Claimed

2. Eric

2

ERIC

I’d kill those sonsabitches.

They’d ambushed me on the deck, beat the s**t out of me, and pushed me over the rig into shark-infested waters—leaving my a*s for dead.

Where the hell was I?

What happened to my clothes?

The solid ground beneath me was a relief. So was being alive.

The surf turned out to be the first thing I heard after waking to the feel of two feminine hands on my chest. She used me as her own personal resting board to peer down at my face. She was looking at me. I made that out even with my eyes closed.

Not sure how long I remained out after the ambush and the beating those fuckers gave me, nor how I got here. The only chance they stood at winning a fight against me had been five against one when I’d least expected it. Lucky they didn’t get their wish of turning me into shark food. These chilly waters of the Pacific hosted great whites. I shivered at the thought. and she pulled the blanket up under my chin.

I heard the crackling of a fire nearby, further evidenced by the cozy odor of wood smoke and the fact that my body warmed. It reminded me of cooking, and my belly groaned in protest. That made her shove herself off my chest, lean down, and put her ear to my abdomen.

She placed her cool cheek at my exposed middle despite my being n***d as a jaybird, seemingly oblivious to the effect her silky mane as it splayed and swished across my stomach. Completely unaffected by the swelling she created in my groin, covered by a scratchy wool blanket but still visible.

Sliding my eyelids open a fraction of the way to assess my surroundings and taking in the waif above me, I clenched my teeth to stay quiet. It felt like pouring rubbing alcohol on an open cut.

A gorgeous, young, curvy female. Much younger than I.

After assessing my abdomen for God knows what, she sat back on her haunches, a huge German Shepard at her side. Her fierce brows pulled together, and she twisted a strand of long, dark brown hair around her fingers.

I'd have liked to assess and ponder my options before waking up in front of her. This girl was no threat. It was safe lying here with my eyes closed, as if dead to the world.

Those idiots on the rig had just eighty-sixed their best deep-sea diver because I wouldn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. The Mendocino Fracture Zone off the cape was too unstable for a drilling platform, but with Jason the bonehead-in-charge—because his mama owned the operation—there had been no priority given to the men’s safety. The inept leader made decisions that put people’s lives in peril, compounded by the fact that his knowledge of petroleum and natural gas exploration were nonexistent.

Just because I’d pointed out the obvious idiocy of that scheme didn’t make it right for them to make mincemeat out of my face. Now, some slipshod, half-assed replacement would oversee the trenching and pipeline stabilization project better off left undone. Up to this point, I’d saved their asses more than once. Twenty years in the offshore industry, and my expertise had been tossed aside by a young, self-serving, unethical pup. Whatever he was up to, it smelled fishy as sour crude.

The girl’s touch glanced over my forearm, bringing me back to the moment and raising the hair on my arm when she leaned closer to perform her ongoing inspection of me.

Heat uncurled in my abdomen.

She was close enough to grab.

I snatched at her wrist, clutching it in my hand so she couldn't get away. No fearful gasp, nor cursing from her mouth. She gently attempted to pry my fingers off her delicate wrist, and her eyes bulged in fright.

“Where am I? Who are you? How did I get here?”

The girl conveyed her confusion by shrugging and lifting her free palm to the sky.

“What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

She nodded vigorously, as if to impart meaning to my words. Expressively, she then placed four fingers over her mouth with her right hand, dragging my hand through the air to place her left hand over it. It reminded me of the speak-no-evil monkey.

“What? Are you trying to tell me you can't talk?”

She nodded enthusiastically, put one dainty pointer finger atop her nose, and directed the other at me.

If this girl were telling the truth about not being able to speak, I’d eat my hat. Honesty was a dying breed. My experience with people insisted on proving that over and over again.

“Christ, you're telling me I landed here, wherever this is”—I flung my free arm over the abandoned sand—“and the one person who found me is incapable of talking?”

Again, she shrugged, and where I ought to have been pissed, the elegant slope of her shoulder made my d**k thwack in appreciation against the wool blanket thrown over me. An automatic biological response to being in the presence of a woman after so many months on the rig.

That was it.

I kept speaking to her, although I wasn’t sure if it was polite of me to talk at a speechless girl. That was what it was—talking at her, if she couldn’t reply. Communicating with her was something I had to try, though; my need to make contact with this black-haired, large-lipped beauty was suddenly imperative.

Not just because I had to know what secrets hid inside that soft, yielding flesh but because I needed her green eyes to focus on me and give me their full consideration. But I was like a beggar and would be happy if she dropped me the merest crumb of her attention.

I said, “Well, talking is overrated. That your place over there?” I flung a finger toward the solitary stone cottage backed up against the green hillside over the sea. Three deep steps, also made of stone, led up to the two-story residence.

She nodded.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I wrestled myself up off the sand and did my best to keep my a*s covered by the wool blanket, wrapping it like a bath towel around me. My face hurt like hell, and the cool ocean air was soothing.

Spots flashed in front of me as I threw my arm around her shoulders. We made the slow, shuffling trek up to her cottage, the German Shepard walking in sync beside us, serving as a canine sentinel.

The dog was right. Around me, this girl was going to need someone to stand guard. I was beaten to hell and halfway to hypothermia, and a deep dive into her sweet heat was just the thing to insulate me from the cold.