Ethan swam in a lazy circle, merely to make his point. However, she was not wrong.
The water was decidedly Baltic.
Granted, the glacial riverdidhelp to chill his ardor.
Though as he watched Allie seat herself on the grassy riverbank—hair sodden and skirts clinging to her long, lithe legs—he doubted there was enough ice in the entire Arctic to sufficiently cool the heat of his adoration for this woman. And that was before she bent forward, removed her wet shoes, and proceeded to wring the water from her skirts, showing a delectable amount of pale ankle and shapely calf in the process.
Bloody hell.
She was indeed a siren—as potent as any Odysseus ever encountered—luring Ethan to his doom.
But death had never felt so sweet.
As if finally sensing his gaze, she lifted her head.
Planting his palms on the riverbank, Ethan pushed himself out of the current, enjoying how her eyes widened at the water sluicing off his torso and plastering his shirt to his arms and upper body.
He intended to prowl toward her like a great cat and pounce.
Unfortunately, Fate had other plans.
The water dripping off their bodies had rendered the black rocks lining the bank impossibly slippery.
On his second step, Ethan slipped.
He compensated by staggering toward her, hands instinctively rising to catch himself before he cracked his head.
Allie attempted to assist him, her own hands lifting to meet his, fingers intertwining.
At the last second, Ethan twisted his shoulders to avoid crushing her with the weight of his body, but their hands remained interlocked.
He landed on his back on the soft mossy grass with a loudoof!, dragging Allie to sprawl onto his chest crosswise.
Laughing, she pulled her hands out of his and pushed upward on his sternum, her smiling face filling his vision, impish water droplets clinging to her long eyelashes, her mouth scarcely two inches from his own.
“Well done, Mr. Penn-Leith,” she giggled. “What a decidedly dignified exit from the . . .”
She trailed off, likely perceiving as he already had, that they were a mere breath away from finally (at last!) kissing again.
He adored her like this . . . soft and tousled, gaze open and unguarded. Just as she had been that night at the inn.
“I ken we have been here before, yourself and I,” he murmured, reaching up a hand to cup the side of her head.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Though I believe there was more whisky involved last time.”
“Ye refused tae kiss me then.”
“Because I wanted to respect your wishes.” She pressed her own cool palm to his cheek. “Because you said you wished a kiss between us to mean more than just a kiss.”
Ethan was starting to doubt the wisdom of his insistence on that point. Perhaps kissing was the next step to winning Lady Allegra Gilbert’s heart.
“I think I erred in that.” His thumb swept across the petal softness of her cheek.
“Ethan . . . ,” she began.
But he was already moving, his roaring heartbeat drowning out all thought. Flexing the hand holding her head, he gently tugged her mouth down to his.
That first touch of her chill lips, the scorching lightning bolt of it—
