Page 2 of The Burbs and the Bees
Oh, crap.
“I’m fine,” I say. “It’s not what you think.”
“You can’t be down here.” He hovers over me, his big body crowding mine. “Goddamn tourists,” he mumbles. “You’re all the same.”
I glare at him. “Jeez, are all Nova Scotians this bad-tempered and quick to jump to conclusions?”
“When tourists put themselves at risk, yeah.”
He reaches for me, and the fast, jerky movement of his hand takes me by surprise. I flinch backward, and my heel slips on the wet rock. I windmill my arms and try to regain my balance.
Dear God, this can’t be happening.
“Oh, shit,” he says, the anger in his tone changing to panic as I manage to grab his outstretched hand, tugging him off balance with me.
Oh shit is right.
I gasp, and before I know what’s happening, my legs go out from underneath me. I land on the rock with an undignifited thump and slide straight into the ice-cold ocean, two hundred pounds of muscle tumbling in on top of me. Frigid water seeps into my clothes, under my skin, into my bones, and I kick and scream and struggle to reach the surface. But with this guy weighing me down, I might as well be wearing cement boots. A strong arm wraps around me and tugs me upward. I suck in a fast breath when we break the rough surface.
“Are you okay?” the guy asks.
I spit water, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Of course I’m not okay. Are you okay?” Despite what I know about the slippery rocks, my first instinct is to push away from him and swim toward the embankment. Using my fingernails, I claw the eel grass covering the rocks, but the action proves futile. A powerful wave hits me and tosses me against the unforgiving boulder. Lord, I hope that cracking sound wasn’t my rib. I have no time to think about how much pain I’m in, as a new kind of fear takes hold.
I’m going to freaking die out here.
“Come here,” the guy says and drags me from the edge. With my back against his chest, holding me like a lifeguard rescuing a petulant child, he swims farther and farther out to sea, dragging me along for the ride.
“What are you doing?” I kick and try to get away, but he’s too damn strong.
“I’m trying to help.” He loosens his hold, and I spin to face him. I tread water and kick my legs hard. I’m sure I resemble a bobblehead, and my erratic movements are going to attract all kinds of curious sea life. This is so not my finest moment in life. Wait, are there sharks out here?
“Easy, lady. You’re going to drown us both.”
“The name is Alyson,” I blurt out, even though my name is the single most unimportant thing at the moment.
“Alyson, listen to me. There’s a fishing boat over there.” Water drips from his hair, as his dark eyes seek mine and lock on. “We’re going to swim to it,” he says, his lips turning a strange shade of purple as his gaze moves over my face, assessing me. “It’s the only way we’re getting out of this water.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, barely able to move my arms as the ice water slows my blood to molasses, going uphill, on a winter day—in Canada.
His brow furrows. “Can you do this?”
I nod and, through chattering teeth, ask, “How…how…long does it take to freeze to death in this water?”
“I am not going to let you freeze to death, and something tells me you’re not the kind of girl to go down without a fight, anyway.” Despite the situation, his steady composure and belief in me calms my jagged nerves. It’s sad, but that’s about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
“Thank…thank you,” I say.
“You’re ready to get moving?”
“Yes.” Even though I’m not a strong swimmer, I kick my legs out. This might be easier without my Louboutins, but I don’t have time to unbuckle them, and let’s face it…Louboutins.
“Have…have you done this before?” I ask.
His head jerks my way, as we push through the choppy sea. “You mean fall off the rocks?”
“Ye…ye…yes.” I grow breathless, fast.
“No.” He pauses for a second. “Here.” He drags me to a jutting rock and holds me there to give me a minute to catch my breath.
