It’s perfect. Warm without being hot, silky against my skin, the motes swirling around me like curious fireflies. The tension in my shoulders starts to unwind immediately. I sink lower, lettingthe water rise to my collarbone, and finally let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Okay,” I say. “You can turn around.”
They do.
And the heat in their eyes nearly drowns me.
Torric turns first. His gaze rakes over me — what he can see above the waterline — and his jaw tightens. The fire rune on his chest pulses once, bright and hungry even through his shirt.
Aspen is next, his ice-blue eyes softening even as something darker flickers beneath the surface. His attention lingers on my shoulders, my throat, the wet hair clinging to my neck.
Kieran’s gold eyes find mine and hold. He doesn’t look anywhere else. Just my face. Like he’s memorizing me. Like he’s afraid to look away.
Malrik’s gaze is slower. More deliberate. He takes his time, letting his eyes travel from my face to my shoulders to the water where it meets my skin. His expression stays controlled, but I can feel the want radiating through the bond like a banked fire.
Finn is grinning again, but it’s softer now. Less joke, more wonder. Like he can’t believe he gets to be here. Gets to see this.
And Darian—
Darian looks like he’s about to combust. His cheeks are flushed, his magic flickering at his fingertips, and he’s very carefully not looking directly at me while also absolutely looking directly at me.
“Well?” I manage, my voice coming out rougher than intended. “Are you getting in or just going to stand there?”
Finn’s grin widens. “Oh, we’re getting in. But fair’s fair, Trouble.”
I blink. “What?”
“You made us turn around.” He reaches for the hem of his shirt. “We’re not turning around for you.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Finn goes first.
Because of course he does.
He pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and I forget how to breathe.
I’ve seen Finn shirtless before. Caught glimpses. Stolen glances when I thought no one was looking. But there’s something different about watching him strip with full intention, knowing I’m watching,wantingme to watch.
He’s lean — not bulky like Torric, not carved like Malrik. But there’s strength in the lines of him, definition in his arms and shoulders and the planes of his stomach. Freckles scattered across his chest like constellations.
He catches me staring and winks.
“Like what you see?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My mouth is too dry.
He kicks off his boots, shoves down his pants, and—
Gods.
I look away. I try to. But my eyes have other ideas, and I catch a glimpse of narrow hips, strong thighs, and— and—
Linda drifts to the edge of the pool. If shadows could fan themselves, she would be.
I sink a little lower in the water.
