How the hell was he supposed to resist? Like a man trapped by a siren’s lure, he slowly turned. She had made her way to the base of the waterfall, her dark hair swirling around her in the current. As she reached the shore, she pulled herself up onto a smooth rock, water streaming down her limbs.
He stared. He couldn’t help it. Though every shred of discipline urged him to look away, his gaze held fast. The wet chemise clung to her like a second skin, outlining every soft curve, every subtle dip and swell. She turned to face him, water splattering the rock beneath her. A groan built in the back of his throat as he shifted his weight, trying to ease the aching pressure straining against his breeches.
Miss Montclair eased onto the wet stones beside the falls, moving closer to the cascading water. She reached a hand into the rushing stream, droplets splashing across her arm and shoulder. “Are you coming?”
Good God.
The soaked fabric hugged her breasts, revealing the dusky outline of her nipples, dark against pale cotton. Did she realize how much he could see?
Only a saint would turn away.
And he was no saint.
Not today.
His pulse thundered in his ears as he bent to unlace his boots. A moment later, his jacket hit the ground with a soft thud, followed by his cravat and waistcoat. At the edge of the overhang, he hesitated a moment, fingers brushing the collar of his shirt. He shouldn’t—hell, he shouldn’t be out here at all, but the heat of the day, the cool promise of the water, and the sight of her were too much to resist.
With a swift motion, he tugged off his shirt, letting it fall to the rocks. His bare skin prickled in the shade, goosebumps rising where the breeze touched him. Without a word, he bent his knees and launched himself into the crystal-clear water. The shock of cold seized him, sharp and electric, stealing the breath from his lungs. He broke the surface with a gasp.
Across the pool, Miss Montclair’s eyes sparkled like the sun-flecked water around them. Isaac kicked steadily, cutting through the cool water as the roar of the waterfall grew louder. He reached the edge of the pool and braced a hand against the slick rocks, hauling himself up beside her.
“Follow me.” She slipped beneath the crashing cascade without hesitation, water streaming over her like liquid silk. Her laughter rang out, clear and uninhibited, carried on the spray.
He hesitated only a heartbeat before following, stepping into the thunderous rush. The water pounded against his head and shoulders, deafening and wild, as if the island was unleashing its fierce spirit upon him. He passed through the cascade and stepped into the hollow behind it.
Miss Montclair’s eyes pressed closed, her face lifted, hair plastered to her skin by the spray. For a moment, he simply watched, stunned. There was nothing coy or careful about her—no attempt to shield herself or impress him. Just joy. Wild, radiant joy.
No woman he’d ever met in New York or Savannah or anywherein between had ever looked like that. Had everbeenlike that.
He stepped closer, drawn by something he didn’t fully understand, until his foot slipped on the wet rock. His hand shot out instinctively, catching her waist. She startled, but didn’t pull away. Her eyes fluttered open, lashes beaded with water. For a breathless moment, neither of them moved. The roar of the waterfall wrapped around them, enclosing them in a world of white sound and wild spray.
“Careful,” she murmured, laughter still clinging to her voice.
Her face hovered inches from his, her lips parted in surprise—or something else. If he leaned in, just a little more…
His pulse thundered louder than the water.
In another life… another day…
Perhaps here, in this hidden place carved from sunlight and stone, they might have had a tryst. A reckless, breathless surrender to the pull between them.
But this wasn’t that day.
He drew back as if the water burned him. Let go of her waist. Took a half-step away. Duty hammered cold and relentless through his veins. He was a naval officer. A man with orders, with discipline. With a mission to uphold and a captain’s trust still unearned.
This—whateverthiswas—had no place in the life he was bound to live. He cleared his throat and took another step back, slipping free from the magic of the falls.
“I must return to my ship.”
Chapter Four
“Lola, he’s evenmore wonderful than I thought.”
The parrot didn’t so much as spare her a glance.
“He’s the man of my dreams.” Josephine strode to the window and leaned out, straining to catch a glimpse of sails in the harbor. “The most handsome, most perfect gentleman in the whole world.”
Of course, Lola didn’t answer. She never did. But years with nobody but Colette to confide in meant that sometimes, one needed to have a single-sided conversation with a bird.
