smells like her perfume in here.
And I’m reminded that while she’s been out of her element since she first came to Garnet Shores, she’s done an incredible job adapting.
Gentling my voice, I say, “Youdiddo something. You called me.”
“And here you are, saving my ass. Again. Your ego must be through the roof at this point.” Her head nestles further into my neck, like hugging me is an easy habit.
Hell, it feels like one to me. Her body, both strong and soft, fits against mine perfectly.
“I think there’s some kind of curse in Garnet Shores,” she adds, “because I’ve never been part of so many disasters in my life.”
“Nah, I think you’re just clumsy.”
“The bilge pump has nothing to do with clumsiness.”
“Then this one’s karma for all the times you’ve been a pain in my ass.”
She shakes against me as she laughs. My arms tighten, sealing her there.
“I swear, you’ve gotten the worst version of me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
One of her fingers starts drawing little shapeless designs on my chest. “I was cheated on and laid off before coming here. One of my closest friends is hooking up with my ex. My parents are up my ass about getting my career back on track, and I’m living on a sailboat stuck in the eighties. I think it’s pretty clear what I meant,” she says, almost apathetically.
I hate the defeat in her tone, almost as much as I hateher piece-of-shit ex and her so-called friend.Who the fuck does that?Especially to a woman like her?
I hate it all enough to peel my arms from her back and cup her cheeks, forcing her to look up at me. Rainwater’s still caught in those eyelashes, her damp skin gleaming in the soft light.
“Could’ve fooled me.” My eyes flick between hers, making sure I have her full attention. “Because the so-called worst version of you is pretty fucking impressive.”
Her lips part for a beat, then pull into a barely-there smile that makes me feel like I’ve just crested Everest. But I’m not surethatview could even beat this one.
She’s fucking beautiful.
