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I walk forward in a trance, or like I microdosed too much LSD. That happened one time when I had to kill a DJ drugging his victims at a rave. Never again. I hated how out of control I felt.
I blink to make sure the scene doesn’t disappear. “You think anyone’s ever been here? I mean, I know Bobbi has, but anyone else?”
“Probably not, ’cause it takes a four-hour trek on an uphill grade guarded by pissed-off moose to get to this spot.”
I can see why Bobbi tattooed these coordinates on her skin. I’d want to remember this place too. In front of us is the most gorgeous, most enchanting hot spring, with stacked pools of turquoise water so milky I can’t see to the bottom. Shelves of salty minerals sparkle in the sun. There’s a cave at the back of the largest pool, dripping with calcium stalactites. It looks like something out of my childhood fantasies, where the knight would ride in with a sword, so just once I wouldn’t have to concoct an elaborate poisoning scheme to kill my enemy.
“It’s gorgeous,” I whisper over the babbling water, like speaking will disturb its ethereal serenity.
Lawton steps up behind me, his chest to my back, the heat of him soaking through my shirt.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear, nothing more than a scrape against his throat.
It’s rough, seductive, and entirely too distracting. A shiver dances down my spine, so I step toward the edge of the pool, refocusing.
“I checked, and the coordinates are right inside that cave at the end of the spring, which means we need to figure out a way to get there.” I take off my bulletproof vest so I can feel the cool mountain breeze against my sweat-soaked shirt. “We can use the climbing gear I packed to scale the rocks from the ridge. If that fails, we can rappel down the back side, and—”
I hit the water with a giant splash, and suck in a mouthful of salt.
He pushed me.
I kick my legs, doing my best to get myself up through the milky ripples, but the only thing I manage is a somersault underwater. I want to murder the person who invented swimming. After a lot of flailing around, I finally break the surface.
“Lawton!” I sputter out, gasping. “I had a plan!”
He’s already dived in after me. He pops up, shaking the glittering droplets off his dark hair. “Yeah, but it would have taken forty-five minutes of you writing out the pros versus cons of rappelling, so I figured I’d save you the hand cramp. Swimming is faster.”
He’s so impulsive, my teeth grind. I kick harder, trying to stay above the surface. “This is not how—” I stop talking so I don’t suck in more water.
His brow scrunches as he watches me flail, then he’s gliding through the hot spring. “Can you not swim?”
I try to splash him, but I need both hands to stay afloat. “I can swim. It’s just more of a dog-paddle type of situation.”
He curses under his breath, and freestyles through the steaming water. “How the hell do you not know how to swim? I thought your parents would’ve put you in some fancy shit like synchronized swimming or something.”
“Do you have water in your ears?” I gasp, barely managing to keep my head afloat. “I know how, but most of my swimming experience consisted of lounging in the four-foot-deep infinity pool of whatever hotel we were staying at for the month.”
His lips stay in a flat line. “Not being able to swim is the kind of thing you tell a person.”
“Why would I tell you? That would just give you ideas.” I cough out water.
“Come here.” He reaches beneath the surface and drags me into his hard body without waiting for my rebuttal. His hands encircle my waist. “Wrap your legs around me.”
“And dry hump you in a hot spring? Pass.” I’m still having a hard time erasing the memory of us on that desk.
He drags me flush against every hard ridge of his body. I grip the solid balls of his shoulders, telling myself it’d be petulant not to accept his help. That’s the only reason I’m wrapping my thighs around his waist. His chest is firm beneath my hands, and when did he take off his shirt? I can feel his muscles bulging and stretching as he treads water, not even winded, like he was sired from mermaids and then somewhere down the family tree that mermaid saw a man with a lasso and thought, Fuck fins, I want to ride that cowboy.
I hook my chin on his shoulder and relax against him, the panic ebbing.
“Better?” he murmurs, tongue licking against my salt-dampened ear.
I’m hot all over, but it has nothing to do with the springs. “Sure.”
Water beads down his jaw, catching on his stubble. I reach up, tracing the cut on his temple with a fingertip. “Your butterfly tape came off.”
He shrugs in the water, his muscles shifting around me. “The salt’ll disinfect it.”
He’s treading beneath the surface, and each kick bumps us together. My pulse thrums in my ears. I can remember how deliciously large he felt, pinning me to that desk, his mouth on mine, heavy yet soft. It would be so easy to lean in.
