Born Ready by Lori Wilde

smile, dusted sandwich crumbs from her fingers. “How did you know?”
    “You might have a complex brain, Jackie Birchard, but you’re not that hard to read.” He glanced out at the ocean, then his gaze tracked back to rove over her bikini-clad body.
    Her treacherous pulse quickened and she studied his angular features. He looked as if he’d just tumbled out of bed, his hair wildly mussed from where it had dried on the boat ride over, his eyes sultry and suggestive.
    He had an amazing body. Dressed in swim trunks and a thin white T-shirt. Rock solid. Athletic.
    Her palms tingled, yearning to run over the planes of his flat belly. The spot between her legs ached for him. The fertile smell of sand and sea scented the air—potent, loamy, rich.
    Scott’s gaze cradled hers, desire radiating from his eyes. Her blood thickened, stirred. A slow, languid heat.
    He leaned over, curved his palm around her face, leaned in for a kiss.
    She did not withdraw.
    He kissed her. Wild, hot and hard. A relentless force to taste and smell and feel.
    Consumed.
    His mouth consumed her. He plundered, conquered, possessed. The demanding flick of his tongue against hers brought a famished response so intense she felt weak, as if all her energy had been drained.
    Scott groaned and locked his fingers in her hair. Kissed her harder, deeper and wilder still.
    The taste of him!
    He tasted like goodness and sunshine and the Fourth of July all rolled into one. Nourishing. Sturdy. Patriotic.
    Jackie could not have stopped if she wanted to. She inhaled him in sweet gulps.
    While the world shrank down into the width of their mouths, she opened herself up to possibilities as yet undreamed. He disarmed her completely. Her lips shuddered against his mouth and her body molded to his. In Scott’s arms, she felt solidly anchored.
    The sensation scared her.
    She’d never wanted to be the kind of woman who locked herself into one port, one man, but why not? Her mind flirted with a dark thought. She put her palm flat against his chest and pushed back, breaking the kiss. Her lips felt swollen, bruised.
    Scott’s eyes were murky, lust-filled, befuddled. “What is it?”
    That’s when a throat-tearing scream shattered the peaceful afternoon.
     
     
    INSTANTLY, SCOTT JERKED his head around to locate the source of the ear-piercing cry for help. Several yards away a woman staggered from the beach, frantically waving her arms. “Help! Help!”
    The other tourists in the area froze, stared owl-eyed at the distressed woman.
    Scott didn’t know what was up, but he reacted instantly. Born Ready. In under a second, he was on his feet, racing toward the woman. His head swam a bit from shifting gears. One minute kissing Jackie, the next in Coast Guard rescue mode, but he ignored it.
    The woman was blubbering incoherently, tears streaming down her round face.
    “What is it?” Scott demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders.
    “My son, my son! I tried to carry him, but I…” She paused, gasped for air. “Shark! Shark! A shark got him.”
    Shark.
    That one word packed Scott’s veins in ice.
    The mom broke from his grip, spun around and started back toward the beach. Scott could already see a boy in the shallow tide pool, blood staining the water. The kid was pale and lay unmoving.
    It did not look good.
    Scott outdistanced the mother, running full-out, all the while praying that the child would not die. He sprinted over the craggy rocks, barely winced as the sharp edges poked through the soles of his thin shoes. He waded in, stumbling on the slick surface.
    The child’s eyes fluttered.
    He was alive.
    The relief that pulsed through Scott was short-lived. The boy’s leg was mangled and blood flowed too quickly. An artery was involved. Time was of the essence and they were seventy miles from Key West.
    Scott glanced up to see Jackie standing on the shore. “Call the Coast Guard,” he said. “Ask for Carl Dugan. Tell him to send a seaplane. Now!”
    Jackie nodded,