I nodded, shaking. “I got caught in the current.”
“I know.” I faintly registered his eyes glinting caramel in the sun, muscles rippling under espresso-brown skin, like one of the heroes from my romance novels, as he wrapped a towel around me. “I’m glad I saw you.”
I wiped at my face with the towel, trying to hide how upset I was. “Thank you, so much, for saving me.” I choked back a sob like a damsel in distress. Was I dreaming?
“You were doing the right thing swimming with the shore, but it was a wide current.” He shook the water from the short braids knotted on top of his head and ran a hand over the close-cropped sides. “I’m gonna drive us back in. Can you hold on, or you want to sit in front of me?”
“I can hold on,” I murmured.
I folded my arms around his waist as he hit the gas and rested my face against his wide back, exhausted. In no time, we bumped up onto the sand and skidded to a stop just out of the water not far from where I’d left my clothes. Safe. He handed me down, but as my feet hit the ground, I found my legs had turned to noodles, completely useless for walking.
Without missing a beat, he spread a large towel emblazoned with tropical fish in a patch of shade and helped me onto it. I collapsed on my back, my body awash in the aftermath of adrenaline. His concerned face swam above me: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, full, kissable lips. I couldn’t help but think if we were in a romance novel, what a perfect consummation scene this would make.
Stop it, Taylor.
He fished a bottle of ice-cold water from the back of the WaveRunner and handed it to me, then sat on the sand. “I’m gonna hang here with you for a while, if you don’t mind.”
I sat up to drink the water, but before I could even put the bottle to my lips, I found myself crying. My chest heaved as I sobbed uncontrollably. This was not a romance novel or a dream. This was real life, and it promptly hit me as I came back to my senses that I really could have drowned. I was that close.
He rubbed my back gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“I could have…died,” I managed.
“You didn’t,” he assured me. “You’re here. You’re okay.”
But I wasn’t okay. My life thus far was a waste, I suddenly realized. “All this time I’ve been thinking my life was out there somewhere…ahead of me…and just like that”—I snapped my fingers—“it could have…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I understand.” He held my gaze, his eyes sincere, and I felt like I could tell him anything. But I also felt tremendously tired. So tired, I could hardly keep my own eyes open.
When I awoke, he was stretched out with a paperback in one hand and half a homemade sandwich in the other. “Hey.” A warm smile lit his face. “You’re up.”
I nodded, groggy. “How long was I out?”
“Not long.” He shrugged. “Maybe a half hour.”
I flushed, recalling my outburst before I fell asleep. I must’ve been in some kind of fugue state; I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d said, but I was sure it was embarrassing. “I’m sorry I freaked out earlier,” I said. “Thank you for waiting. And saving me. That was terrifying.”
“No problem. They need to put up more signs.”
I followed his gaze to a sign that read “Warning: Strong current. No swimming,” not twenty yards from where I’d left my things. It even had a picture of a swimmer crossed out.
“Oh my God. I didn’t see that!” Feeling like an idiot, I made a mental note to warn the rest of the cast and crew at dinner that evening.
He took the other half of his sandwich from a brown bag and offered it to me. “You hungry?”
I was ravenous. “I don’t want to take your sandwich.”
“It’s okay.” His lips curved into an easy smile as he placed it in my hands.
“Peanut butter and jelly.” I returned his smile. “I love peanut butter and jelly.” I took a bite, then guzzled nearly the entire bottle of water. “I’m Taylor.” I extended my hand to him.
He took it, laughing. “I remember. I met you on the boat the other day. Rick.”
“I remember too,” I said.
“You didn’t want to fish yesterday?”
“I wasn’t invited. It’s kind of a sore subject.”
“I’m sorry.” He checked his watch. “I’ve gotta get the plane back to the port on Saint Ann by sundown—”
“You fly planes too?” I asked.
“Small ones,” he replied. “I ferried Stella and her assistant over earlier on the water plane, but it can’t stay here overnight. You gonna be okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Do what you need to.”
He stood and pulled me to my feet. “If you ever want to go out on the boat—or the plane—tell the concierge and I’ll take you.”
“Thanks, but I’m gonna be crazy busy starting tomorrow.” I furrowed my brow, frustrated with myself. This romance-novel-hot guy who just saved my life was offering to take me on a boat or a plane; no was not the right answer. “Sorry. What I mean is, thank you. Let’s do it.”
“Cool.” He slung his towel around his neck with a grin, then jogged down the beach toward the dock.
Still dazed, I stumbled over to my clothes and sat down again. I could have drowned. It was surreal. I couldn’t quite process it. Yet here I was on the beach in the glaring sun as though it had never happened.
I wouldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want our cast and crew judging my powers of discernment, or worse, feeling bad for me. My grip on authority was already tenuous at best with all the disinformation about my firing from Woodland Studios swirling around out there.
