“To cover my eyes.”
I swallow hard and take a deep breath. Then another. Another.
Finally, I step out of my shoes.
On swift feet, I go to Franco’s pile of clothes and retrieve his cravat, then rush to the lake’s edge. I squeal as the chill water laps up my bare ankles, my calves, my thighs. Keeping the cravat above water, I dunk the rest of my body beneath the surface until only my head and shoulders remain above it. “Come closer to me, but don’t look.”
Franco obeys, swimming backward until he reaches the rocky shore in front of me. He keeps his shoulders below water too, and I place the cravat over his eyes.
“I could get into this,” he says, voice low and husky. His tone has my knees quaking, but I keep my breathing steady as I tie the cloth at the back of his head. Once his blindfold is secure, he turns around to face me.
I sink a little lower in the water. “You can’t see me, can you?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know where you are.” With a flick of his hands, he sends a splash of water toward me. I squeal and splash back at him, but he dives under and swims away. My heart fills with laughter as I swim after him. I’m surprised to find it easy to recall the rhythm and motions I learned as a child, how to cut through water, float, tread near the surface. I don’t dare go quite as far as he does. Instead, I remain near the shore. After a while, he comes back. The way he swims straight for me has panic whirring inside me yet again.
“Are you sure you can’t see me?” I ask when he stops a few feet away.
He laughs. “I’m sure.”
“Then why does it seem like you always know where I am?”
“I do know where you are.” We hover around each other, treading water to keep our heads above the surface. No matter where I go, he manages to keep his face turned toward me. I’m sure he can follow sound without a problem, but still…
Ever so quietly, I inch back toward the shore and swim to the side. Eerily, his head follows my movements. “Franco,” I say through my teeth.
“What?” He laughs and sends a spray of water toward me. It glitters like a thousand sparkling diamonds, sending a cluster of fireflies skittering away.
“I find it hard to believe your hearing is that great, fae or not.”
“Then you underestimate me.” He swims nearer, closing the distance between us. “Besides, I’m not finding you by sound.”
I move closer to the shore until my feet gain purchase beneath me. “What do you use then?”
“Your energy. I can sense it as clearly as if I were seeing with my eyes.” There’s a note of longing in his voice, one that makes my stomach flip.
“What is it like to sense energy?”
“It’s hard to explain,” he says, inching nearer until he’s close enough to touch, should I try to. The thought makes me shiver. “Sampling energy is a multi-sensory experience. I taste it, smell it, see it. Associate colors, flavors, and aromas with it. Over time, I’ve learned to identify what certain combinations mean. To me, everyone has a unique energetic signature that I can recognize someone by if I’m around them long enough. Yours is particularly bright, although it wasn’t always that way. Not when we first met. I knew your energetic signature by the end of that first disastrous coach ride, but it changed the night at the opera. Or perhaps it was only heightened.”
“Heightened?”
“Yes. After I heard you hum, I sensed something deeper about you, and since then it has smelled like rose, citrus, and storm winds. Your colors are bright pink, blue, and yellow. Your taste—” His words cut off and I watch as his throat bobs. He seems robbed of his voice for several silent moments. When he speaks, his voice is a deep rumble that seems to infuse the water around me, caressing me. “It kills me to know your true face is on the other side of this blindfold and I can’t see it.”
“Don’t you dare look,” I say, but my words come out far softer than I intend. I’m too distracted by the rise and fall of his chest, the sparkling water beading down his bare flesh, the slowly shrinking space between us as he steps closer. Closer. Every inch he nears is followed by a pause, one I make no move to flee from. In fact, I find myself joining his efforts. We stop when only an inch separates us. My breaths are shallow. If I breathe too deep, our flesh will collide, his torso will brush the tips of my breasts. My heart races at the thought, and it takes all my restraint not to lean the slightest bit closer just to know what he might feel like against me.
He lifts his hand from the water and slowly brings it to rest upon my cheek, fingers trembling at the contact our damp skin makes. “This is your true face,” he whispers. Then he glides his fingers up the side of my face to my temple. From there, he runs his hand down the length of my wet hair and lets it slip through his fingers. “This is your true hair.”
In the absence of his touch, I feel cold, empty. I angle my face toward his, eager to feel his hand on my cheek again. He complies, lifting both hands to cup my face. One wanders over my jaw, from my chin to my ear, then down the side of my neck. My breaths come in hard and fast, and I feel my chest brush against his. I gasp at the sensation the momentary contact brings, and his hand stills at the base of my neck. I watch as every visible muscle tenses. Then slowly, he brings his other hand to my mouth and brushes his thumb softly over my lips. “These are your true lips.” They part in answer, and he leans down slightly as if to claim them with his.
But he doesn’t.
Why doesn’t he?
Need pulses deep in my abdomen, tingles my aching mouth, skates over every part of my skin not touched by him.
I lift my hand and place it on his chest. He shudders beneath my palm, and I run my hand up his torso until it winds behind his neck. There I stroke the wet hair at his nape. “Franco,” I whisper.
He moves the rest of the way, pressing his lips against mine in a crushing heat. His arms move behind my back, running over my waist, my hips, my shoulders. Mine tangle in his hair. I release a soft moan against his lips, then feel the brush of his tongue against mine. I relish the feel of him, in the firmness of his hands as he lifts me off my feet to encircle my legs around his hips. I press him closer, kiss him deeper, eager for more of him.
