Coming Home by Leslie Kelly Page B

just a few feet away, staring down at her. She suddenly wondered what anyone watching from shore would think. She was practically lying at his feet in the shallow water. And he looked like some pagan sun god...all brown, hard and glistening, with water sluicing off the rippled muscles of his chest. Only the orange and green trunks proclaimed he wasn't some mythical specimen of manhood.
    She wished she had a free hand to throw a clump of sand at him. But both her hands were occupied keeping her bathing suit from riding away on the surf.
    Squirming, she shot him a dirty look, then reached behind her back to tie the flimsy bikini straps. Nicole managed to keep her head above water, and her body completely beneath it, balancing carefully on her knees, until another wave hit her. She was sucked in the undertow, her bathing suit forgotten as her hip scraped painfully along the rocky bottom.
    Wyatt, watching her from above, had initially been amused by Nicole’s predicament. He'd seen her horrified grimace when she came up out of the water, and the way she held her arms protectively across her chest. But when a wave knocked her flat and sucked her under, he stopped laughing.
    "Nicole? Where are you?" he asked as he scanned the surface, watching for her head to break through.
    Finally, after a few long seconds, he saw her a few yards away, sitting up in the shallows. Her bathing suit top was mostly in place, though he could see a tempting strip of pale flesh on the side of her right breast. Gulping, Wyatt quickly splashed over to her. "Are you all right?"
    Her nod was accompanied by a wince. He reached down and held out his hand to help her stand up.
    "I think everything's covered," she muttered as she took his hand.
    "Want me to check?"
    "I somehow suspect you already have."
    "Guilty," he admitted with a chuckle.
    As they through the surf, Nicole visibly winced again. Realizing she was in pain, he followed her gaze as she looked at her hip. A wide, ugly, red scrape was clearly visible, from just under her ribcage down into her bikini bottoms. Another scrape marred her outer thigh, from her hip all the way down to the back of her knee. Several flecks of blood oozed over her skin, and he saw bits of sand and rock embedded in the cuts.
    "You’re bleeding!” Not waiting for permission, he bent down and picked her up in his arms, knowing it must hurt like hell to walk.
    "This is silly, it's just a scrape," she said as he stepped out of the water.
    Reaching their things, Wyatt gently knelt down and placed her on one of the new, brightly colored beach towels. She bent her knee and twisted to see the side of her leg, her face suddenly going a little pale despite the bright sunshine.
    "Here, I've got some clean water. I picked up a bottle in the store," Wyatt said.
    She reached for the bottle, but he held it away from her. "Lie back."
    "I'm not an invalid."
    "Just do it."
    She reached for the bottle again. “I can…”
    “Dammit, Nick, will you let me help you? When did you get so stubborn?"
    "Hurt me and you'll pay, pal," she muttered as she finally relented and leaned back to let him look at the scrapes.
    He gently poured water on her, frowning when he heard her hiss in pain. Most of the sand and blood washed away under the flow of the liquid, but he needed a cloth to finish the job. He grabbed his dry shirt, poured more water on it and gently wiped at the bits of rock sticking to her skin.
    When he finished cleaning the cuts on her thigh, he moved up to work on the scrape on her midriff. Wyatt found himself staring intently at her ribcage, rising and falling as she took deeper and deeper breaths. He deliberately did not look anywhere else…not at her pain-wracked face, not at her tense, soft, amazing body.
    But despite the fact that he was helping her, that soft, amazing body grew more stiff with every second. He saw the flex of her muscles under her supple skin. Wondering if he was hurting more than helping, he raised his eyes to