and it’s making it even harder for her to find the surface.
Did she dive in with her damn clothes on?
I swoop down swiftly, and with practiced ease, slide an arm under her armpit, across the wall of her chest, and secure my hand under the other armpit. And then I swim for the shore.
I know she’s likely close to the end of her air supply, but we’ll make it to shallow water much faster if we swim below the waves. The surf is rolling today, and it’s probably why she got into trouble in the first place.
Waist-deep water comes quickly, and I switch my grip on her upper body, shifting her into my arms to carry her behind the head and the knees. I run to dry ground, settling her body softly into the sand as she sputters for air while her throat works to rid itself of ocean water.
I push wet strands of her dark hair away from her face and look her over, but all in all, she seems pretty lucky. No signs of severe oxygen loss, and her pupils are reactive.
“Are you okay?” I ask when she stops coughing. The sound of my voice forces her to focus on me for the first time as I search her crystal-like eyes. They’re the color of jade.
“You’re alive!” she responds strangely.
My eyebrows come together as I assess her further. She’s in a black business suit. It hangs on her body, but I can’t tell if it’s a tomboyish structure to the suit or the weight of the water that’s the cause. What it isn’t, though, is a swimsuit or wet suit or appropriate apparel of any kind for the ocean.
“Why are you wearing clothes?” I question.
“You’re alive!” she shouts again, and this time, I can’t ignore it.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “And so are you. But you’re extremely lucky to be. You almost drowned out there.”
“I almost drowned because you were drowning.”
“No.” I shake my head and almost laugh at the ridiculousness of her response. “You didn’t drown because I know how to swim, and I certainly don’t go out into the ocean in business clothes.”
“I went into the ocean in business clothes because you were drowning!”
“No,” I say again. “I wasn’t.”
“Yes. You. Were,” she retorts, her voice stubborn. “I watched you go under and never come up, and I went into the ocean to save you.” I open my mouth to refute her again, but she points an accusing index finger in my face and rushes to speak again. “I saw it with my own eyes, so don’t you go saying no again!”
“I was holding my breath. Not drowning,” I explain.
“What kind of person goes underwater and holds their breath for that long! There’s no way—”
“A former Navy SEAL,” I cut her off. I don’t mean to be impolite, but so far, this conversation isn’t going anywhere. The only thing that’s going to help it along is clarity.
That closes her mouth—in fact, it goes so far as to make her suck her lips in over her teeth.
For the first time, it’s silent, and both of us look down to realize I’m lying half on top of her, my hand at the bare, exposed skin of her waist.
Goose bumps form under my fingertips just before I pull them away and push back to my knees in the sand. I put my ass to my heels and roll up to my feet.
She watches the movement avidly but doesn’t venture to make any of her own.
“Are you going to be okay?” I ask again from my position above her. The sun is bright in my eyes, but I can’t seem to turn away from her.
She nods, biting into the flesh of her bottom lip and laughing a little. Mascara runs down her cheeks and settles into her dimples, and her sandy, wet hair clings to the sides of her face.
She looks like a wet rat. Somehow, though, I can still tell she’s extraordinarily pretty.
I reach down and offer a hand. She accepts it readily, and I pull her up to standing.
“Thanks for trying to save me,” I say, a teasing smile playing at the corner of my lips.
She laughs outright at herself and sinks her head into her hands. “Oh yeah. This’ll be a story for the grandkids, for sure. Assuming I ever have any, that is.”
Her comments are self-deprecating but laced heavily with humor. I can’t help but laugh and stick out a hand. “I’m Jake, by the way.”