Mermaid.Except that it wasn’t. It was Skylar, swimming in his pool.
He forgot about the tea. He was opening the ranch sliders and stepping outside. Under cover, but just beyond, the rain slanted down. Skylar turned a circle in the water, face turned to the sky as if she welcomed the rain. Not cautious. Not controlled. Reveling.
Her togs weren’t what he’d imagined. A tank, he’d thought, the kind mums wore. But it was a bikini instead, pale pink against the blue water. Nearly the color of her skin. Almost as if she were naked.
He didn’t think. He stripped off his track suit and T-shirt and dropped straight into the water.
She noticedthat,anyway. She bobbed to the surface, treaded water, and said, an edge of fear in her voice, “Who’s there?”
Oh. Dark. Rain. He swam closer through the slanting rain and said, “Zane.”
“Zane?” Her hand went up to sweep back her hair. “How? How are you back so soon?”
“Couldn’t wait. Want to swim?”
“Yes,” she said, and smiled. It was a glorious smile, like a sunrise, with no caution in it at all. “I’ve been feeling so much like a mermaid, out here in the rain. It’s so good. Just don’t ask me to race.”
He said, “I was thinking that. The mermaid. Your hair and all. Gorgeous, I thought. And how much you were enjoying it.”
She didn’t say,I should have pulled it back so it won’t clog thefilter,or whatever a conscientious woman like her would normally say. She didn’t talk about the match, either. She just turned onto her side and stroked through the water, pale arms and legs gleaming.
He was a goal-oriented man, and a competitive one. When he jumped into a pool, he swam hard and efficiently, and then he got out. Tonight, he stretched onto his side beside her and took it slow.
Gliding through the water, the raindrops hitting his face, dotting the surface. She dove under again, and so did he. All the way to the bottom, then swimming along the sloping surface until they emerged at the other end, where she turned a somersault in the water before breaking the surface again, her teeth gleaming in a smile. He did a barrel roll, then another one, and she was laughing and doing it herself, and then they were both playing. Porpoising through the water in a butterfly stroke, because why not? Flipping onto their backs and swimming blind, gasping as the rain hit them. Five minutes, then ten, as the soreness eased and his brain waves slowed, and life was only this. Only gliding through the water, feeling its resistance and the way it parted and flowed around you. How could something you could barely see have such weight?
Finally, they were floating on their backs beside each other, their hands and feet fluttering, and she said, “I’m imagining that this water is something thicker, because that’s how it feels. Like swimming in molten wax.”
“Mm,” he said. “I was just thinking the same.”
“Do you want to get out?” she asked. Sounding lazy. Sounding relaxed.
“No,” he said, and that was all.
She reached out and touched his hand. Just a brush, but when he turned his hand and took hers, she didn’t pull away.They floated on, connected only by their hands, a current running between them. A contentment in his veins, like that warm wax she’d talked about.
At last, she spoke. She didn’t say,The kids are fine.She said, “You were strong tonight. I liked watching you.” He hummed, and she said, “How does it feel to be so much in your body? I’ve always wondered.”
He considered. “Dunno. I always have been. About like this, maybe. Messages going between your body and your brain and back again. You’re not thinking, or not exactly. The messages are just there.”
“It must be powerful.”
“It is. It’s giving your all. Being in the moment so fully, you can’t see anything else.”
He thought she sighed, but then she said, “We should get out. A little cold when you stop swimming.”
He climbed out behind her, and they both grabbed towels. She laughed and turned her face to the sky, then shivered. “Inside, I think. Cup of tea?”
“Absolutely.”
In the kitchen again, she went to the jug, but he said, “I’ve got it. Go get changed. Best part of being cold is getting warm again.”
“It’ll be the second time you’ve done that tonight,” she said. “It looked so wet out there on the paddock. How were you all not stamping and shivering for two hours?”
“Adrenaline. Movement. When you’re standing about afterwards, yeh, it can get cold.”
“When they’re asking you all those questions,” she said, “and you’re giving your unsatisfactory answers.” Teasing again, a light in the green eyes, leaning up against the kitchen bench with that towel wrapped around her.
He laughed. “You remember that, eh.” Looking out the tea bags and dropping them into mugs.
