“When pushed too hard, yeah.” Her voice softened. “They do.”
They lapsed into a silence that was taut with almost-questions. The waves rolled in, a rhythmic percussion. Somewhere down the beach, a night heron called out, lonely and plaintive. The breeze carried a whiff of saltwater and night-blooming jasmine from the gardens.
David, fluent in eight programming languages, four dialects of sarcasm, and the erratic syntax of system firewalls, found himself at a loss on how to translate what lingered unsaid in her body language. In the way she held herself—loose but alert, likeshe was ready to laugh or run at any moment. In her glance, quick and assessing, that kept darting toward him and then away. In the way her hand stayed so close to his on the blanket, fingertips mere millimeters apart.
He could bridge that distance. Shift his pinkie a hair. Make contact.
But he didn’t.
Not yet.
He looked at her instead. At her profile backlit by the flickering light, the delicate curve of her jaw, the small crease between her brows that appeared when she concentrated. At her wary eyes—god, those eyes—turquoise and fathomless, holding storms he wanted to understand. At the silver seashell strung on a near-invisible chain around her neck, resting along her collarbone.
The necklace was old, worn, like it had been touched a thousand times, worried over, clutched in moments of disquiet or hope.
He didn’t ask yet. He didn’t move yet.
But he wanted to.
As the surf glittered with captured moonlight, as the stars wheeled overhead in their ancient, indifferent patterns, as Lena sat beside him smelling of chocolate and coconut sunscreen and something uniquely, impossiblyher, he thought—for one dangerous, exhilarating second—about kissing her right now.
About closing the distance between them and finding out if her lips were as soft as they appeared. If she’d laugh, or sigh, or pull away. If she tasted like mojito truffles and poor decisions, or something sweeter. Something real.
His heart hammered against his ribs in a desperate attempt to escape.
This was terrifying.
This was perfect.
This was?—
“You’re staring,” Lena said, not looking at him.
“Observing,” David corrected.
“Creepily.”
“Scientifically.”
She turned, meeting his gaze head-on, and the air seemed to thicken, charged with potential energy. “What’s your hypothesis, Dr. Jones?”
That I’m falling for you. That you scare me more than any system breach. That I’d burn down every firewall I’ve ever built, if it meant keeping you safe.
“That this is the best bad idea I’ve had in a long time,” he said aloud.
Lena gave him a small, surprised, and devastatingly genuine smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The moment stretched, taut and fragile as spun glass.
David’s fingers inched toward hers.
This time, he didn’t stop.
Chapter 28
Whispering Waves
