“I’ll welcome you with a kick to the groin if you don’t put me down,” I promised sweetly. “Though I’d have to find it first—it’s apparently so small I couldn’t feel it despite being pressed against you for the past five minutes.”
That earned me a tightening of his grip and a dangerous smile. “Careful, wildcat. Those are fighting words that might earn you a demonstration you’re not ready for.”
The threat sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the pond water. My traitorous omega biology was apparently interpreting his words as some kind of promise rather than the intimidation tactic they obviously were. The way his voice dropped to thatrough, commanding register made something clench low in my stomach—a reaction I was definitely not going to examine too closely while pressed against his very naked, very muscular chest.
The elegant one laughed outright at this exchange. “I see you’ve met our particularly persistent escapee, Stefano. Though in a more… intimate capacity than last time.”
Stefano. The water god had a name. Somehow putting a name to that face and body made this entire situation more real and more mortifying.
“Stefano?” I repeated, using my most unimpressed tone despite being completely at his mercy in chest-deep water. “Your parents named you after a fancified Steve and you still turned out this arrogant? Imagine if they’d aimed higher.”
“I’m Marco,” the elegant one supplied with a wolf’s smile. “And our quiet friend is Matteo. Since we’ll be seeing so much of each other, we might as well be properly introduced.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” I replied with acidic sweetness. “I’d introduce myself, but since you’re all apparently stalking me professionally, I assume you already know my favorite breakfast cereal and sleep position.”
“You sleep on your right side,” Matteo stated flatly. “With one arm under your pillow and the other curled against your chest. And you prefer granola with blueberries.”
The fact that he was right sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the pond water. “Well, that’s not deeply disturbing at all,” I said, trying to mask my genuine unease with sarcasm. “Do you watch me brush my teeth too, or is that Marco’s special assignment?”
“We take turns,” Marco replied with a wink that somehow managed to be both charming and threatening.
Meanwhile, Stefano had resumed wading toward shore, his hand still wrapped possessively around my waist. I was acutelyaware of how my wet clothes clung to every inch of my body, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. The thin t-shirt might as well have been transparent, and my shorts had molded themselves to my thighs and ass like a second skin.
As we reached shallower water, I renewed my struggles. “I can walk on my own, you overgrown octopus. I don’t need tentacles all over me.”
“Evidence suggests otherwise,” Stefano replied, finally releasing me when the water was only knee-deep. “Since you’ve demonstrated a remarkable talent for finding trouble in shallow water.”
The first thing I did was shrug off my waterlogged backpack, letting it drop into the shallow water with a sodden splash. The damn thing had become a twenty-pound anchor trying to drag me to the bottom, and I was done pretending it wasn’t adding insult to injury.
Standing on my own two feet again should have felt like victory, but instead I was painfully aware of how I looked—completely drenched, clothes plastered to my body, facing three impossibly attractive, half-naked men who were looking at me with various shades of amusement and something darker that made my stomach flip.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” Stefano declared, his eyes tracking a water droplet as it ran down my neck and disappeared beneath my collar.
“I need to get away from you three,” I corrected, crossing my arms over my chest in a futile attempt at modesty. “Preferably to a different continent.”
“Always so difficult.” Marco sighed dramatically. “When we’re only trying to help.”
“Your help nearly drowned me,” I pointed out, backing away only to bump into Matteo, who had somehow materialized behind me without making a sound. I yelped, jumping forwardand nearly colliding with Stefano’s still very naked chest. “And could someone please get Aquaman here some pants before I have to gouge out my own eyes?”
“Why?” Stefano asked with mock innocence. “Does my natural state make you uncomfortable, little wildcat?”
“Your everything makes me uncomfortable,” I shot back. “But particularly the parts you’re currently displaying like a peacock with boundary issues.”
“He has that effect on most people,” Marco said with a smirk. “Though usually with more appreciation and less creative threats.”
I was opening my mouth to deliver what would undoubtedly have been a scathing retort when a violent shiver racked my body, reminding me that despite the summer heat, standing around in soaking wet clothes wasn’t exactly comfortable.
Stefano noticed immediately, his expression shifting from amused to something more predatory. “Those clothes need to come off. Now.”
“In your dreams, water boy,” I snapped, backing away again. “I’m not providing free entertainment for you three perverts.”
“It’s not entertainment we’re concerned about,” Matteo said quietly. “It’s hypothermia.”
“It’s blazing out here!” I exclaimed. “Hypothermia isn’t exactly topping my list of concerns right now.”
“Nevertheless,” Stefano said, advancing on me with purpose, “those wet clothes are coming off. Either you remove them, or I’ll do it for you.”
His tone left no doubt he wasn’t bluffing, and something in my expression must have conveyed my horror at the prospect because Marco moved toward a flat boulder where I now noticed a neat pile of clothes and a towel had been left—clearly Stefano’s belongings from before his impromptu swimming session.
