Seconds later, they surface, sputtering and gasping for air—still bloody laughing.
“It’s cold!” Daisy shrieks, hands pushing her dark, dripping hair from her face. Her white sundress clings to her in a way that leavesabsolutelynothing to the imagination. Completely transparent.
For fuck’s sake.
I grip the oars, jaw flexing. I know full well she can swim—I’ve seen her outpace Sophia in open water since they were teenagers—but still, some buried instinct kicks in, compelling me to steer us closer. For safety reasons, obviously.
Not because of the way Hugo’s hands are already on her waist.
Not because of the unwelcome thought that worms its way into my mind:Is she going to sleep with Hugo tonight?
If they keep me awake with their . . . activities, I swear on my medical license, someone will regret their choices.
“How’s the water?” Sophia calls from her boat, clearly enjoying the show.
Daisy treads water, brushing damp strands from her face, grinning. “Lovely!”
Her eyes go wide, and she lets out a scream. “Ahhhhhh! There’s a super rat! Bernice, you were right all along!”
She disappears beneath the surface in an exaggerated splash. A beat later, she surfaces, gasping. “It’s awhole colonyof super rats! They’re swimming up from the bottom—ready to attack! We’re doomed. DOOMED!”
“You better be joking!” Imogen shrieks, yanking her feet up onto the bench as if the rodents might materialize in our boat.
“It’s a mischief of rats. Not a colony. If we’re being precise,” I say before I can stop myself. “Not that it matters, because none of them are swimming toward us.”
Daisy turns, blinking at me, then rolls her eyes. Those eyes. Hazel-brown and bright and filled with mischief—the same eyes that had widened in shock, framed by that delicate heart-shaped face, when I’d walked into my own room and found her, uninvited, sprawled across my bed. A memory that, much to my irritation, has been haunting my sleep with alarming frequency.
“Appreciate the lecture on rodent sociology, Dr. Eddie,” she calls, her voice thick with amusement.
Hugo swims up behind her, his hands skimming the surface of the water near her waist like he’s waiting for permission to touch her.
Daisy reaches for the hem of that white sundress, peels it up and over her head in one smooth motion.
The soaked fabric clings to her as she pulls it away, revealing a white bikini that borders on indecent.
For fuck’s sake.
This is the second time I’ve seen this woman’s breasts. For the love of god, can she not just keep them contained around me? And why—why is there always a bloody family member present when it happens? First Spencer, now Sophia.
I can’t help myself. I stare at them.
My body reminds me that I haven’t sucked on a nipple in far too long, and now, apparently, that’s all I want to do.
Christ. Look away. Look literally anywhere else.
You’re a surgeon. You’ve seen thousands of bodies. This shouldn’t affect you. Focus on something else. Anything else.
She swims toward our boat, the dress trailing behind her like an afterthought.
Behind me, Imogen clears her throat.
“Edward,” she says, voice flat. “You’re splashing us again.”
“Here,” Daisy says, reaching our boat and holding up her sodden dress. One hand grips the side of the boat, water droplets running down her neck, disappearing between . . .Focus.“Can you hang on to this? I don’t trust Hugo not to steal it.”
“Edward?” She waves the dress, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“Give it here,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly rough.
