Adrift Page 2

  Wait a minute. Her head whipped around. Was it—

  “Stay down!” He muttered as an engine revved. Was it the same car, coming for another pass, or a different car in hot pursuit?

  The man rolled, dragging her with him as a second car raced after the first. The engine thundered in her ears as the vehicle skidded closer, pushing a tipped-over fruit stall like a plow. Dozens of guavas cascaded over her, and her bare skin scraped the ground. She squeezed her eyes tightly, thinking it was the end. The tires were only inches away, and the only protection she had was a pile of fruit and the steely body sheltering hers.

  A steely body she knew. Had touched. Had spent a crazy night with when—

  The engine thundered, and she choked on the exhaust for a good minute after the vehicle raced away.

  “Help! He’s hit! He’s hit!” someone screamed.

  A cacophony of voices and languages broke out all over the marketplace as bystanders slowly rose from where they’d darted for cover.

  The man rolled far enough to shift his weight over her and looked down.

  “Tuss?” She blinked.

  Toussaint Louverture, but everybody calls me Tuss, he’d said in a baritone that just about melted her on the spot back when they’d first met on the island of Bonaire.

  God, his eyes were blue. Bright. Worried. He had the most beautiful light brown skin. And wow, huge shoulders that stood out like a football player’s pads. But his touch was gentle. Careful. Warm.

  “Meredith.” He stared into her eyes. Stared and stared, just as he had after they’d made love one magical night almost a month ago. Like he’d never seen eyes like hers and never wanted to let her go.

  Then he blinked, coming out of his reverie. “Are you okay?”

  “Um…” Other than dying of shock to see her one and only one-night stand again? “Fine. Are you okay?”

  She was giddy. Breathless — and not just from terror.

  He nodded, stood slowly, and offered her a hand up.

  Up, up, and up, because he was tall, too. He lifted her so easily, she nearly crashed into his chest the way she had that night she’d ended up taking things much, much too far. It had been completely out of character for her — she never, ever slept with a man within hours of meeting him, no matter how sweet he proved to be. No matter how deep his voice was or how quickly it managed to lick through her body in warm, fuzzy waves. No matter how nice he was, how refreshingly unexpected or unique. She just didn’t do that.

  Except she had. Once. With him.

  And damn, had it been good. So good that it was hard to feel as guilty about the entire episode as she should.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Tuss asked. An echo of the words he’d said when they parted, so many sunrises ago. They’d talked for hours that morning, and afterward, saying good-bye to a near-stranger had never been so hard.

  That sometimes happened with patients — the really special ones who grabbed a little piece of her heart. But those people needed her help, whereas Tuss… He didn’t need help in the least. The man exuded marine-tough, I will never let you down vibes that had warmed her from the second she’d laid eyes on him.

  And here he was, saving her from deadly bullets and speeding cars. Did he travel the world, rescuing people in need?

  A woman started screaming, and Meredith dragged her attention back to the waterfront market.

  If Tuss was okay and she was okay, who was crying for help?

  Chapter Two

  Tuss took a sharp breath, trying to steady himself. One second, his hand was filled with the warmest, softest touch, and his gaze locked on the most luminous sea-blue eyes he’d ever seen. His whole body warmed up, and images of a night he’d never forget flashed through his mind. Meredith, laughing. Tilting her head to listen — really listen — as if she could see his hopes and dreams as clearly as he did. Meredith, smiling at him, certain he’d pull it all off someday.

  Then someone screamed, and Meredith pulled away, scanning the scene.

  One cry rose above the cacophony of screams and shouts that followed the attack.

  “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

  Meredith shook herself out of the daze she’d been in when the bullets — Jesus, bullets! — were flying. Now she was all action, all calm. The change was as quick as it had been that night they’d first met: one second, she’d been all business. The next, all passion.

  “Over there,” she murmured and strode toward the epicenter of panic.

  Something in him roared to keep her away from danger, but she was half a step ahead of him, and a second later…

  He blanched when she kneeled next to a wide-eyed man sprawled on the street, covered in blood. Lots and lots of blood.

  His heart stuttered, because he knew the guy. Alexei Andreiivich, his boss. Not his immediate boss, but the big, big boss of the megayacht Tuss worked on. A boss so many levels above him, he’d never even spoken directly to the man.

  Everyone stood and watched helplessly, including the man’s pencil-thin companion, Alla, a woman half Alexei’s age who could have been featured on the cover of a fashion magazine if she hadn’t been screaming her head off. In fact, she really had modeled for big magazines, from what Tuss had heard from other members of the crew.

  Unlike everyone else who stood helplessly in sheer panic, Meredith reached in and expertly ran her hands over Andreiivich’s arm.

  “I’m Meredith. What’s your name?” she asked in the only calm voice in a five-block radius.

  Right, she was a doctor. He’d pegged her as a school nurse the first time they’d met, or maybe a librarian. Doctors usually had a certain arrogance around them, which didn’t fit Meredith one bit. But there she was, all expert, all cool and calm.

  Alexei Andreiivich, Tuss nearly filled in. A conceited son of a bitch who has no business messing with a classy lady like you.

  Because Meredith really was classy. He’d figured that out the minute he’d met her. Straight brown hair pulled back in a faux-tortoise clip. She had a sophisticated way of speaking, with clean, clear vowels, just like his mother had always insisted he use. A way of looking at people and tilting her head to listen. To really, really listen.

  Toussaint Louverture? She’d echoed his name when he’d first introduced himself on Bonaire. Like the freedom fighter?

  She was one of about three people he’d ever met who knew who his namesake was.

  Meredith was smart. Pretty. And gracious in a way new-rich tycoons like Alexei Andreiivich would never be, even if he had all the money in the world.

  She reached back without looking. “Give me your shirt.”

  He pulled it off without hesitation and handed it over despite the fact that it was one of his work shirts. He’d had it drilled into him from day one that that shirt must always remain spotless. Even if he was changing the oil or polishing the brass on board the megayacht, his shirt had to remain pristine. The second a blemish appeared, he had to whip it off and replace it with another and always wear it over pressed navy shorts. A perfect uniform for the perfect crew of a perfect megayacht.

  Except that the big boss might be dying, so he figured this might be the one exception to an otherwise unbendable rule. That, and he’d been itching to break that rule — along with so many others — since day one on the job.

  “Breathe easy,” Meredith ordered her patient as she wrapped the shirt around his arm.

  Tuss muffled a snort. He’d bet the Russian billionaire never breathed easy, not even in his sleep.

  “He’s dying,” Alla wailed in the same shrill, theatrical voice she used for everything.

  “Quiet,” Meredith snapped.

  Alla’s jaw went slack, and Tuss smiled. He’d never heard anyone shut Alla up, except maybe Andreiivich himself.

  “Excuse me,” Meredith called to a man in ragged shorts. “Do you have a phone?”

  “Sure I do, mon.”

  “I need you to call for an ambulance, okay? And you—” she nodded to another man
“—back these people up, please. We need space.”

  She went on like that, uttering quick, efficient orders in one tone, then soothing words to her patient in another, all while squeezing his arm to stanch the flow of blood. “Lie still. Your brachial artery is hit.”

  Andreiivich groaned and rolled from side to side.

  “Lie still or you’ll bleed to death.”

  The Russian’s beady eyes went even wider, but he held still.

  “I need to keep up this compression until an ambulance gets here.”

  Tuss looked around, wondering what kind of emergency services Grenada had, if any.

  “Oh, my God,” Alla wailed. “What if he dies?”

  Tuss rolled his eyes but held back the reply on the tip of his tongue. Then you’ll have to find another sugar daddy.

  Meredith pursed her lips but didn’t comment. She was the calm in the eye of the storm as a crowd milled around them, muttering and shaking their heads. Even when a police car arrived with a blustery cop, Meredith remained cool and collected, insisting the injured man could not be thrown into the back of a car. When an ambulance finally arrived, she turned over her patient at the last possible second, letting the medic’s hand slide into place where hers had been.

  Lights flashed, a horn blared, and a couple of hands clapped Meredith on the back. A vendor led her over to a faucet to wash her hands.

  “My bag. My shopping,” Meredith murmured, looking around.

  And just like that, Superwoman turned into a mere mortal again. She fretted over her belongings, thanked everyone profusely, and avoided his eyes. But when he caught her gaze, she stopped, and he did too, and that wild chemistry that had sucked the two of them together at the very start started buzzing around them again.

  He wanted to take her to a shady spot and sit her down. Buy her a coffee. Maybe even hold her hand. Most of all, he wanted to talk — really talk.

  He stared at her speechlessly for a moment, then pulled her into a hug because it sure looked like she needed it. His bare chest came flush against her blood-smeared shirt, but that didn’t matter — only the contact did.

  Jesus, that had been close. What if she’d been killed?

  She hugged him back, maybe thinking the same thing. As he stroked her silky hair, the gut-churning worry eased away. She was okay. And damn, she fit so perfectly in his arms. It was as if they’d known each other for a long, long time.

  I sure didn’t need time to know your father was the one, his mother used to laugh. I just knew.

  Tuss closed his eyes and let everything but Meredith’s soft touch blur out of focus. It was just him, her, and that silent humming force that swept over him every time he touched her. The little sparks, the feeling of the sun coming out from behind a cloud. The inexplicable urge to kiss and claim.

  “Tuss,” a stern voice barked a minute later, and he snapped back to reality with a sharp breath.

  Meredith stepped away, and the blood roared in his ears. Who the hell had the nerve to interrupt a moment like that?

  He turned to see Sandra, the ship’s chef, snapping her fingers. She’d dragged him to the market to help carry the odds and ends she used to pretend her cuisine was local, when most of the delicacies served to the owner and his guests were flown in.

  “We have to get out of here,” Sandra snipped.

  He wanted to dig in his heels and say no. To growl at the way she ordered him around. He might work for Sandra, but she didn’t own him. Plus, he really doubted the big boss would be back on board for a six-course meal tonight.

  For the hundredth time in three weeks, he wondered why he put up with the assholes he worked with. But he didn’t say anything. This crappy job was the means to a noble end, and he’d learned a long time ago what self-control meant.

  “Are you okay?” he asked Meredith.

  “Fine.” She nodded so quickly, he didn’t believe a word.

  “Tuss!” Sandra snapped.

  “I’m really fine,” Meredith said, shooting him a tight-lipped smile. “I’m up to my elbows in blood in the ER all the time.”

  That, he could believe. But it wasn’t the blood she needed help with. It was something else — something he couldn’t put his finger on, just like the first time they’d met. The something that made her so endearing, so alluring to him.

  “Tuss!” Sandra screeched once more. Even Meredith grimaced a teensy tiny bit.

  “Good seeing you again,” she whispered.

  “Good seeing you.” He nodded, then dragged himself away. The second her hand slipped out of his, his heart fell through his chest.

  “For God’s sake, man,” Sandra hissed as she thumped a bag of groceries into his arms. “What did you do with your shirt?”

  Chapter Three

  Meredith sat in the cockpit of Serendipity, elbow-deep in her laundry bucket, mulling things over. Six days had passed since the shooting, and the sailor’s grapevine had been buzzing with wild rumors the whole time.

  Did you know that Russian is a billionaire?

  A billionaire with shady business, if you ask me.

  Maybe he’s just taking a vacation on that megayacht of his.

  Everyone at the beach bar had laughed at that one. Criminals don’t take breaks. Don’t you know?

  I wonder what the local drug lords think of a Russian mobster showing up on their turf?

  Like Duarez? I’d like to see the Russian go up against him.

  Meredith had rolled her eyes at that one. Duarez, a Venezuelan crime boss, had been pushed to page two of the papers since the shooting. He was the kind of man who stood at the root of the street crimes she’d treated in the emergency room time and time again.

  Maybe the Russian and the Venezuelan are going into business together, someone joked.

  Call it a joint venture!

  All of it seemed farfetched to her. Happily, no one had asked how close she’d been to the center of action in the drive-by shooting. Since she wanted to keep it that way, she’d been avoiding the cruiser’s hangouts for the past couple of days. Usually, she loved the interaction with sailors of all ages, nationalities, and backgrounds, but right now, staying away allowed her to avoid her least favorite subject.

  Try as she might, though, one aspect of the incident stayed with her. She’d spent most of the afternoon — okay, the entire week — with a single image stuck in her mind. The image of a man.

  Not Marco, the man who always haunted her emotions, especially as the anniversary of his death drew near. Not the image of the bloody Russian lying amid the shambles of the marketplace. She didn’t dwell on memories of whizzing bullets, screeching tires, and screaming voices, either.

  No, she was fully fixated on the image of Tuss, standing beside her in the wreckage of the marketplace, looking at her with those impossibly blue eyes. Tuss, wearing pressed navy shorts and a white polo shirt — then pressed navy shorts and a bare chest, after he’d given her his top. Tuss, studying her the way he had the first time they’d met: intrigued. Curious. Interested. Sincere.

  And buff, too. Very, very buff. Sculpted almost, by an artist who had devoted hours to chiseling little lines of muscle onto every limb.

  It was crazy, how much she thought about him. He was supposed to be just a fling, one step on her way to living and loving again. She couldn’t expect him to be The One. Tuss was just a nice guy she had no business thinking of day and night.

  So what if he’d saved her life? So what if he’d looked deep into her eyes — past the ghosts, past the guilt, and past the sadness — and made her feel alive? So what if his gentle touch still dominated her dreams?

  She’d been a little tipsy the night they’d met at a beach bar on Bonaire. That was the problem. A little lonely, too. A little infected, possibly, by all the sexual pheromones oozing off her sister, who’d been shagging Ryan morning, noon, and night. Not that Meredith begrudged her sister her fun or her man. Ryan was great, and Mia deserved him after all she’d been through. But somehow, some of tha
t sexual energy had jumped over to Meredith and ignited a smoldering need that erupted into all-out flames the second she started dancing with Tuss.

  He’d been another barefoot sailor, just like her, crewing on a Danish guy’s boat. They’d crossed paths enough times before that evening to make him feel familiar and safe. When she’d suggested a walk down the beach, she hadn’t been after sex so much as a good, long talk. About who he was, where he came from, where he was going. He’d fascinated her from the start. What were all those dreams shining in his eyes about?

  “My mom is from Haiti, my dad is from Denmark…”

  He’d had her right from the start, and it only got better from there.

  “The year we lived in Egypt…”

  It wasn’t so much about the sights and sounds of the places he’d lived in and traveled to, but the impact they’d had on him.

  “There was a family who lived around the corner, and when the father got sick…”

  None of his stories were about fancy clubs or death-defying stunts or mountain ascents. They were all about people.

  “The lady running the newspaper stand on the corner had four kids, and only the oldest went to school…”

  He spoke five languages. Had lived on three continents. Attended eight different schools.

  “There was an orphan boy in Haiti who was a lot like me — but nothing like me. He used to shine shoes for a penny apiece. You ever try shining shoes?”

  She’d shaken her head.

  “My mom made me do it for a day — one measly day — and the way people treat you…” He’d trailed off into silence, shaking his head.

  The man had heart. Soul. Empathy. He didn’t brag or try to impress her. It had been up to her to drag the stories out of him — which she did, all the way down the beach to a secluded cluster of boulders, where they sat and looked at the stars and scooched gradually closer to each other in the nippy night breeze. When her hip bumped his and their hands brushed, it wasn’t awkward in the least. It felt natural. Easy. Good. And suddenly they weren’t gazing at the stars so much as into each other’s eyes, then leaning in for a kiss.