Nerd in Shining Armor (Nerds, #1)(8)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

"You can make it, Gen," he said.

She liked the way he’d started calling her Gen instead of using her foil name. It made them seem closer, like buddies, and right now she needed that feeling, because he was her only hope. But she didn’t want

to put him in more danger because she wasn’t up to the challenge.

"It’s not much farther," he said.

She glanced toward shore and was even more discouraged when the vision in both eyes was blurry.

"I lost my other contact."

"When we get there you can wear my glasses."

His gentleness made her want to cry. "I’m not sure I’m going to get there," she said. "I’m so tired." She looked at him with a mixture of admiration and frustration. "How come a brainiac like you swims like an Olympic athlete?"

He tread water and gazed at her. "Nerds work out, too, you know."

"You belong to a gym?" She couldn’t picture it.

"No. I have a whole setup at home. I work out when I’m thinking about a project, and since I’m usually thinking about a project, I work out a lot."

"Well, I don’t work out at all, and I’m fading fast. I want you to go on ahead."

"Like hell."

"No, really, Jackson. Don’t be noble. You said that when we left the plane we’d both have to fend for ourselves. That’s the way it should be."

"That was just to get you started. I never planned to abandon you."

And she didn’t want him to, either. But he might have to, for his own good. She wouldn’t drag him down with her. "Look, it’s stupid for both of us to drown or get chewed on by sharks. You go ahead and I’ll either make it… or I won’t."

His expression tensed. "Do you imagine for one minute that I’m the kind of guy who would leave you

out here?"

Until now, she’d never thought about what kind of guy he was, and he was surprising her at every turn.

"I know you wouldn’t want to, but be realistic."

"Are you done in? Is that what you’re saying?"

"Not completely, but close."

"Can you float okay?"

"Jackson, I want you to—"

"Can you float?"

The edge to his voice took her aback. That was twice now he’d shown a tough side she’d never imagined good old Jackson would have. The first time was when he’d demanded to know if she could swim. She was beginning to realize that if she’d said she couldn’t, he’d have tried to land the plane on the top of the island, no matter how impossible it had looked. For whatever the reason, he’d appointed himself her protector.

"Yes, I can float," she said.

"Then get on your back. I’m towing you in."

"No. That will take twice as much energy, and I don’t care how often you work out, you’re going to get tired."

His expression was like granite. "I’m not leaving you. You can either get on your back and let me tow

you in or we can stay here and tread water until you’re too exhausted to move, and then I’ll tow you in, but by then I’ll be more tired, so we’ll both be at greater risk."

"You’re not towing me. I’m swimming." And she set off, although every muscle in her body protested. Damn his noble hide. He was liable to kill himself trying to help her. She couldn’t let him do that.

Chapter 5

Jackson swam beside her, painfully aware of her gasping, flailing struggle to make it to shore. But she

had grit, and she wasn’t about to let him help her until she couldn’t move another muscle. Thank God they were getting close to the beach and the swell of the incoming waves lifted them toward the water’s edge. They would make it.

Then, without warning, she sank.

He dove under the water, eyes open, and saw her gliding slowly down toward a bed of coral, her muscles limp. He got to her right before she reached the coral, which looked sharp as glass. Hooking an arm beneath her br**sts, he surged upward, dragging her with him.

When they broke the surface, they were both sputtering and coughing. He figured as long as she was making noise, she wasn’t going to drown on him, so he started swimming with one arm and pulling her through the water with the other. Stupid, stubborn woman.

But she’d been right. Swimming this way was hard, much harder than he’d imagined when he’d suggested it a while ago. If she hadn’t pushed herself to go as far as she had, they might have both gone down. As it was he had to call on every ounce of endurance he had to keep swimming.

His soggy clothes felt like the lead apron his dentist laid over him before she took X rays. Good thing he’d ditched his shoes long ago, and per usual, he’d forgotten socks in the process of getting dressed. That seemed years ago. He stopped to test the bottom with a foot, only to discover it was still over his head.

The third time he lowered his foot, his toe touched sand. With a choked sob of gratitude, he stood in chest-deep water and cradled Genevieve in his arms. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing. That was all that mattered right now.

He focused on the beach as he started walking through the water. Breaking surf threatened to knock him over. He clenched his jaw and clutched Genevieve tighter, not about to fall down, not about to lose her.

"We … made it?"

At the faint sound of her voice, he looked down and saw that her eyes were open, but she looked dazed and disoriented. "We made it," he said, his voice hoarse.

She closed her eyes again. "Thank you . . . Jack."

Jack. He’d never encouraged the nickname because he thought it sounded like a kind of guy who drove fast cars and hung out with glamorous women, the kind of guy who drank whiskey straight up and never let work interfere with pleasure. The kind of guy Jackson wasn’t.

But he’d just successfully flown a plane, ditched it in the ocean, and managed to get himself and his

lovely passenger safely to shore. The nickname Jack didn’t sound quite so inappropriate after all that. If Genevieve wanted to call him Jack, then he’d let her do that.

"You’re welcome," he said. About that time he reached the point where the water no longer supported

her weight, and he nearly dropped her.

She opened her eyes again and turned her head to look at the waterline only a short distance away. Her voice was unsteady. "You can put me down now. I can walk the rest of the way."

"I’ll carry you in." At least he wanted to try. Somebody named Jack would definitely do that.

She looked up at him. "You’re panting. You’re fixin’ to drop me."

"I am not." He noticed that her Tennessee accent was even more pronounced, as if the deeper they got into this mess, the more she was reverting to the little hillbilly she once was. He loved watching it happen, because it made her more accessible.

"Jackson, put me down."

"The name’s Jack, and I’m finishing this rescue the way I want to."

"Your name’s Jack?"

"Yeah. You called me that a minute ago, and I’ve decided I like it."

"I probably called you that because I was too exhausted to say your whole blessed name."

He was disappointed to discover that had been the reason, but there was no backing down from the new name now. He felt like a different person, and he might as well be called something different, too. "Be that as it may, I’m going to be Jack from now on." He couldn’t feel his arms anymore, but he only had a little way to go.

"All right, Jack it is then. Now put me—"

He stumbled, she screeched, and they landed in a pile at the edge of the water. She came down on her back, her arms flung out to the side, and he ended up on his stomach with his cheek resting on her right breast, his right arm across her stomach and his leg on hers. Neither of them moved as the water ebbed and flowed over their feet.

"I knew it," she said. "I knew you were fixin’ to drop me."

He felt boneless, as if he couldn’t change positions if his life depended on it. At least this time it didn’t. He wasn’t sure if his catatonic state had to do with his absolute, total exhaustion or the miracle of pillowing his head on her breast.

By sheer luck the jacket to the dress had flipped back when she went down, so he had only one thin

layer of soaked fabric between him and a part of Gen’s anatomy he’d never expected to experience up close and personal. As her chest rose and fell with her breathing, he became convinced she was not wearing a bra.

"I wonder what we should do next," she asked.

"Think," he murmured. Thinking wouldn’t require him to go anywhere, and he liked where he’d ended up.

"I wonder how long before they come looking for us."

"They might have started already." He knew they needed to be rescued, but he hoped it would take a

few hours. "Depends on how soon the Maui folks called Matt to ask why we haven’t shown up."

She lay quietly, just breathing.

He was very happy to have her do that. Eventually she might ask him to move, but until she did, he was staying put.

"You know what I think?" she asked.

"What?"

"I’ll bet Nick didn’t have a meeting definitely set up, after all. I’ll bet he said he might make it over there, and he might not. That way more time could go by before anyone would ask about us. But I did tell my mama I’d call her when I got there. She might think I just forgot, though."

"Well, what about my meeting with Aloha? Won’t they call and ask why I’m not there?"

"I don’t want you to take this wrong, but they might not call." And then, unbelievably, she began to

stroke his wet hair.

He couldn’t take anything wrong while she did that. He closed his eyes and reveled in it, afraid to say a word for fear she’d stop.

"See, you’re taking it wrong. Now I’ve insulted you." She continued to finger-comb his hair. "But you have to admit that you’re not the most reliable person when it comes to getting to places on time. Everybody knows that."

"I get distracted."

"I know."

As she continued her gentle caress, he began to wonder if he’d saved them after all. Maybe they’d died in the crash and all of this was taking place in heaven. He could be convinced of that. He could easily be convinced.

"But you weren’t distracted today, when we were up against it and trouble was coming at us six ways to Sunday. You focused on what had to be done and you purely did it. I owe you my life, Jack."

"’S okay." Now, there was a brilliant response. Sure could tell he was a magna cum laude with verbal skills like that. But he would trade all his degrees and half his IQ for a kiss from the woman who was touching him so sweetly. He wondered if she’d consider a kiss in return for him saving her life.

"Jack, do you have a crush on me?"

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wished to hell she hadn’t phrased it like that. A crush sounded like high school. And yet, come to think of it, he had acted like a high school kid with her, hanging around hoping for a little of her time, dreaming of her but never working up the courage to ask her out.

Even now, he was lying here afraid to move because she might stop petting him, like some grateful dog who would do anything for a little kindness. A guy named Jackson would behave like that, but not a guy called Jack.

"You’re not saying anything, so I’ll take that to mean yes. And I want you to know that I think that’s

very sweet, but—"

"I don’t have a crush on you."

"Oh." She stopped stroking his hair.

Summoning what little strength he had left, he propped himself up and gazed down at her. Her usually glossy hair was a tangled mess, and the ocean had washed off every bit of her makeup. But her eyes were still that blue-green color that reminded him of a tropical lagoon picture he’d used once as a screen saver. He’d loved the color of the water in that screen saver.

As mesmerizing as her eyes were, though, he couldn’t help noticing that her dress was nearly transparent. He tried to keep his gaze focused on her face, but there were her n**ples, showing through the material. It was probably the dampness that made them stick up like that.

He wondered what she’d do if he cupped her breast and rubbed a thumb over her nipple. But he wouldn’t do that without knowing she wanted him to. Besides, although he loved looking at her and imagining making love right here in the sand, he wasn’t certain he had the energy at the moment.

"A crush is for kids, Gen," he said.

She watched him with a wary look in her eyes. "Did I make you mad, saying that?"

"No."

" ‘Cause you look kind of like Uncle Rufus’s bull when we’d pull his tail and get him riled up."

Nobody had ever described him that way, and he thought it sounded good. Intimidating. Sexy. "I just need you to remember that I’m not a kid."

"I didn’t mean you were a kid. I just wondered if you felt something for me."

"I do."

"That’s what I th—"

"And it’s not a crush," he said, cutting her off. "Let me demonstrate what I mean." A guy named Jack would be at least this bold. He quickly lowered his head and settled his mouth over hers.

She gasped in surprise, but he kept on kissing her. She tasted like saltwater taffy, and at first she was just about as stiff. But he hung on to the image of her lips as a candy treat, and sure enough, they began to soften.

Although he found that encouraging, he didn’t for one minute think that he was turning her on. After the first shock of realizing that he was kissing her, she’d probably decided to be nice. After all, she thought she owed him her life. He’d probably get this one chance to kiss her, and then it would be business as usual. He’d only be able to work this hero thing for a little while.

She might not get a whole lot out of this moment, but he intended to milk it for all it was worth. He shifted his angle slightly and got a little more intimate with that warm mouth of hers. Her breath caught again. She obviously hadn’t expected him to get serious about this.

He was very serious. He’d been fantasizing this kiss for months, and he’d damn near had to kill himself to get it. At a time like this, a guy named Jack would get tongues involved. So he did.

To his surprise, she let him get away with that. After a very short while, she even began to participate. She must feel really grateful. He wasn’t about to look a gift kiss in the mouth, so he settled in for more fun and games. He explored and tasted to his heart’s content, and the more he did that, the more content his heart became.