She was wearing a simple black swimsuit—modest by modern standards, but it clung to her curves in ways that made my mouth go dry. I'd seen her body before, in surveillance photos and security footage, but always at a distance. Always mediated by screens and cameras.
This was different. This was Gabrielle in the flesh, water streaming over her skin, her body powerful and graceful and achingly real.
She reached the end of the pool and surfaced, pushing wet hair from her face. Then she saw me.
The change was instant—her whole body tensing, her arms coming up to cover herself. As if she could hide what I'd already seen. As if I hadn't been memorizing the shape of her for months.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Not long." I stepped out of the shadows, moving toward the pool's edge. "I didn't mean to intrude. I can leave if—"
"No." The word came out too quickly. She caught herself, her cheeks flushing. "I mean—it's your pool. Your island. You can go wherever you want."
"That doesn't mean I should." I stopped at the edge, looking down at her. The water came up to her shoulders, lapping gently against her collarbone. "You deserve privacy, Gabrielle. Even from me."
"Since when do you care about my privacy? You watched me for weeks. You probably know what I look like in the shower."
"I don't." The denial was honest, even if little else about our relationship was. "I told you—there are limits. Lines I won't cross."
She laughed bitterly. "You kidnapped me. Forced me to marry you. But watching me shower is where you draw the line?"
"Yes."
The simplicity of the answer seemed to disarm her. She stared up at me, water droplets clinging to her lashes, her expression flickering between anger and confusion.
"You don't make any sense," she said finally. "None of this makes sense."
"I know." I crouched at the pool's edge, bringing myself closer to her level. "I'm not a good man, Gabrielle. I've never pretended to be. But I'm trying to be good to you. Even if I'm failing."
She didn't respond. Just floated there, watching me with those dark eyes that saw too much.
"The water looks nice," I said. "Mind if I join you?"
I expected her to refuse. To tell me to leave, to maintain the distance she'd been so careful to preserve.
Instead, she shrugged—a small, uncertain movement. "It's your pool."
I stripped off my shirt without letting myself think too hard about what I was doing. I felt her eyes on me—on the scars, the muscle, the evidence of a life lived in violence. When I slid into the water, the cool shock of it did nothing to ease the heat building in my blood.
We faced each other in the shallows, close enough to touch, not touching. The silence stretched between us, thick with everything we weren't saying.
"You're staring," she said quietly.
"I'm always staring. You're worth staring at."
"I'm—" She broke off, shaking her head. "I'm not. I'm not the kind of woman men stare at."
"Then every man you've ever known was blind." I moved closer, the water swirling around us. "You're beautiful, Gabrielle. Not in spite of your body—because of it. Every curve. Every inch. I've thought about nothing else for months."
Her breath caught. I was close enough now to see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, to feel the warmth radiating from her skin despite the cool water.
"This is insane," she whispered. "I hate you."
"I know."
"I'm your prisoner."
"I know."
