The Trouble With Paradise

went down, and for one horrifying second, her face was underwater.

Then she was jerked to her feet, where she promptly coughed up icky, salty ocean water.

“You all right?”

She blinked the water out of her eyes. Christian had hauled her upright, against him. Her feet weren’t even touching the floor.

But they were touching water. “Christian.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely as she tossed her wet hair out of her face. She was cold, much colder than she’d thought possible, and she shivered with it.

Christian swore again, and ripped off his shirt. “Here.”

“Maybe we’re just being Punk’d,” she said, teeth chattering as she slipped his shirt on, hugging it close for the warmth he’d left in it, not to mention that it smelled like him. “Any second the camera crew is going to jump out at us.”

“Punk’d?”

“You know, MTV? Ashton Kutcher…?”

He shook his head, and she sighed. “Never mind. Not even Ashton would be this cruel. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Damn right. You should have stayed up on deck.”

“I meant on the cruise.”

He glanced at her, and some of the frustration left his face as he sighed. “None of this is your fault, you know that.”

“I know. But if I’d stayed home, I’d be-” Safe. Still dodging Mr. Stryowski, true enough, but safe.

And she’d never have gotten the kick in the ass she’d needed to get herself going.

“The storm’s a fluke. Without it, you’d be swimming and flirting with Andy right this minute. Having the time of your life.”

“I can’t even talk to him.”

“No worries. He doesn’t have talking in mind.”

She gaped at his back, bared now that she wore his shirt. A very tanned, smooth, sleek, strong back, the kind that said he was no stranger to hard, physical labor. “You’re… no. You’re not jealous.”

“Don’t be asinine,” he said, sounding extremely French. “I’ve never been jealous a day in my life.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He fought with the door handle. “Bobby!”

“Because being jealous,” she went on. “Well that would be… what did you call me?” she asked, much more politely than she felt. “Asinine.”

“I didn’t call you asinine. I said being jealous would be asinine.”

“Yeah, well, now I’m calling you asinine.”

This caused a completely baffled expression to cross his face. As if no one, especially a woman, had ever insulted him before. She found that extremely hard to believe, given his bedside manner.

He gave up on the handle and glared at her. “Why am I asinine?”

Because he didn’t meet the criteria on her list. “You know what? Ignore me.”

“If only it were that easy.”

She rolled her eyes and vowed to think much more quietly in the future.

“What else?” he asked, slapping his pockets and coming up with a set of keys.

“What else what?”

“What else am I besides asinine?”

“Arrogant. Cocky.”

He blinked. “Cocky.”

“Yes. And a tad bit difficult.” So much for keeping her thoughts to herself. She closed her mouth before more words could escape.

“Oh, don’t stop there,” he said softly. “You’re just getting started.”

“Well, I don’t really know you well enough to continue,” she demurred.

“I think you know me plenty. But let’s do you, shall we?”

“Oh, no thanks. I have my mother for that.” She reached for the door, as if she could budge it when he hadn’t been able to.

The boat was lilting to one side. Undoubtedly the weight of the water held it closed. Christian put his shoulder to the door and shoved again. The tendons in his neck stood out in bold relief, the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining as well.

“Christian,” she said, putting her hands on his bare back. “Stop, you’ll-”

The door gave away.

He fell in, and she fell on top of him. “Sorry,” she gasped, coming up to her hands and knees in the water. He did the same and pulled her in closer to steady her. Or maybe just because.

“Tetu,” he said. “You’re stubborn.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And bullheaded.”

“They’re the same,” she pointed out.

“Obstinate.”

“Again. The same.”

“Beautiful.”

Honestly, that French accent should be outlawed. She tried to catch her breath. “It’s a shame then that you don’t want to be with me.”

“What I said was that you were better off with Andy.”

She looked into those stone gray eyes that were not in any way cold.

His gaze dipped to her mouth. Lifting a hand, he slid his thumb over her lower lip, which had her mouth trembling open.

“I make you nervous,” he noted, his voice low and French and silky soft.

Nervous. Crazy. Aroused. She lifted her chin. “Don’t be-”

“Asinine?” He smiled tightly, then took a step away from her to look around.

Behind his back, she let out a breath and put her hands to her heated cheeks. It was like playing with fire. He was bad for her, very bad, and yet she remained mesmerized, because when he looked at her, when he touched her, when he so much as breathed in her general direction, her body reacted in a very specific way.

“Bobby,” he called out, flashing his light into the room. It was dark here, dark and dingy. Things floated past them; a brush, a cell phone…

Christian moved toward the bunk beds.

“Has anyone ever gone overboard?”

“Yes, but always on purpose, and never a crew member.”

“But it’s possible, right?”

“Not likely.”

Then where was he? Moving into the doorway of the bathroom, she used her light and heard herself gasp in horror. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t freak out on me now,” Christian called from the bedroom. “We’ll find him.”

“I-” Oh, God. She was going to be sick. “I think I found… some of him.”

TWELVE

The sound of terror in Dorie’s voice stopped Christian’s heart cold. He tried to rush toward her, but rushing through this much water was all but impossible, and half swimming, half running, he felt like he was moving in slow motion.