“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I say, keeping my voice even. “I couldn’t find you.”
Her mouth curves as she catches her breath. “I can see how this wouldn’t have been your first guess. I’m a little limited on swimwear options.”
She doesn’t bother hiding it. She’s completely naked, the water barely covers her chest, the surface breaking with every breath she takes.
“There are swimsuits over there in the basket,” I offer. I don’t tell her I’m glad she didn’t find them.
Heat moves through me without permission. The tension I carried in with me doesn’t disappear. It shifts.
I step closer, my gaze tracking the droplets on her shoulders, the way the water slides down her arms. Whatever anger I brought home with me loosens its grip. Right now, she isn’t my enemy. I’m not her jailer. I’m just a man standing too close to a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.
I don’t ask before I kick off my shoes and pull my shirt over my head. My jeans follow. When I step into the water, her eyes stay on me, wary at first, then curious, then something softer that doesn’t quite trust itself.
“You thought I’d vanished,” she says lightly. “That’s why you were looking.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe I thought you’d be smarter than trying.”
Her lips lift, but the smile doesn’t fully settle. “Guess I keep surprising you.”
I stop in front of her, close enough that the water ripples between us. The proximity tightens something low in my gut.
“You don’t seem eager to leave,” I say.
“If I thought it would work, I would,” she replies. “But I’ve been paying attention. You don’t do anything without a reason.”
I lift my hand and let my fingers slide along her jaw. Her breath catches. I feel her pulse jump beneath my touch.
“Maybe my reasons aren’t as clean as you think,” I say. “And maybe yours aren’t either.”
She scoffs softly, but there’s tension in it. “You think I want this?”
“I think you don’t hate it as much as you pretend.”
She doesn’t move away. Her fingers skim my shoulder, barely there, but the contact lands hard.
“You’re assuming a lot,” she says.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
I draw her closer until there’s barely air between our mouths. She holds there, breathing shallow, eyes locked on mine.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says quietly. “You’re not wrong. But I also want to be free. Both of those things can be true at the same time.”
The honesty catches me off guard.
I kiss her.
Her response is immediate, her hands tightening as she pulls herself closer. The line between restraint and surrender blurs as the water laps around us and her body presses into mine.
Whatever this is, it’s already past the point of being black and white.
And we both know it.
THIRTEEN
Coco
Jean and Pierre Lafitte: Notorious smugglers and privateers, operated out of Barataria Bay near New Orleans in the early 1800s. During the War of 1812, they rejected a British offer to aid in attacking the city and instead warned American forces, playing a crucial role in the victory at the Battle of New Orleans. Their actions earned them pardons and cemented their legacy as both outlaws and unexpected heroes.
