Water Bound (Sea Haven/Sisters of the Heart 1)

Get out of my head. Trembling, she managed to get her feet under her.

You scared the hell out of me. And my head hurts like a son of a bitch. You might consider that before you go getting yourself into trouble.

She sensed his anger was shocking to him, that he was horrified at his own fear for her safety. Somehow that was unusual--his concern for another human being. He didn't understand their connection any more than she did, and knowing that made it easier for her.

Well, thanks for saving me from a dunking.

He was silent a moment but she could still feel him there in her mind. It was a bit like being underwater, everything in her stilled and steadied as if he anchored her in the same way the sea did.

If you're finished playing, come back to me.

She could hear the pain in his voice, in his mind. Her heart stuttered in her chest and she pressed her palm tight against it. Lev, did you try to get up?

I wasn't going to leave you in danger.

For her. He'd tried to get to her. He could barely stand for more than a couple of minutes, just what it took to get to the bathroom and back and even then he was dizzy. Each day had been a discovery of new bruises from the battering he'd taken, yet he'd tried to get to her.

You're not nearly the bad man you think you are.

Come home and find out. He growled it at her, meant it to be a threat.

She found herself smiling as she walked back to her truck. Maybe there was something to this telepathic nonsense after all. When he spoke out loud, she basically wanted to hit him over the head, but when he talked to her in her mind, she could sense his feelings. She didn't pick up nuances of voices or read facial expressions like other people, but she didn't have to when he projected his voice into her mind. He was there inside her and she knew the feeling behind the words.

I'm coming. I hope you're back in bed. I'm getting a little tired of picking you up off the floor.

If you'd quit mopping it so much, it wouldn't be so slippery.

The amusement creeping into his voice made her happy. She knew laughter was even more foreign to him than it was to her, yet for some reason she couldn't quite fathom, he found her funny. Most people thought her odd, but her strangeness not only didn't bother him but he seemed to enjoy her company.

You give me massages.

She swung into the truck and slammed the door, frowning. I knew it! I knew the moment I let you into my head you'd be trying to go where you don't belong. My thoughts are not for you to go eavesdropping on.

You were thinking about me. Satisfaction purred in his voice.

Well, think about me becoming very angry with you.

I'd rather think about you giving me a massage.

She choked on laughter. Doesn't this way of talking make your head hurt? She had the beginnings of a headache.

I already have a headache. I can't tell what's making it worse or what isn't. All I know for certain is, I want you back here safe in this house with me.

She tried to block the rush she got from his words and the way he said them. It was impossible not to feel the heat spreading or the way her body responded to him, reaching out the way it did when she was near water.

I'm on my way.

7

"LEV, you need to listen to me." Rikki glared at his back as he paced around her kitchen. "This is important information. A yacht sank off our coast the day I pulled you out of the water." She watched carefully, but there was no reaction from him. "It's a huge deal. They've got investigators and scientists swarming all over. Everyone is presumed dead."

When he continued prowling around opening all the cupboards, she sighed with exasperation. "Don't you understand what this means? You had to have been on that yacht. It was just a short distance from where I was when it went down."

It had been three days since she'd gone to the village, and this was the first time Lev had been up for more than fifteen minutes. He'd actually showered, and although he'd had to lie down for a half hour, he was back up again and hungry, wanting an actual breakfast, not broth or peanut butter sandwiches. She'd run out of the soups Judith had bought for her, and she was feeling a little desperate, hoping to distract him from eating. And she hadn't been out to sea in more than two weeks. It seemed like months and the effects of her last little visit to the bluff days ago had already worn off, leaving her agitated and distressed.

Lev banged another cupboard closed and she glared at him, irritated.

"Stop that. What in the world are you looking for?"

"Food."

"There's tons of food. Quit slamming the doors. You need to shut them quietly." Or better yet, not touch them. "You're leaving fingerprints all over them and I'll have to spend hours polishing them." She touched her throat. She'd been wearing turtleneck sweaters for freaking weeks to cover up the fingerprints he'd left on her throat. She didn't mind tight heavy sweaters, but high necks bothered her because she tended to fall back into an old habit she had of hiding in them. She'd fought hard to stop that, but wearing one for fifteen days made her want to disappear into the warm material. She was desperate--desperate--for the sea.

His gaze shifted to her face, then drifted down to her neck. She suddenly wished she hadn't drawn his attention. His face darkened, and shadows crept into the blue of his eyes.

"How bad is it? Let me look."

He stepped close, looming over the top of her so that she hastily backed up to create more space. When he was in bed, he seemed vulnerable and needed care. She actually could lie on the bed and fall asleep beside him as long as she got up before he woke, although she sometimes suspected he knew the moment she opened her eyes and just didn't say anything to her. She wasn't certain how to feel about that either, because it meant he sensed how uncomfortable she was with him when he was awake.

Rikki shoved at her unruly hair in agitation. She had no idea what to do with him. But he had to sit down and quit walking over her floor. He was barefoot at least. She might have to hide his shoes if he demanded to put them on and walk across her clean floor. It was that or kick him out--which she was certain was the better idea.

"Keep your hands off my neck. In fact, keep your hands off of everything. You're making a mess."

He hadn't stopped coming at her, not even when she gave him her blackest scowl. She held up a hand to ward him off. "People say I don't know boundaries. You have none at all. Don't touch me. And don't touch my things."

He ignored her hand and pushed at her sweater, exposing her throat. His fingers brushed strokes over the marks. They had long since faded to little green smudges, but she didn't want anyone--not even him--to see the evidence. She had never liked being closed off, and his body trapped hers between freedom and the table. She held her breath, afraid she might explode into violence, but somehow the stroke of his fingers took away the sense of being ensnared. Instead, sensation poured through her body, like a wave of heat, brushing over her skin, sinking deeper, until she felt his touch in her bones.

"I didn't mean to do this. I actually don't remember grabbing you around the throat."

She pulled away from him and jerked the neckline of her sweater up, stepping to one side to give herself room to breathe. "Do you remember the knife?"

He kept his gaze locked with hers. "You should have dumped me back into the ocean."

"Darn right, I should have," she agreed. "Now that that's settled, sit down. I'll fix you a sandwich."

He looked pained. "I don't eat peanut butter."

That genuinely shocked her. "Who doesn't eat peanut butter? It's the perfect food."

He shuddered. "Even to make up for all the things I've done wrong, I don't think I can do it."

"For a man who carries around as many weapons as you do, you're a bit of a baby."

"It isn't being a baby not to eat peanut butter. I don't think babies eat the stuff."

"That's un-American."

"I'm not certain I am American," he pointed out.

She had to agree wit

h him there. "Fine. You can put peanut butter on waffles. Blythe bought some of those frozen thingies that you put in the toaster. I'm not sure how old they are. Do frozen foods last like four years or more?"

He groaned and dropped into the nearest kitchen chair, pushing his head into his hands. "Death by peanut butter. I never thought I'd go that way."

Rikki found herself laughing. Nothing made her laugh, not out loud, not hurt-her-tummy laughing, not like this. He looked so dejected--a big, tough man done in by peanut butter.

He looked up at her and smiled, and the laughter faded. Her stomach somersaulted and her heart contracted. Suddenly it was hard to breathe again.

"I don't know how to cook," she blurted out.

He looked at the dishes and pots and pans.

"I just wash them to keep them clean, but I've never used them, not once in the four years I've had them. There's broccoli in the vegetable bin. I can't cook it but you can eat it raw," she offered.

"You fed me soup."

She tapped her foot and counted to twenty before she faced him again. Color crept into her face. "I heated it up in the can on this little gas outdoor thing I have. All the soups are ready made so it was easy."

There was a small silence while he studied her expression. "How about I cook for us? If you're going to let me stay here while I recover, that's the least I can do."

Was she going to let him continue to stay in her home while he recovered? Rikki chewed nervously on her lower lip. He would say he wouldn't touch her things, but he would. And she'd have to be very vigilant. Just because the house hadn't caught fire during the last two weeks, didn't mean it couldn't happen--the risk was far greater with someone else in the house.

He sent her a small smile. "You're thinking of kicking me out."

She shrugged. "I'm always thinking about kicking you out." She spread her arms out, encompassing her home. "I'm used to living alone, and it's safer."

"Not really. Not if someone's really trying to burn you out. I'd be damn handy to have around."

He leaned toward her, his blue eyes so intense she lost herself there, in that wild blue sea. "Let me stay with you, Rikki. I have nowhere else to go. I don't have a clue who I really am. If I was on that yacht, everyone thinks I'm dead."

So he had been listening. He'd chosen not to answer--as she often did.

"Maybe this is my chance," he persisted. "My one chance at a new life. I can be someone else, someone different."

"If you don't know who you are . . ."

"I've killed men. Every instinct I have is all about survival."

"That doesn't mean you weren't protecting people, Lev. I saved the newspapers." She got the newspapers but never read them, not until she'd gone into town and seen the influx of reporters. The mess was still going strong. "The man who owned the boat was a billionaire and everyone on board was lost, including his bodyguard. You could have been his bodyguard. Don't bodyguards have to shoot people occasionally?"

Lev shook his head. "You're incredible, you know that? Don't bodyguards have to shoot people occasionally? Who thinks like that? Let me stay with you, Rikki."

She wasn't going to kick him out. She'd found him in the sea and she was bound to him. She'd taken him on board her boat and that made her responsible for him. Besides . . . She pressed her fingers to her temples. She'd gone to sleep with him beside her. She'd never even done that with Daniel. She couldn't just abandon him, not when Blythe and the others had given her a chance, not when he'd given her a gift so precious as to know that once--once--in her life, she'd been normal enough to sleep beside another human being, which was the only reason she'd continued to sleep on the bed. Not because she wanted to be with him.

"I don't know what I'll do with you. And you can't touch my things."

"I'll do the cooking," he volunteered immediately.

She didn't eat anything but peanut butter--not unless Blythe made her go to her house for dinner. Then she forced herself to do it so she didn't hurt Blythe's feelings. His slight grin made her heart turn over. Sheesh, she hated the effect he had on her.

"Do you want to go shopping now? Before breakfast? Inez's market is open."

Instantly his expression went blank. For a moment he looked a little scary, his blue eyes diamond hard. "It would probably be best if no one sees me for a while. We don't want any questions."

She didn't like questions either and she sure wasn't going to answer any of them. She glanced at the clock. It was still very early. She might get there while the store was empty. "Make a list then." It took seconds to go to the drawer where notepads and pens were neatly stacked. She handed him both.

He immediately began scribbling. Twice he opened her fridge, frowned at the milk and broccoli, and wrote more. The cupboards contained jars of both smooth and chunky peanut butter. "I can see you're into variety."

She put on her darkest scowl. "Blythe can lecture me about my eating habits; you can't."

He put down the pen. "I suppose that's fair. I'm not going to be a burden to you financially. Things are coming back to me and I must have money somewhere. Sooner or later I'll have access to it and I'll pay you back. And I can work for you. You need a tender."

Her scowl deepened. "You stay the hell off my boat."

His grin widened. She supposed he had reason to look a little cocky. He had the perfect place to hide out. She was so antisocial no one but her family came to visit her, and most of the time she went to their houses. His contact with outsiders would be minimal.

We'll see about that.

Her gaze jumped to his and the breath left her body in a foolish rush. That intimate voice stroked every nerve ending. Her mouth went dry. They'd never discussed their strange conversation or her near fall in the pond. She found ignoring subjects she didn't want to discuss was usually the best way to go, but he didn't seem to realize he wasn't allowed in her head.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Give me your list, and I'll go into town and get the supplies." She wasn't arguing with him over the boat--or telepathy. She was the captain. Out at sea, no one questioned her authority.

His fingers brushed hers when he transferred the paper to her. She felt a jolt through her entire system. Everything seemed so out of focus. She didn't like anyone touching her, yet when this man did, she didn't feel thousands of pinpricks as she normally did. The pressure of her wet suit helped to combat the way her body felt as if it were flying apart. She had a weighted lap blanket she used for the same purpose, but she had neither item to help her now. She just stood there looking at him a little helplessly, trying to figure out how to think or feel in such an unfamiliar situation.

"It will be all right," he murmured softly, and his fingers stroked over her face, tracing her bones.

She sucked in her breath, shocked that she could stand there, trembling, feeling nervous flutters instead of pinpricks and pain. She shook her head, trying to throw off the spell he seemed to weave around her.

"Only my sisters ever come here, and they won't with my truck gone. Just keep the doors locked and the shades pulled down. I doubt you'll be disturbed." She turned back to him. "Don't kill anyone while I'm gone. They might be important to me."

Rikki started out the door, but Lev caught her arm.

"You won't say anything about me?"

She scowled. "I dragged your ass out of the sea, cleaned you up and gave you a place to stay. Who the hell am I going to tell?"

He shrugged. "It just matters."

"You're dead. Stay that way until I get back." She shoved her dark glasses onto her nose and marched out, indignant that he thought she was too stupid to keep quiet.

Muttering to herself, she started toward her truck, but she couldn't quite force herself from her normal routine. She cast a surreptitious glance toward the window, but even if he was watching, did it matter? This was her home--her life--she wasn't going to change because she'd hauled some man out of the sea. And he was just as strange in his own way as she was. He was definitely se

cretive, everything he owned seemed to be a weapon, and his first reaction was usually violence. Yeah, she was not going to apologize for who she was.

She circled the house, checking each window, making certain her silk threads were intact. If anyone tried to lift the windows, they wouldn't notice the small thread fluttering to the ground. She examined the flower beds she'd planted beneath the windows. The dirt was soft and damp and would reveal any prints. She checked her hoses, rolled perfectly around the hose reels on each side of the house. She was very fussy about the hoses. They had to be able to be pulled off fast with no kinks in case of an emergency.

When she walked around to the front of her house, Lev stood there watching her. She sent him a dark frown. "What?"

"You don't have to worry with me here."

She tilted her chin. Usually she didn't bother with explanations, and she wasn't going to tell him. Let him find out she had a routine--a ritual--she couldn't go anywhere without performing first. She had a lot of those. He could leave if her ways bothered him. She climbed into the truck and slammed the door without answering him. She did look back in the rearview mirror and felt sad for him. He looked very alone.

She drove along the winding tree-lined road that lead to the coastal highway, and she felt immediate relief. She hadn't spent this much time with another human being since she had been a teenager, and it was stressful. She tried not to stare--looking through him or into him instead--or to get caught up in the small observations that she tended to fixate on. It was darned stressful just to be with people.

Once she'd turned onto Highway 1, she could see the ocean. The sea soothed her, no matter what mood it was in. The expanse of water always helped her to stay centered enough to deal with going into a public place. It was early enough that few people would be out, but Inez's store was a local hangout. People tended to gather there and exchange news--and Inez knew just about everything there was to know about everyone.

Rikki parked the truck at the far end of the lot and got out slowly, taking a careful look around. Thankfully, the reporters and investigators--whatever they were--hadn't gotten up as early as she had. She had the village nearly to herself. The morning air was crisp and a wind blew in from the sea, carrying the feel of salty mist. She could hear the water breaking against the cliffs as she walked across the lot to the sidewalk where she took another long look around. Her blood moved with the same rush in her veins as the waves, and she stood at the top of the hill, just in front of the store, looking down the street to the powerful display the ocean was putting on.