Before she could finish her words, he tugged her up out of the boat…and into his arms.
Ryker Stavros couldn’t helpit if he pulled the American a little more forcefully out of the boat than he’d intended. There’d been such terror in the woman’s eyes, barely covered by her bravado, that he’d wager serious money she’d never willingly entered a body of water bigger than her bathtub in her entire life.
What he hadn’t planned on was the shock of pleasure that’d rippled through him the moment he’d touched her hand. She’d clearly felt it too, and that surge of interest had made it easy for him to shake loose her death grip on the passenger seat and liberate her from the speedboat.
The American was surprisingly compact beneath the bulky life jacket, and for one blessed moment she was a warm and vibrant bundle of energy in his arms. He hated to let her go, but he also hated the sudden flare of wariness that skated over her features, one of a rushing parade of emotions that whisked past in a blink, leaving a breathtakingly beautiful and serene face behind.
He righted her, then stepped back once he was sure her feet were stable on the deck. “Not so bad, eh?”
“Thank you,” she said, with a smile he would swear was genuine, despite the caution flags she’d thrown up. She was stunning, there were no two ways about it: flashing green eyes, olive-toned skin and rich dark hair tucked under a scarf. She could almost pass as a Mediterranean herself, until she spoke. Her accent was classic Midwestern American.
Ryker frowned. How did he know that?
“Sorry,” she said now, coloring a little under his gaze. “I’m afraid I’m not very good with boats.”
“All the better you’re on dry land now.” He turned to Nicki. “Why’d you force your friend to come all the way out here if the ocean makes her nervous?”
“What are you talking about?” Nicki scoffed. “The ocean doesnotmake her nervous.” She wrinkled her brow, shooting her friend a startled glance. “Does it?”
“Not at all. I simply don’t like to fall into it.” The words were smooth and measured, the way he suspected everything about this woman was smooth and measured. Straightening further, she held out a hand. “Francesca Simmons,” she said. “Thank you for your gallant rescue.”
“My pleasure.” Automatically, as if he’d performed the gesture a million times in his life, Ryker reached for her hand and bowed over it, grazing her knuckles with his lips. Even her knuckles were perfection, soft against his wind-chapped skin, and he found his mouth watering at the thought of kissing her more deeply.
Instead he stood, a little abruptly, and flinched as he realized the three of them were staring at him. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all.” Stefan Mihal stepped forward, clapping him on the shoulder. “Your manners are better than mine, for certain.” He turned to Francesca. “Miss Simmons, allow me to introduce Ryker Stavros, our guest here on Asteri Island. He’s been gracious enough to keep me company while Nicki and I recuperate, much like yourself.” Stefan’s phone rang, and he fished for it as Nicki shifted toward him, the two of them moving in uncanny synchronicity for two people who’d but recently met.
Francesca’s laughter tugged his attention toward her again. “Well, I’m glad to see I’ll have help keeping Nicki from scaling the walls.” She surveyed the tiny marina, her gaze climbing past the thick knot of trees until she saw the buildings clustered higher up on the mountain. “Is that the guest house?”
“One of them,” Ryker said dryly. As her startled gaze dropped to his and she grinned, he found himself grinning with her. “Stefan is a friend of the ruling family of Garronia, it would appear. This is their island. The whole thing.”
Her gaze shifted back toward the promontory and he realized she hadn’t met his eyes for more than a second, as if he made her nervous. Now she shielded her brow with her palm. “You should see the royal palace,” she said. “It has so many rooms, you could get lost in it.”
The moment seemed to freeze for Ryker, the way it’d been doing since he’d arrived on the island. He sensed there was something he was missing here, something important, a breath from his grasp. As it usually did, the flash of pain accompanying that thought wrenched him all the way to his toes.
This time, however, a soft hand touched his bare forearm, gentle and soothing. He glanced up and saw Francesca regarding him intently this time, her green eyes soft and considering. “Do you like island living?” she asked, as if nothing had happened.
He glanced quickly at Stefan and Nicki, but they were both bent over Stefan’s phone and arguing about something in low, urgent tones. Probably proper sailing angles in high wind or some other equally ridiculous measure. He’d never seen two people so certain they were right about so many things—particularly if the other person asserted the opposite. He shook his head, refocusing on Francesca. “Honestly? I don’t know. They’ve told you my story I assume?”
To his surprise, she frowned. “Nicki hasn’t told me much of anything other than she’s going through a battery of tests after she overexerted herself.”
Her name must have broken through Nicki’s competitive haze, because she scowled over at them. “It’s not a battery. It’s, like, three.”
“Let’s head to the car.” Stefan took advantage of Nicki’s distraction to wheel her toward the vehicle, and it was only then that she reached for her life jacket.
Belatedly, Francesca did the same, her lips dropping at the corners as she surveyed the jacket with bemusement. “I don’t suppose there’s a quick-release?”
Ryker laughed. “It’s not too hard. Here.” He pulled the catch on the waistband, then freed the top snap as well, unzipping the bulky garment and helping her out of it.
“Oh, hooray. I can breathe again,” she said as he tossed the jacket into the speedboat. Nicki’s went sailing after it, and Ryker forced himself to head up the dock with the others instead of stare at Francesca.
He would have much preferred to stare. Freed from the heavy jacket, Francesca’s figure could have been sculpted by an Italian master, sensually curved beneath her lightweight summer clothes. The breeze kicked up, plastering her tunic top to her breasts, and Ryker’s mouth went dry.
Fortunately, the American didn’t seem to notice. “How much longer will you be here?” she asked Nicki brightly. “I thought you said you were all right.”
“Iamall right,” Nicki insisted, but her explanation of the complicated round of medical tests Stefan insisted she undergo after her recent fainting spell lasted all the way to the edge of the dock where a limo waited. As he listened, Ryker felt marginally vindicated. He’d also been undergoing a roster of testing since he’d come to the island, the equally onerous work-up ordered by Stefan. Ryker didn’t know how much pull the diplomat had with the first family, but apparently, it was a lot.
One thing was for certain, they were making damned sure Ryker was no danger to himself…and, he suspected, anyone else. They also weren’t telling him who he really was, though Stefan clearly knew. Ryker supposed it made sense—he should do his remembering on his own, versus simply accept what others told him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stop the sense of apprehension that was building with each passing moment. There was something he should be picking up on here…something important.
