Timeless Read Online Free PDF Page B

other time she might have found attractive. His Scottish brogue was as thick as shortbread.
    Aware of the danger, she focused on trying to remove her flippers and get her feet under her. She rolled onto her hands and knees, the metal platform, rough and cold. Grabbing the chrome railing, she heaved herself up. In her weakened state, the tank on her back felt like a boulder.
    The man grabbed her arm, saving her from toppling backward into the water. Her legs shook like jelly as she stepped onto the deck. Had she not been so dehydrated she might have wept with relief.
    “Water.” The one word came out a weak croak. She shoved her mask upward and jerked it from beneath her waterproof hood.
    A second man appeared at her side. “Did you not fancy slacking your thirst in the loch while you were swimming about in it then?” He grasped her other arm. Lifting her off her feet, the two escorted her beneath the awning mid ship. The men’s slickers dripped water. Their pant legs clung to them, dark and wet. They had obviously been standing out in the deluge waiting for her to surface. She owed them. More than she’d ever be able to repay.
    “Henry?”
    “He’s asleep below. He was a wee bit distressed about the situation and found comfort in a bottle or two of McEwan.”
    “’Twas more like a keg,” the larger of the two said, his tone wry.
    They lowered her to a bench to one side of the hatch. Regan pulled free her gloves and hood and dropped them to the seat beside her.
    “I’ll get you a bottle of water,” the shorter man said and disappeared through the hatch.
    For the first time, Regan looked up at her rescuer. As he brushed back his hood, she looked into his face. Time stopped. Wet, tousled, black hair clung to his head and neck. His beard shadowed a jaw that warned of both strength and stubbornness. If he smiled creases would cut deep grooves in each cheek. Thick dark brows clapped together in a frown above his eyes. In the yellowish light, though she couldn’t make out their color, she felt certain they would be a devilish, Kelly green. He more than looked like the man she—Coira had made love with in her vision. He embodied him.
    He started, his eyes widening, and his lips parted. He took a step toward her, then jerked to a stop. A fierce frown dug furrows between his brows. “Who—” He hesitated and seemed to think about what it was he wanted to say. “Are you—having any pain in your joints, lass?” he asked.
    Her tongue numbed with shocked, Regan shook her head. Had she truly lapsed into some kind of nitrogen-induced coma? Her fingers trembled as she unhooked the tank harness and released her weight belt. He offered a muscular forearm for her to grasp. She grabbed it and heaved herself to her feet, then stepped out of the web of straps securing the tank around her legs. He pulled the rig free with the ease that spoke of practice and secured it to the side of the ship with other similar tanks.
    “Here you go, lass.” The slighter man returned with a bottle of water and holding it by the neck, offered it to her.
    Regan grabbed it, and murmuring her thanks, sank back on the seat. Twisting the cap off, she drank deeply from the container then set it aside. She ran her fingers through her hair making the short, thick curls to tumble about her face. She leaned forward to cover her eyes with her hands. What had happened to her? Fresh fear banded her throat and she swallowed with difficulty.
    The wind shifted spraying rain across the deck. Lighting flashed so close Regan ducked and, as the crash of thunder followed on its tail, covered her ears. Quinn grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet.
    “I dinna wish to be toasted by a bolt while we sit out here.”
    Shoving the bottle into her hand, he guided her below and through the first door to the right. Long metal tables fastened to the floor ran in straight parallel lines on either side of a center aisle, their benches attached. A cafeteria-style service