Page 91 of Wild Thing

She’s in her underwear and bra, panting, wiping her face with her palms as we rock on the waves.

“Wild girl,” I murmur in relief, trying to press her toward me but she pushes me away.

“I’m fine,” she blurts, then smoothes her hair. Her beautiful body is hunched and suddenly seems so weak that it breaks my heart.

“Come here,” I say, pulling her toward me, but she pushes me away again.

“I’m fine.”

God dammit!

I almost lost her. Almost lost my mind. I want to cradle her in my arms, but she’s in her feisty mood.

I wipe the salt water from my face.

She’s a hundred yards away from the fucking shore in the worst possible weather. Any other time, I would’ve yelled at her. But that’s not how I feel right now.

Anger and frustration slowly pull back, giving way to a different feeling—gratitude. For her being alive. For the relief that her snappy remarks bring because she’s okay. If Kat’s snappy, she’s fine. The day Mom and Adam didn’t come back flickers in my mind again, and my heart squeezes so tightly I can barely breathe at the sight of her.

Without another word, I find a flare in the storage compartment and shoot it in the air, the night sky above us lighting up red, then shed my shirt and help Kat put it on.

“Get behind me,” I order, and she obeys, not looking at me.

Slowly, I ride up closer to the shore and toward Ayana.

Jet skis fly toward us. Slate is one of the first ones, and he radios the news, the speaker at the watch tower announcing the end of the search.

I motion toward my yacht. “Go ahead to theEmpressand make sure it’s open,” I order Slate, then pull Kat’s hands and wrap them around me, melting at the feeling of her instantly sagging against me from behind.

“Hold on tightly, Kat. And, please, don’t argue.”

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I turnon the lights in the main lounge of the yacht and sit Kat down on the couch.

She awkwardly looks around, and though I’d rather be in my villa, my yacht is a better idea—she can’t run from this place and no one can walk in and interrupt us.

I bring a towel and hand it to Kat, then get down on my knees in front of her and sit back on my heels.

Kat is quite a sight in her black lace panties and bra, her hair smoothed into a long tail that she squeezes with a towel, her movements edgy but slow. I should be jealous that Slate saw her dressed like this, but I only feel relief that she’s safe.

Coughing now and then, sniffling, her shoulders hunched, she still looks gorgeous. How is that even possible?

With a smile, I wipe a drop of water from her chin. “You are crazy, wild thing.”

“You are a liar,” she bites back.

Ouch.

“I don’t like that word.”

I reach out to stroke her face to calm her, but she slaps my hand away.

“Fuck off,” she snaps quietly.

“No, thank you.” I cock my head at her—she’s angry about something. “Now explain what happened, because something obviously did.”

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