Rescue Bear (P.O.L.A.R. Series Book 1) Page 4

  I didn’t feel in top form myself. My bear was in a tizzy, consumed by the woman in front of us, torn between panting and growling. I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him, but I needed to gain control over him before he embarrassed me. “Anything else?

  She shook her head and sank back, letting her back rest against the counter behind her. “I’m okay. I know enough about dry drowning to know that this isn’t that. I’m just…”

  I leaned in closer when she trailed off. She had the most delectable aroma.

  “I’m just really glad you came along.” When she looked up at me with those beautiful hazel eyes, I was lost in them. But then, she wrapped her arms around my neck in a tight hug.

  Shocked, I hugged her in return. The gesture felt way too good—far better than a mere thank-you hug from a rescued victim. I’d had plenty of those since being recruited to the task force. No, this one triggered an immediate arousal, and I realized I’d better cover up because my downstairs was standing at full mast.

  “Thank you for saving my life.”

  8

  Megan

  I pulled away from the man who’d rescued me and tried to ignore the awkward arousal I felt blossoming inside. I shouldn’t have hugged him. How was I to know it would start my pulse racing and my body filling with lust? Maybe it was just a strange reaction to nearly dying. I coughed again and looked around the house we’d broken into. “This is Greg Campbell’s house.”

  “A friend of yours?”

  I shook my head. “Not since high school. He got this place when his parents moved to Pensacola. I was here a few times when we were kids for parties.”

  “Greg’s really into animal print, huh?”

  I looked over at the leopard-patterned pillows on the couch and bit back a laugh. “I think he’s married now. Although, those could still be his, I suppose.”

  We grew quiet again, and I looked anywhere but at the man who’d saved me. I felt strange. When I’d regained consciousness with his mouth on mine, after thinking I was a goner, I’d assumed for a second that I’d died and gone to heaven. There was this beautiful man kissing me, or so I’d thought. I’d been ready to lean in and really kiss him back when I choked up ocean water. It was hard to hold eye contact, knowing that while he’d been trying to save my life, I’d been thinking about making out with him.

  “I’m Roman.” He held out his hand, and one side of his mouth lifted.

  I met his eyes for a second and then slid my hand into his. I couldn’t help but notice how much larger his hand was than mine. The guy was huge. “Megan.”

  “What were you doing out in this storm, Megan?”

  I pulled my hand back from his and stood up. On shaky legs, I rounded Greg’s kitchen island and occupied myself by getting a glass of water. The salty taste in my mouth was disgusting. “It’s a long story.”

  He followed me closely, without allowing me much personal space, which should have felt creepy, but didn’t at all. “I think we’ve got time.”

  As if on cue, the lights he’d turned on when we’d stepped foot in the place, flickered and died and the wind shook the house violently. I dropped the glass I’d just taken out of the cupboard and yelped as it hit the ground next to my feet and shattered.

  “Don’t move.” Roman’s deep, authoritative command froze me in my tracks until I felt his warm hands grasp my waist.

  I squirmed. “What are you doing?”

  A rhetorical question. I knew what he was attempting to do. He was actually going to try to pick me up, obviously either overestimating his own abilities or he had no idea how much I weighed. He must not have gotten a good look at me. I was no lightweight, and I was horrified at the idea of him hurting himself by trying to lift me. I pushed at his hands to remove them, but they stayed firmly clasped.

  “Stop, before you cut yourself.” His voice was stern, and I found myself heeding his command. With seemingly no effort, as though I was a child, he hoisted me in the air and sat me down on the counter behind him. “Where do you think Greg or his wife might keep their broom?”

  I sat there, in shock. The guy, Roman he’d said his name was, was big—far bigger than I was—but what he’d done by lifting me without effort shouldn’t have been possible. He hadn’t even grunted from the strain—nothing. “Uh, the Greg I knew wouldn’t own a broom.”

  Roman chuckled and rested his hand on my knee. “Don’t move. There’s glass all over.”

  “What about your feet?”

  “I’m tough.”

  Well, that was proving to be an understatement. I tried to follow Roman’s movements through the darkness, perplexed. He’d lifted me like I weighed nothing. He’d swam with me on his back through turbulent waters and torrential rain. Who the hell was this guy? Superman? My heart raced. A wacky idea formed in my mind that maybe I was dead and dreaming. That had to be the case. None of this could be real. I slid off the counter and gasped when pain shot up my leg. Nope, not dreaming.

  “What are you doing? I told you to stay up there.” Roman was back, his hands on my waist again. Effortlessly, he lifted me back on the counter a second time, tsk-ing like I was an insolent child. This time, he spun me to the right until my foot rested against cold metal. The sink.

  I gritted my teeth against the pain that had just started to register. His hands were warm as he held my calf, and I focused on that instead. “This is surreal.”

  He was close enough that I could feel his breath against my temple as he spoke. “What?”

  I laughed. The laugh felt strange forming in my stomach, coming up my throat, tickling my lips. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed. “I almost died. I was trying to get out of the floodwaters and back to my house when the rip current caught me. Before I knew it, I was swept out to sea. Yet my worst injury of the day is from stepping on a piece of broken glass.”

  “Why do I feel like there’s more to that story?” His hands were still on my leg. Was he aware that he was absently stroking my calf?

  I blew out a frustrated breath at the reminder of my story. “In high school, Greg’s parents kept the liquor in the cabinet above the fridge.” I motioned with my head to the refrigerator behind me. “Why don’t you check? Maybe we’ll get lucky. I think I need some. A lot.”

  Roman squeezed my thigh. “I can take a hint.”

  I found myself holding my breath. My heart was racing and there were butterflies in my stomach. I chalked them up to nerves from the storm and from almost dying, but part of me insisted they were from Roman’s touch. Either way, I hoped the liquor would help settle them.

  Roman pressed a bottle into my hand a second later. “Have at it while I clean up the glass. It’ll help dull the pain when I clean up your foot in a minute. And do not get off that counter!”

  I twisted off the lid and took a long pull from a bottle that turned out to be cheap vodka. I coughed and sputtered, but forced myself to swallow. A few more healthy swigs and the stuff didn’t taste half bad. Before I got drunk, though, I put the lid back on and rested my head on my bent knee.

  Roman came back with a lit candle and placed it on the other side of the counter facing me. It was then that I noticed the towel wrapped around his waist. I blinked a few times and replayed the last several minutes in my head. He hadn’t been wearing a shirt. That, I remembered. But he’d had pants on. Hadn’t he? Shorts, swim trunks, anything? The harder I tried to remember, the more I felt my face heat. He had been full monty and I hadn’t even noticed. I guessed that the near-drowning experience affected me more than I’d first realized.

  “Okay, let me look at your foot.” He was gentle as he cupped my heel and lifted my foot from the sink.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he hadn’t been wearing anything. How had I not noticed? As my brain strained to fill in the gaps, against my better judgment, I barely noticed as he prodded my foot.

  “This isn’t going to feel good.” He looked up. “I’m sorry, Megan.”

  I o
pened my mouth to ask why he was apologizing, or maybe why he hadn’t been wearing clothes, but before the words emerged, a sharp pain ripped up my leg as he pulled a shard of glass out of my foot. At least, that was what I assumed he’d done. I screamed, unprepared for it.

  Roman pressed a towel to my foot, but still managed to move close enough to wrap an arm around my shoulders and pull me against his chest in a hug. “I’m sorry. I know that hurt.”

  I shouldn’t have turned my face into him. Or inhaled his warm, masculine aroma. He was a stranger and, despite my current marital situation, I did still have a husband. I kind of couldn’t help myself, though. I was too shaken from—just everything—to fight the comfort his embrace brought.

  “It’s okay. We’ll get some more cheap vodka into you and it won’t hurt for much longer.” His voice was so sure and strong. “I’ll get you all fixed up. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

  Those words spoken with such soothing reassurance nearly brought tears to my eyes. After the way I’d been treated by Dylan for the past few days, and far longer than that if I was being honest, having someone—even a complete stranger—say those words to me, “I promise I’ll take care of you,” and say them with genuine compassion and concern was like a drug to my soul. My heart skipped a beat and butterflies started up in my stomach. But, the side of my face was pressed against the bare chest of a man who wasn’t my husband. I needed to stop. It wasn’t a dream. It was reality, and the reality was that I was still a married woman.

  I forced myself to pull away and blinked back an unexpected wave of emotion. “Um… I wonder if there’s a working phone here. I should probably try to call my husband.”

  Roman visibly tensed and, a heartbeat later, moved away, clearing his throat. “I’ll take a look around the place after I bandage your foot.”

  “Great, thanks.” Why did his reaction make me want to crawl back into the ocean and let the storm carry me away?

  9

  Roman

  Husband. My bear growled and thrashed as I focused on Megan’s foot. A big piece of glass had sliced deep enough that she probably could’ve used stitches. As it was, several butterfly bandages would have to do. I shut my mind down and focused on the mechanics of the task as I cleaned her wound and dried it off. It was a challenge to focus with her sweet aroma and delicious curves enticing me. I got the smaller bandages on and then wrapped her foot in some gauze and taped it into place.

  “There you go.” I put some distance between us and focused instead on cleaning up the blood and wrappers from the bandages. “Be careful getting down, but you should sit on the couch and prop it up.”

  She cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

  I was tense as she lowered herself from the counter, waiting to catch her if she fell or screamed in pain again. A shiver went down my spine at the reminder of the pain I’d caused her when I’d removed the glass shard. The scream had been like a punch to the gut. Almost as bad as hearing her say she had a husband.

  I couldn’t help but watch her move away. She was tall for a human female, and her body was thicker than most of the women around the small island. Her hips were wide, her curves soft. I loved the look of her, especially the swell of her ass under the drenched T-shirt. It was as enticing, as the view of her from the front. Before the mention of a husband, I’d been dreaming of running my hands over those curves.

  I swore softly and made myself look away. She was taken. She’d made a point of letting me know, too. She’d practically waved a big red flag in my face. It was perplexing, though. Because of the way I was reacting to her, my attraction to her that bordered on a soul connection, I would have guessed that she was my…

  “I’m going to get cleaned up in the bathroom. I’m sure Greg, or his wife, has something I could wear for the time being.” She limped toward the bedroom as my eyes followed. It made no sense. I let my head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. The way she called out to my bear, to me, was baffling.

  I had to check in with the team.

  Everything’s good here. Local woman got sucked out to sea. Rescue was successful. We’ve taken shelter in a home on the beach. It’s holding up well against the storm.

  Serge’s voice came back at me right away. It took you fucking long enough. Did you have to swim to Siberia to pull her from the sea?

  No, asshole, I was administering first aid. She was unconscious and underwater when I reached her. And I’d been busy touching her and ogling her figure. We’ll wait out the storm here. Yell if you need anything.

  I looked around the house. Megan took the candle, but I didn’t need it to see. My bear felt like he was ready to crawl out of my skin, the scent of Megan was driving him insane.

  While waiting for her to return, I planted myself on the couch and listened to the battering rain of the storm raging outside. The house rocked ever so slightly, just enough to keep me on edge. Still, it was oddly cozy inside the house. And rather quiet. Too quiet. I was hyperaware of every sound coming from the bedroom where Megan had gone.

  The steady stream of swearing she was doing would’ve been enough to shock any sailor. I found myself grinning, listening to her.

  “You okay in there?”

  “Just peachy.”

  “You never told me the rest of your story. The long version.”

  She hesitated for a few moments. “I got swept out to sea during a hurricane. The end.”

  “There’s definitely more to the story than that.”

  “My car probably got swept out to sea, too.”

  “Okay, how about all the in-between stuff you’re leaving out?”

  “I’d just put a few thousand dollars’ worth of professional photographs in the back of it to keep them safe from the storm.” She grunted. “Lot of good that did.”

  I whistled. “Why didn’t you evacuate?”

  Silence. After a while, I figured out she wasn’t going to answer me, which made me want to know even more. I resolved to get the whole truth out of her. We had time. The storm wasn’t going to let up for hours.

  Settling back into the couch, I made myself as comfortable as I could with an angry bear pacing and clawing at my insides. Neither of us was pleased that Megan had a husband. My bear wanted me to go into the other room to be near her, to rub up against her and show her that we wanted her. I gritted my teeth against the urge and rested my forehead in my hand. Never before had I ever felt such a pull to be glued to a woman’s side, but I drew the line at attempting to seduce a married woman.

  “How long do you think the storm will last?” Her voice was soft as she called from the bedroom.

  “It will be several more hours, at least, before it begins to let up. It’s supposed to stall over us before moving farther north.”

  She sighed. “I hope the rest of my worldly possessions make it.”

  “Besides your car?”

  “Besides my car. My house and my business. I didn’t get to finish closing them up—not as securely as I would have liked.” My guess was that revelation was the beginning of the rest of her story I was waiting to hear.

  “No?”

  “I found some clothes. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I heard the bedroom door shut and listened for the sound of a lock turning. Good, lock me out. I needed more signs that she wasn’t mine. My bear wasn’t accepting it, and I was having a hell of a time myself.

  10

  Megan

  I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. The candle Roman had procured was burning brightly, emitting a lavender aroma that was doing nothing to comfort me. I looked like a drowned rat. A giant rat, but still a rat. My hair was in sopping, frizzy curls that stood out in every direction like a perfect rat’s nest. I still had slight traces of makeup from two days before, just a bit of mascara flakes and smears hanging out under my eyes. I had bags big enough to fit a couple of designer dogs in. The oversized white shirt I’d been wearing had turned into a see-through dress that was so heavy and cold that even wear
ing some of Greg’s dirty laundry would’ve been an improvement.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have to resort to that. I got cleaned up the best I could and, rifling through Greg’s dresser, found a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt. The shirt wasn’t as loose as I would’ve liked. Greg was a thin guy, like Dylan. Dylan. My husband. Who was not the man on the forefront of my mind. It was the complete stranger in the next room that had monopolized my thoughts and had my mind spinning in circles.

  Not just my mind, either. Butterflies seemed to have permanently housed themselves in my stomach. I was facing my reflection in the mirror, obsessing about how I looked and nervous about going back out to the living room with him. I was behaving like a schoolgirl and it was ridiculous. I kept telling myself to knock it off. It was inappropriate. I’d never seen the guy before in my life, and for all I knew, he could be a serial killer. He was probably out there sharpening his knife, getting ready to filet me.

  Still, I was concerned about my ratty hair.

  “You okay in there? How’s the foot?”

  I jumped as Roman’s voice sounded from right outside the bedroom door. My hands shook slightly, but I forced myself to look away from the mirror and walk over to the door. “Yeah, I’m done.”

  Sure enough, he was standing just outside the door, and when I opened it, his eyes trailed over me. They stopped at my rat’s nest and a smile stretched over lips. “Cute hair.”

  I ducked my head and limped around him. “I’m just going to prop my foot up.”

  “You do that. I’ll bring you the vodka.”

  I didn’t need vodka. I hadn’t had a thing to eat and the last thing I wanted was to get shit-faced with a handsome stranger while huddled together in a beach bungalow as we weathered a tropical storm together. If that wasn’t the perfect setting for a romance novel, I didn’t know what was. Besides, I had a feeling I couldn’t trust myself not to say or do anything stupid around Roman, especially if I was drunk.