His tongue pressed briefly to the inside of his cheek. “You already know you can take my weight, little Bea. You’ve done it before.”
Oh. No. He. Did. Not.
“Lots of times,” he added softly, as if she needed reminding.
If her face got any hotter, she was filing for diplomatic asylum. She smacked his chest and turned around. “Just get on.”
Laurent pulled his body lithely out of the water. “As the Maid of Honor is tragically absent, I will be officiating,” he announced. “On my count. Three.”
Bea adjusted her stance, planting her feet. Rafael settled his weight, forearms braced against her shoulders.
“Don’t rush,” he murmured. “Short steps.”
She snorted. “Because I can’t take tall ones?”
“Two.”
Naomi bounced once, nearly dumping Charles into the water. “Stop laughing!”
“I can’t,” he cackled. “This is how I die.”
“One.”
“Go!”
The pool erupted.
Isabel took off like she’d been training her whole life for this. Max, who Bea had always thought was the most buttoned-up man alive, let out a roar as though they were charging into battle.
Georgie ploughed forward while Hunter shouted instructions she ignored completely.
Bea pushed forward, legs already burning after a dozen steps. Even buoyed by the water, Rafael felt like a bag of bricks. He kept himself centered, redistributing his weight whenever she needed it without being told. Only Lillian and Cassian trailed behind them.
“You’re doing great,” Rafael complimented, far too relaxed and not at all winded.
“Do not patronize me while I am drowning for sport,” she gritted out.
They reached the turn. Bea pivoted, misjudged the depth by half a step, and her foot slipped backward. She windmilled.
Rafael reacted instantly, feet dropping and arms locking around her to steady her. His hand caught higher than it should have, and took hold of a whole breast.
She gasped, body jerking at the shock of it, fingers flying to the hewn planes of his forearm.
“Sorry, baby,” he murmured. She felt a brief, unmistakable squeeze before he let go. Then, into her ear, “Sorry I didn’t get one in each hand.”
Bea nearly choked on the rush of heat that surged through her. She made a sound that was slight indignation, mostly laughter.
Lillian and Cassian passed them.
Ahead, Georgina wiped out in spectacular fashion, Hunter vanishing beneath the surface, curses muffled by the water.
“We can still beat Georgie,” Bea called back, determination ripping through her. Also spite from that earlier ‘travel-sized’ dig. Definitely spite. “Get on.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bea hauled them even, chest heaving, triumphant for exactly three seconds. She flashed Georgie a grin. Georgie answered with one back—then powered ahead as if she had access to another gear.
So this was what happened when two years of Pilates met a lifetime of it.
