"It's the adrenaline," he said quietly. One corner of his mouth quirked. "You'll be fine in a couple of hours—back to your old, feisty self. Until then, you'll feel like you got flattened by an eighteen-wheeler."
She tried to smile back at him, but failed. Their gazes held for a long, silent moment, then he cleared his throat. Releasing her hands, he got up and rummage through drawers until he found the first aid kit. Sitting back down, he took her hand in his and proceeded to remove the soaked bandage.
Kaz let him, almost paralyzed by his gentleness. His touch was difficult to reconcile with the tough image he typically projected, and it added a new layer of complexity to his personality. If she'd been paying attention, she would've been able to predict that gentleness, based on how he treated Zeke. But she'd blocked out those kinds of observations, trying to convince herself that he was the enemy.
He's not acting like the enemy now, the voice inside her head whispered.
He examined the burn, a slight frown on his face. "It's healing well, but I don't think hot herbal tea is beneficial." His tone was wry as he dug through the jumble of packages in the kit to find some ointment. After spreading it with a light touch, he opened a package of gauze bandages and taped one over the blisters.
She hadn't said anything the whole time he'd worked, hadn't been able to while he had her hand in his. "Um, thanks," she muttered, pulling back and concentrating on her tea.
"No problem," he said, sounding amused. He watched her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I want you to take me with you when you go out on the water."
"What?" She jumped up to rinse out her cup. Just what she needed—twelve hours in close proximity to the most disturbing man she'd ever met, a man she was starting to feel a real connection with. And wasn't that a terrifying thought? "No way."
She had rules, ones that she hadn't broken for fifteen years. Never again was she going to be responsible for taking someone over that river bar. She couldn't take the chance.
"I know what I'm doing, and I won't be in your way," he said, his tone persuading. "I need to get a feel for what goes on out there, listen to the conversations on the radio."
He'd followed her over to the sink, and suddenly, he was standing way too close. Her already stressed system headed toward overload. "I hadn't decided yet whether I was going out," she said, stalling.
"You need to lift your pots, don't you?"
As usual, he was right. She had to get the newly strung crab pots into the water and empty and rebait the others. And it seemed that he'd come to the same conclusion she had—that they might overhear something in the fishermen's chatter that would give them some clues. Of course, the fishermen might also reveal Gary's hiding place, and with a warrant outstanding for Gary's arrest, Chapman would be obligated to tell the police anything he overheard.
"I don't take crew out with me, ever."
He frowned at her. "Why not?"
She shrugged. "Just a rule I have. It's dangerous. And newcomers don't understand what they're getting into."
"I trust you." His eyes gleamed with the irony of his statement. They both knew she was still suspicious of his motives.
She grabbed a washcloth from the sink and started scrubbing a drop of tea that had gotten spilled on the counter. "Well, you shouldn't. Trust me, that is."
He was silent for a moment. "Funny. I didn't take you for a coward."
"Excuse me?"
He leaned forward, his face only inches from hers. "You want this investigation solved, don't you? Your brother cleared?" When she didn't respond, he continued, relentless. "You'll dive into the hold of a burning boat, but you won't take me across the damn river bar. I've got news for you—no one's responsible for me but me. I'm asking you to take me out there, so I'm the one taking the risk. You're just driving the damn boat—you're not God."
He was right, and when he put it that way, she felt foolish. But he didn't know the conditions out there, so he didn't really know what he was asking. She started to shake her head.
He moved even closer, placing a hand on the edge of the counter on either side of her, caging her in. "Here's the deal. You're not going anywhere without an escort, not after what's happened today. I won't have you in danger. So if you want to get those crab pots in the water, I'm going out with you. Either that, or I arrest you as a material witness, right here, right now."
"That's blackmail," she snapped.
"Yeah. So deal with it."
She wanted to punch him, and that shocked her. She wasn't a violent person; no one had ever gotten under her skin to the point that she wanted to hit him.
"I'll work for free," he added softly.
"Damn straight you'll work for free," she said faintly, accepting that she'd been coerced—or charmed, she wasn't sure which—into agreeing to his plan. "The business can't afford to pay anyone right now, unless I send you home with a few crabs for dinner."
He smiled, satisfied with his small victory. "When do you plan to go back out?"
"I must be crazy," she grumbled. "Rule number one—don't take someone you don't trust out on the water with you."
"You trust me. You just don't want to admit it."
"You know, I really hate it when someone tells me how I feel."
He reached out and ran a finger over the bruise that was beginning to form on her temple. His touch was feather-light, but it left a trail of heat on her skin. She started to ease away, but he shifted even closer. She could feel the warmth radiating off his hard body, and she had the insane urge to cuddle against him, to soak up all that heat. She leaned away, lifting her chin.
He looked amused by her reaction. "I'll bunk down on the couch in the living room for the night." His voice had taken on a seductive quality.
It took her fogged brain a moment to process what he'd said. "You want to stay here? I don't think so."
"On the couch," he stressed, still smiling slightly. "Unless you prefer otherwise?"
"No!" She swallowed audibly, casting about for an excuse. "I'll be fine. I doubt they'll come back tonight."
He hesitated, clearly not convinced, then reluctantly nodded. "All right. But I leave Zeke here."
"Fine," she said quickly.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her pulse headed for the stratosphere. He was going to kiss her. She couldn't decide whether the idea turned her on or terrified her.
He leaned down until his lips were only the barest whisper away from hers, then stopped, his incredible, silvery eyes locking with hers. They questioned her silently.
She used the temporary reprieve to suck in some much-needed air. Laying a hand on his chest, she pushed slightly, testing his resistance. He didn't budge. "Not a good idea." Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears.
"Probably not," he murmured, "but I don't seem to be able to help myself." Sliding his warm hands under the heavy fall of her hair, he cupped the sensitive area at the base of her skull, holding her head still while he brushed his mouth gently across hers, barely making contact. His lips were warm, firm, and tasted of the herbal tea they had just drunk.
She shivered. His kiss was as light as his touch had been a moment ago, and just as devastating. Though his grip on her neck was firm and uncompromising, the kiss was an invitation rather than a demand. And that was more of a turn-on than he could possibly know.
She gripped the edge of the counter to brace herself. "Wait," she said, hearing the edge of desperation in her voice.
He trailed his lips along her jaw line to her ear, nipping the lobe and then using his tongue to sooth the small hurt. "I'll stop if you want me to," he whispered, his breath warm on her neck.