Page 6 of Iris

And she followed him. Because maybe denial was exactly where she wanted to be.

* * *

Hudand his bright ideas had nearly gotten them killed.

Rent a sailboat. Sail the Aegean.

Get blown up.

Hide in a cave.

Spend the night fighting to stay afloat.

Wave down a fishing trawler.

Rent a resort room with his time-share points.

And now he hadn’t a clue what to do.

“Hud, I’m going to order room service, okay?” The voice came through the wooden door to the bathroom where he was currently bracing himself against the tile of the shower, letting the rainfall head splash down over him, cleaning out the cuts from the cave walls.

Some of them seemed pretty deep, but the last thing he needed was a trip to the hospital.

Again.

Which might only lead to more medical follow-up and the unearthing of his test results in Athens. He could only thank, well, God, maybe, that he hadn’t suffered a seizure last night. His head had certainly felt like it might explode.

“Hud?”

“Yes. Get anything. I don’t care.” He closed his eyes, and for some reason her voice swept through him.We’re going to die, Hud!

Nope. Not on his watch. He’d made promises—maybe foolish promises, but promises nonetheless—to her brothers.

He very much planned on getting Iris home, safe.

He just didn’t know how to get from here to…wherever safe was.

Rinsing off, he scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing he’d asked the front desk for a razor. But maybe the shadow would help conceal his identity.

Chris Hemsworth. As if. Hud was at least an inch taller, had about thirty pounds on the guy. And could definitely beat him in the forty.

But okay.

He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, turning to take a look at the damage. Some pretty good scrapes down his shoulder blades and a gash in the meat of his shoulder—he remembered that one. A brutal wave. He’d gotten his arm around Iris and pulled her against himself, his other hand gripping the coral wall.

Yeah, that crash had nearly blown her out of his grip. His hands were pretty torn up too, but he had tough hands. Strong, wide-receiver hands.

Good for gripping jagged rock all night long, holding himself and Iris afloat.

He brushed his teeth, ran his hands through his short hair, then grabbed the clothes he’d purchased on credit in the gift shop—linen pants, a matching pink shirt, and flipflops. He’d also purchased underwear and some swim trunks and another shirt, along with shorts.

Iris had picked up a dress—interesting—along with her own unmentionables and a pair of shorts, a linen shirt, a hat, as well as some toiletries.

Honeymooners, lost at sea. At least, that’s what he’d told the desk clerk, who’d rebooked him the room he’d cancelled three days ago when he’d landed on the ever-so-bright idea to rent a sailboat.

Brilliant there, mate.

Although, maybe it would have been if—

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