Page 29 of Breaking Point
He walked slowly backward, swishing the branch across the sandy soil as he went, careful not to fall down the steep bank as the ground became softer and less stable. He was about to warn Natalie to watch her step, when he heard her gasp. He looked up in time to see her tumbling toward him.
He reached out and stopped her fall. “You okay?”
She sat up, nodding. “I’m a little dizzy, but I’m fine.”
He took one look at her face and knew that wasn’t true. She was flushed, but she wasn’t sweating. “You’re dehydrated.”
She looked puzzled. “I’m not thirsty.”
Not good.
He’d seen men die from the heat in Afghanistan as medics struggled in vain to save their lives. He knew that dizziness and lack of thirst werenotgood signs.
“Let’s get you into the shade.” He drew her to her feet, slid an arm around her waist, and guided her over to the car and into the passenger seat, taking the AK from her. He propped the rifle against the car, then reached into the backseat for a bottle of water, ripped off the cap, and pressed it into her hands. Too bad there were no powdered electrolytes to go with it. “Drink. A few gulps, then regular sips.”
While she drank, he touched his palm to her forehead, and was relieved to feel that her skin was neither clammy nor feverishly hot. She was definitely dehydrated and on her way to overheating, but she didn’t have heatstroke. Not yet.
You pushed her too hard, you dumb shit.
She looked up at him. “Were you a paramedic in your past life or something?”
“No.” He dug through the crap in the backseat for the first-aid kit, then pulled out a cotton washcloth. “But I do know a few things about first aid.”
“That’s a good skill for someone in your, um . . . line of work.”
“You got that right.” He would’ve loved to hear what line of work she thought he was in, but this wasn’t the time. “Quit talking, and keep drinking.”
You’re giving orders again.
He grabbed another bottle of water and dropped to his knees beside her, then poured out enough water to thoroughly wet the washcloth and pressed it against her forehead and cheeks, hoping to bring down her core temp.
She sighed, her eyes drifting shut. “Oh, that feels good.”
A bolt of heat shot through his belly straight to his groin.
His mind knew her response hadn’t been sexual, nothing seductive intended, but his body apparently didn’t. He drew his hand back, knowing he was in trouble. But then she turned her head, exposing the side of her throat, and he couldn’t resist.
He pressed the cool cloth against that sensitive area, watched goose bumps appear on her soft skin. She sighed again, the sweet sound making his own temperature rise. Slowly, she tilted her head back to allow his hand to pass beneath her chin, then turned her face toward him, her eyes still closed, her mouth relaxed.
By the time she opened her eyes, his lips were almost touching hers. And for a single, slow heartbeat, he stayed that way, unable to speak, his mouth so close to hers that he could nearly taste her, his gaze fixed on hers.
What the . . . ?
He jerked back, dropped the wet washcloth in her lap, his brain searching for words. “I . . . You . . . You can probably handle this yourself.”
She looked up at him. “Thank you. For helping me.”
“I need to get back to hiding our tracks.” He stood and walked away, his abrupt retreat startling a few swallows out of the mud nests they’d built in the bridge’s life-giving shade. “Keep drinking.”
He walked back into the blazing sunshine, grabbed his mesquite branch and rubbed furiously at the tracks—which now included the soil disturbed by her fall down the embankment.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
That Zeta bastard must have shocked him one too many times, because only fried brain cells could explain what had just happened. He’d almost kissed a woman he was charged with protecting—while administering first aid, no less.
That kind of mouth-to-mouth is against the rules, and you know it.
Okay, so he hadn’t technically beenassignedto protect her, which meant that the rules didn’t technically apply. In fact, her being with him was purely coincidence and had nothing to do with this case. But he didnotget mixed up with women while on the job. He didnotdevelop feelings for them, and he certainly didnotget physical with them. That wasn’t marshal service policy; that was his own personal policy. And heneverbroke his own rules.
