Page 54

"You were in my space."

"I was in my lane."

I lift a shoulder. "The pool's big enough. Can't we share?"

"Share," he mutters, like the word is obscene, then pushes off again.

I grin and follow, but on the next turn I make sure to cut closer. My arm grazes his side under the water, slick skin against skin, and Rowan jerks hard enough to break rhythm before surfacing with a sharp inhale.

The surprise only lasts a second. Then his expression closes off completely. "Light, just get away from me."

I tread water beside him, smiling. "Why? The pool's big enough for two."

"That's exactly my point." He swipes wet hair out of his face and glares at me, green eyes bright with temper. "You think I don't notice? You're getting closer every lap."

"Maybe you're imagining things."

"Bullshit."

He pushes off hard before I can answer, and I let him have half a length before I close the distance again.

By the fourth lap, he's all tight lines and controlled fury, every turn sharper than it needs to be, and none of it has anything to do with stamina.

It's me. It's the fact that every pass brings me close enough to touch him, that the water strips away all the neat distance he likes to keep between us and leaves us with nothing but wet skin, clipped breaths, and the certainty that he knows exactly what I'm doing.

And I'm fucking loving it.

Especially when he hits the wall and kicks hard into the turn. Gotcha.

I go under instead, cutting beneath him in one clean dive. When I look up through the water he's right there above me, blurred in gold and blue, body stretched out in that taut, furious line that is going to ruin me if I keep staring. The dark band at his wrist catches the light. The pull through his stomach when he twists for air makes my body answer before my brain can keep pretending this is still a game.

Maybe it's time to stop pretending I play fair.

Angling up beneath him, I break the surface directly in front of him, close enough that he has to wrench himself short to keep from crashing into me. He comes up with a sharp, startled breath, water splashing between us. His eyes go wide for one bright second before the fury slams right back in.

"Good Light⁠—"

I wipe water from my eyes, grinning. "What?"

"You can't just do that."

"Looks like I can."

His hand hits my shoulder, wet palm shoving hard enough to force space between us.

I let it move me just enough to feel the intent of it before catching his wrist under the water. I drag his hand down and press it flat against my chest.

I keep it there, feeling the exact moment he registers how hard my heart is pounding.

"You keep looking at me like you want to hit me," I murmur, holding his gaze. "Come on then. Do it properly."

"I don't want to fight you," he snaps, but the line comes out thin. When he tries to yank his hand back, his fingers flex against my chest instead, like his body forgot which part of this it was supposed to hate.

I keep his wrist pinned against me and drift in closer, both of us finding our footing without thinking about it. The water shifts around us as his chest brushes mine for one stolen second before he catches himself, breath hitching, eyes fixed on mine like he's caught somewhere between bolting and doing something much worse.

"Why are you like this?" he asks, and this time there's nothing neat left in it, just breath and frustration and something that sounds dangerously close to desperation. "You can come here any time you want. Why does it have to be when I'm here?"

I tip my head, keep his hand where it is, and smile at him. "Have you really not figured that out yet?"