“I’m not gonna—” I’m stopped by a wave of water slamming into me and shoving me to the ground. The water pulls me toward the shore, dragging me along the sharp rocks. I feel my shirt lifting up to my bra, the skin on my torso exposed, the icy water hitting it.
“Help!” I manage to scream just as another wave comes over me.
Strong hands lift me from the water, sweeping under my back and legs and carrying me back to shore.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the guy says.
I can’t answer, coughing up the water that went in my mouth.
Still carrying me, he walks toward the rocky ledge just below the back of his house. When we reach the stairs that go up to his patio, he gently sets me down on my feet but keeps his arm around me.
“You okay?”
“No,” I say, shivering as the wind blows. “That water is really cold.”
He hesitates, looking up at his house, then back at me. “We need to get you inside.”
“Inside yourhouse? You wouldn’t even let me on your beach, which is why I’m now freezing to death and bleeding.”
“Bleeding?”
I point down to my knee, which has blood running down it.
The guy keeps a hand on my back as he bends down to inspect my knee.
“Shit, you really got scraped up.” His eyes move over my body, then his hand goes to my abs, which are still exposed from my shirt riding up.
I suck in a breath as his thumb sweeps just below my bra. “What are you doing?”
“Wiping the seaweed off.” His hand swipes over my stomach, causing a ripple of pleasure through the area just below it. “You’re covered in sand.” He stands up. “We need to get this cleaned before it gets infected.”
“We?” I glance down the beach. “Um, yeah, I’ll just head home and do it there.”
“You’ll never make it. You’re a mess. I’ll get you cleaned up, then take you home.”
He wants me to go into his house? I think I can trust him, but then again, I just met him, and he seems a little unstable. The way he yelled at me for being on his property?
How is this his property? A guy his age can’t own a house. This is obviously his parents’ house, which means he shouldn’t be yelling at me for being here.
“Need some help?” he asks, taking my arm.
“No, I’ve got it.” I pull away from him. “I’m just gonna head home.” I take a step and pain shoots from my knee, like there’s a rock stuck in the skin that’s scraping me every time I move.
“I really think you should come inside,” he says. “You might’ve damaged your knee. You probably shouldn’t walk on it until we’re sure it’s okay.”
“It’s fine.” I take another step. More shooting pain. “Shit,” I mutter, biting my lip.
The guy comes in front of me. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” I say, cringing from the pain. “I just need to go slow.”
“You can’t even walk. Let’s go inside.”
“No. Really. I’m fine.”
He cocks his head. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Afraid?” I nervously laugh. “Why would I be afraid of you?”
