nose. But not while he was treading water. For a couple of seconds, they sank into the dark void before he had the wherewithal to kick and stroke toward the surface. He came up sputtering and sucking in oxygen that was heavy with the berry-sweet scent of her lotion and the subtler aroma of luscious, warm female.
“Little help here.” His words were muffled by Maddy’s sopping T-shirt and the soft cushion of her boobs. Her calf pressed against the barrel of his M4, digging the metal into his back.
“You’re on your own with this one, bro,” Mason said. And even though Bran couldn’t see Mason’s expression—what with Maddy attached to his head like one of those facehugger creatures from the Alien movies—there was no mistaking the exasperation in his teammate’s voice.
So much for having a brother’s back, Bran thought uncharitably as he doggy-paddled to the side of the fort. He managed to get a toehold in the mortar and a handhold on a piece of cracked masonry above the waterline.
Once he secured them and caught his breath, he muttered into her chest, “So you’re telling me you don’t bat a lash when a gun is aimed at your head. And you don’t hesitate for a second to stitch up a gnarly-looking wound. And swimming through a pitch-black underwater tunnel doesn’t give you a moment’s hesitation. But something brushes your foot and suddenly you go all girlie on me?”
“What can I say?” Maddy’s whispered words were muffled since her thighs were suctioned against his ears. “Things in the water, especially slimy things or scaly things or toothy things, rate a ten out of ten on my squick-o-meter.” Squick-o-meter? That was a new one. “And am I the only one who keeps hearin’ the theme from Jaws? Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum…”
She was clutching double fistfuls of Bran’s hair. And every second or so, another follicle pulled loose, causing tears to burn at the backs of his eyes. Then something brushed by his leg. Something big. Something scaly. Something he thought he might recognize given all the hours and days he’d spent in the ocean.
He didn’t jump when a tail fin slapped against his calf. He didn’t panic. But that was definitely an uptick in his heart rate. And he was certainly having a difficult time breathing. Of course, the latter was likely attributed to Maddy.
He carefully snaked a hand between her left thigh and his right ear, breaking the vise she had on his head. “Damnit, Maddy!” he grumbled impatiently, turning his head so as not to talk into her breastal region. Any other night, he would breathe her in and maybe—okay, definitely—open his mouth and taste her. But right now it made carrying on a conversation, not to mention concentrating on the conversation, more than a bit…uh…arduous. To Mason he said, “I think we may have a problem.”
“Barracuda, you think?” Mason asked and Bran wasn’t surprised the ol’ Boston boy had already come to the same conclusion. Obviously the fish was testing them all, nudging and brushing and trying to determine if they might be good to eat.
And the blood on my shorts and seeping through my bandage sure isn’t helping matters.
“If I had to guess,” he agreed.
“Likely it’s been stuck in here for a few days,” Mason speculated. “Since the last storm made waves big enough to carry it over the seawall.”
“Not good news,” Bran said unnecessarily. Barracudas didn’t usually attack humans. But there was no telling what a six-foot, one-hundred-pound, trapped, hungry fish was capable of.
“You gotta get off my shoulders,” Bran told Maddy. “But I want you to stay between me and the fort wall. Be careful of the barnacles.” Because those could do almost as much damage as the fish.
“Did I hear y’all mention somethin’ about a barracuda?” she asked, not budging an inch.
“Could be,” Mason said. “Feels like it every time it rubs against me.”
Great. Way to reassure her, gavone.
“Hey,” he said, trying to offer some comfort. “Barracuda attacks aren’t usually deadly. Not like shark attacks can be.” Of course, with a set of dagger-like teeth made for digging into prey and ripping away chunks of flesh, the fish could score some serious devastation. Just thinking about what the creature could do to Maddy’s soft, perfect skin…
He was suddenly sick, the Gatorade he’d had earlier turning sour in his stomach.
“Good, great,” Maddy said, slipping off his shoulders and quietly splashing into the tepid water. “All the same, what do you say to us blowin’ this Popsicle stand