“It’s hard for you to travel with so many. Please, don’t lie to soothe me. I won’t be soothed with lies.”

“Not hard so much. It’s tricky. But hey, I got us here, right?”

“It would be tricky—more tricky—when you’re wounded?”

“Annika, there’s no point worrying about that.” Now he ran his hands up her arms, held her by the shoulders. “I’ll get us out, and safe. You have to trust me.”

“I trust you. All that I am trusts what you are. But you’ll be hurt. You and Doyle—he can’t die but he feels pain. I’m not hurt in the painting, and I’m of the sea.”

“Okay.”

“I can get away from the men, from the sharks. I can—the word is distract—until you get away with the others, then—”

“Forget it.” A lick of temper had him tightening his grip on her.

“You must listen!” Temper slapped against temper. “If the tricky is too hard, you can trust me. I can get away without the traveling. You take the others, leave me to—”

“I’m not going to leave you. I’d never leave you. No.” He snapped it out before she could speak again. “If you think I would, if you think I’d even consider it, you don’t know me.”

“Do you understand, I could get to the boat, my way, almost before you could, yours?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving you behind, not today, tomorrow, whenever the hell that painting becomes reality. Not anywhere, not anytime.” Because he read something in her eyes—she’d suck at poker—he released her shoulders to take her face in the same firm grip. “And don’t think you can pull away far enough so I can’t connect. That’s not happening either, and you’d just make it harder for me.”

“I don’t want to make it hard. I want you safe.”

“I will be, and so will you.” He tipped her head back, just a little, laid his lips on hers. Quiet, soothing. At first.

Then she wrapped around him, surrounded him, and he lost himself in the warmth and wanting. He pressed her back against the wall, let himself take, let himself savor what she gave, let himself savor what she made him feel in his blood, in his bones.

The three rude bangs on the door barely registered.

“Sawyer! Get your hands off the girl,” Doyle ordered. “We’re moving.”

“We have to go.” Reluctantly, almost painfully, Sawyer took his hands off the girl.

“Why don’t you have sex with me?”

“What?” He took a step back, as if from a live grenade. “What?”

“Your sex part gets hard for sex, but you don’t ask for sex. I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask for sex. I don’t know the rules of this.”

Because she gestured toward him—it—he had to fight an urge to cross hands over his groin. “I haven’t . . . It’s not that I— Rules.” He jumped on that concept. “There are rules. Lots of complicated rules. We should talk about them. Later. We need to go.”

“You’ll explain the rules?”

“I . . . Yes, probably. Later.” He grabbed his pack, opened the door. But oddly still couldn’t suck in a full breath. “But now, we have to go. Lost stars, worlds in peril, the evil mother of lies. You know, the usual.”

“When I know the rules, we can lie together in my room. My bed is larger.”

“Well, that’s an idea all right.” Hastily, he slung the pack over his shoulder, and careful to keep one hand on the open door, grabbed hers with the other. “Let’s go.” He pulled her out of the room, kept going until they were outside where the rest waited.

He managed to separate himself enough to mutter to Sasha. “Distract her. I need to talk to Doyle and Bran.”

“Well, I—”

Since Sawyer already moved ahead until he caught up with Doyle’s faster pace, Sasha slowed a bit, pointed. “Oh, look. A butterfly.”

The comment brought a puzzled look from Riley, but caused Annika to stop and admire long enough to give Sawyer some distance.

“Listen,” he said to Doyle, “it wasn’t all about hands.”

“I don’t need to hear about the rest of your body parts.”

“Not what I mean. I need to talk to you and Bran—and the other women—about this harebrained idea Anni had about the painting, and how we need to watch her in case I didn’t talk her out of it.”

He glanced back, casually, gauged he had enough room if he made it quick. And signaled to Bran.

Annika didn’t mind walking with her two friends. She thought, perhaps, women would be less shy and nervous about sex.

“Can you tell me the rules of sex?”

“Rules?” Riley responded. “What rules?”

“I don’t know them, not here. Sawyer says there are many, and complicated rules. I don’t see why they should be complicated, but I can learn them. I like to learn.”

“Complicated.” Riley snorted. “I say simple. My top three? Both parties willing, available, and clean.”

“Those are very simple.” And very satisfying. “Your rules mean Sawyer and I can have sex.”

“I’m still trying to work out why he hasn’t jumped you yet.”