He gritted his teeth and swam faster.
When his feet finally kicked into shingle, he released her. She staggered upright and stumbled onto the beach, collapsing onto the stones. Gideon stayed in the water, using it to conceal himself. She looked back at him, wiping wet hair from her face, still coughing.
“Thank you,” she rasped. “I’m glad you overcame your fear of water.”
His hand stilled mid-stroke through his hair. “As am I, or I would have had to stand by and watch you drown.”
He ducked beneath the surface, coming up with a spray of droplets that caught the sunlight. The words echoed in his mind. Aaron’s fear of water. His brother had never learned to swim, too terrified after their father had hurled him into this very lake as punishment for some forgotten transgression.
Christ. A slip.
A small one, perhaps. Aaron might have overcome his fear in adulthood. It was plausible.
But still. He ought to be more careful now.
Catherine sat shivering on the shingle, her arms wrapped around her knees. The wet fabric of her dress clung to every curve, leaving almost nothing to imagination. Gideon forced his gaze upward, to her face.
“The water’s warmer than the air,” he said, keeping his voice even. “Take off those wet things. They’ll dry quickly in this sun.”
She stared at him, lips parted. “I have nothing else to wear.”
“Neither do I.” He gestured at the water barely concealing him. “The lake cares very little of propriety.”
Her gaze dropped, tracing what she could see of him through the rippling shallows. A foot of water separated his body from the open air, but it was clear near shore. Only the constant movement of wavelets provided any real concealment.
Heat crawled up his neck. Not embarrassment—he’d long ago lost any shame about his body—but something far more dangerous.Awareness. The water wasn’t nearly cold enough to disguise his body’s response to having her near.
A small voice whispered that he was taking unnecessary risks, flying too close to the wind. But he silenced it. Unlike his timid,fearful brother, Gideon had a rebellious streak a mile wide. One that cared more for the pleasure of the moment than for consequences.
It was the rogue in him that loved drinking and gambling. Indulging. It stemmed from years of having little with which to indulge.
“Turn your back,” Catherine said at last, her teeth chattering audibly.
“No.”
Her eyes flashed with indignation. “Aaron!”
“No,” he said again, holding her gaze. “We are husband and wife.”
“Innameonly.” Her voice was sharp. “Your insistence, as I recall.”
The barb landed squarely. He sighed, turning onto his back and closing his eyes against the sun’s glare. “Fine. You have your damned privacy.”
Beneath the muffling effects of the water, he caught the rustle of fabric being peeled away. Then, the quick patter of bare feet across shingle. Then a splashing entry into the lake.
He opened his eyes a heartbeat too soon.
The image seared itself into his brain: pale, flawless skin, the elegant curve of her spine, the perfect swell of her derrière as she arced into the water. Then she was gone, engulfed by the lake.
Gideon sat up sharply, the water his loincloth. It dripped from his torso, running in rivulets down the contours of his body. When she surfaced twenty feet away, gasping, her hair slicked back from her face, their eyes met and held.
For a long, charged moment, neither of them moved.
She was exquisite. Even from this distance, even with most of her hidden beneath the water, he could see it. The graceful line of her neck. The delicate architecture of her collarbones. The way droplets caught the goosepimples on her bare shoulders.
His chest tightened with an emotion he couldn’t—wouldn’t—name.
With a wicked grin, he pushed his hands against the shallow lake bottom and drew himself up whole. Catherine squeaked and clapped her hand over her eyes. When he harpooned back into the depths, she ducked beneath the surface and kicked away, quick as a startled fish.
