She sighed, resigned, and sat up slowly, shoving dripping hair from around her face. “If you can call smelling like sewer and being covered in germs all right, then I’m perfectly fine.”

“Damn it, woman.” Relief poured into Remy’s voice. “You took a few years off my life.”

“Poor you,” she called back. “You should have been here for the last few hours.”

“You really are fine,” Remy said. “If you can come back with your sassy sarcasm.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, Remy, I was the one someone was tryin’ to kill. And, I’m the one who ended up in the bayou, not you.”

“I was wonderin’ what that smell was,” Remy called back.

She hissed out a swear word between her teeth.

Arnaud grinned at her, his eyes briefly warming. “You really do like this man.”

“No, I don’. At least not right at this very moment.” She raised her voice. “Is my car still there, Remy?”

“Sort of. It’s been vandalized. Your fan was here and must have been in a really bad mood.”

That now-familiar uncomfortable heat whenever she was in Remy’s presence was beginning to drift through her body, warming her in spite of the wet clothes. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She stank. She was in an impossible situation, looked like a drowned rat and she was getting all hot and bothered just at the sound of his voice.

Remy stretched out carefully in the dirt and peered over the side. He needed to see for himself that she was alive and in one piece.

“Look at me, Blue.”

He could see she was reluctant. He wasn’t going to tell her that she looked beautiful, with mud smeared all over her and her thick braid looking like a drowned tail, but she did. He was thankful she was alive, although her shirt was nearly transparent and she was lying very close to another man—too close. He waited until her long lashes lifted and she looked him straight in the eye. The impact on his body felt like a wicked punch.

His eyes met hers, assessing the damage. “You look like a drowned rat.” She was close to tears, and if he said anything nice at all she would cry and then she wouldn’t forgive him. His gaze shifted speculatively to Arnaud and then back to her. “What happened to your arm?”

She huffed at him. He desperately needed to gather her up and hold her. She was hanging on by a thread—by her pride. She was cold, miserable and exhausted as well as embarrassed for him to see her looking and smelling as if she’d just gone for a swim in the bayou.