around her waist, pulling her body close, the sound of a hand slapping against the water met her ears as water rushed past her, filling her mouth, leaving her hacking and spitting.
Something hard and sharp hit her back, making her cry out, and then those hands that had scooped her up rolled her over, thumping her back until she felt the tight lump in her chest begin to loosen. “Don’t you dare need mouth-to-m outh, Claire Montgomery. I damn well can’t breathe and you know it! If you shame me by dying because I can’t perform a simple act like breathing—”
“You’ll what?” she asked on a watery cough, before taking a deep breath and filling her lungs with cold, salt y air.
Irish knelt beside her, hauling her close to him, pushing her hair from her eyes with gentle hands. “Must everything be like a challenge on Survivor with you, Claire?”
She chuckled then coughed again while Irish pounded her back some more. “Outwit, outlast, outplay,” she muttered, allowing him to throw her over his shoulder and carry her up the side of the bluff, the squish of his soaked boots resonating in her ears with each swift stride he took.
When he set her down on the hard, icy ground, her hea d popped up. “The lighthouse!” she gasped. “I have to get there.”
“For?”
“My date with Hugh Jackman.”
“Wolverine-schmolverine. Can he read minds? No, Claire. No, I don’t think he can.”
“When you look like that, you don’t have to,” she teased, trying to rise, only to wobble, her ankles caving inward. Damn. She needed to get to the lighthouse.
Irish was up and right behind her, tucking her to him, his leather jacket slick and soaked. “What’s at the lighthouse, Claire? Quit screwing around and tell me what the hell’s going on.”
“I’m not screwing around, Irish, and how did you find me?”
“I went to meet Courtland to handle some business, Rosy told me he was in town, I rooted around in his head and found out he was gunning for you again. I followed your scent, which led me to the vicinity of the lighthouse. Easy-peasy. So who did this?”
She shook her head, letting a dripping-wet Irish lead her to his bike, now covered in snow. “I don’t know. It was a truck, for sure. Pushed me right over the bluff like I was lighte r than air. That’s all I know, but I did get a glimpse of the truck, and it wasn’t one I recognized. Now, you go home, and I’m going to the lighthouse.” Then she shivered violently, her body buckling with the shudder.
“Um, no. You’re going home and we’re g oing to warm you up and then you’re going to tell me what’s at the lighthouse. Which, by the way, is deserted. I flew through it before I saw you bobbing around out there like a buoy.”
Relief sliced through her. No one was at the lighthouse—or had someone been at the lighthouse and been taken from the lighthouse? “You can fly? Do your wonders never cease?”
He grinned, slicking his hair back with his hand. “No. They’re endless.” Then he un-smiled, his eyes searching hers. “Now what’s at the lighthouse?”
She sighed a ragged puff of air. “I like to go to the lighthouse to read sometimes. It’s my me-time. I love to listen to the waves crashing and smell the salty air. I just really needed to get away and catch my breath.”
“Well, that’s not gonna happen now. You can read at your place. Where it’s warm. Get on the back of the bike, Claire. I’m taking you home.”
“But what about Hadley?” she hedged, crossing her arms over her chest to prevent another violent batch of shivers. “Doesn’t she need you to help her with he r homework?”
He pointed to the bike, his expression stern and perfect and adorable. “I just texted with her twenty minutes before I saved your cute ass from drowning. She’s at home with Liam, safe and sound. On the bike. Now. Before you freeze to death.”
She hesitated once more, her teeth chattering. “Liam’s with her? You’re