Page 45 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

“Is this real?” I ask, gulping a breath.

“What do you think?” Quinn asks, brushing a strand of my wet hair from my face.

I glance back at Dawson, his eyes dark with desire. “Yes.”

Quinn caresses under the hem of my shirt. His touch on my skin sends a tingle down my spine. “Let us show you how good this can be.”

Dawson gives the curve of my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “But not out in this rain, and not until we tend to those wounds.”

“Can we take you home, Lexie?” Quinn asks, caressing the side of my face.

A nervous flutter tickles up my throat. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m not about to walk away. After a quick glance at Dawson’s earnest face, I give Quinn a nod.

Quinn drives while Dawson searches for band-aids that aren’t soggy. By the time we get back to their rental, the rain is pounding on the roof and making the roads slick. I’ve never been so eager to get out of the rain. What am I getting into with these two?

We run through the heavy rain to the front door, our feet splashing through the puddles. While I wait for Quinn to unlock the door, I shiver in my wet clothes. My hair is drenched and my sneakers and thermal pants are soaked. It’s like we went swimming in our clothes.

Inside, we toe off our shoes and peel off wet socks.

Quinn leads me into the spacious bathroom while Dawson runs the water in the sink to get it warm.

I hiss in pain when he guides my palms under the tap.

“I know, sweetheart,” Dawson says while using his thumbs to smear away the bloodstains from the areas not torn up by the oars. The deep one on the inside of my left thumb starts to bleed again. I should have stopped and taped my fingers, but how could I have taken the time? It was like we were trapped in a spell.

After Quinn stops the bleeding, Dawson dabs on ointment, then opens the package of rolled gauze. It’s weird to be the focus of their attention like this after being the one to look after them all morning.

My teeth chatter, but I try to smile. “You two are quite a team.”

“You can thank Hawthorne for that,” Dawson says, rolling several layers of gauze around the top of my right palm, just below my fingers. “Survival was key.”

“How so?” I release another shiver, and goosebumps rise on my arms and belly.

He cuts the gauze and tucks the ends beneath the other layers. “It’s part of the curriculum. If you don’t catch your dinner, you don’t eat. If you don’t treat a cut, you’ll die of infection.”

“Seriously?” I try to catch his gaze, but he’s too focused. “What kind of school is this?”

“The kind that gets shut down.” He rolls gauze around my other palm and secures it, then gives me a sad smile. “It was a long time ago.”

“Tell that to your nightmares,” Quinn says, giving Dawson a sharp look in the mirror above the sink.

Dawson stuffs the first aid supplies back in the kit and gathers up the trash. “It’s more fun to stay awake, anyway.”

“If there’s company,” Quinn says, arching a sexy eyebrow.

A thrill races through me as Dawson’s eyes lock on mine. “We should get you out of those wet clothes.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t we have a hot tub in this place?” Quinn asks.

“Indeed.” Dawson spins and squats a little. “Hop on.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my feet.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Dawson says.

With a sigh, I climb on, and he hitches my knees higher on his waist. His skin is soft and warm against mine, and I drape my arms around his neck so I can rest my head on his shoulder.

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