Lives changed, she mused. And so did reality.
At mile four when her muscles were just beginning to sing, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Roarke, his hair still damp from his swim, moved into place beside her, matching his pace to hers.
"Running to or away?" he asked.
"Just running."
"You're up early, Lieutenant."
"I've got a full day."
He lifted a brow when she increased her pace. His wife had a healthy competitive streak, he mused, and easily matched her stride. "I thought you were off."
"I was." She slowed, stopped, then bent at the waist to stretch out. "Now I'm not." She lifted her head until her eyes met his. It wasn't only her life now, she remembered, or her reality. It was theirs. "I guess you had plans."
"Nothing that can't be adjusted." The weekend in Martinique he'd hoped to surprise her with could wait. "My calendar's clear for the next forty-eight hours, if you want to bounce anything off me."
She heaved out a breath. This was another change in her life, this sharing of her work. "Maybe. I want to take a swim."
"I'll join you."
"I thought you just had one."
"I can have two." He skimmed a thumb over the dent in her chin. The exercise had brought color to her cheeks and a light sheen to her skin. "It's not illegal." He took her hand to lead her out of the gym and into the flower-scented air of the pool room.
Palms and flowing vines grew lushly, surrounding a lagoon-styled pool sided with smooth stones and tumbling waterfalls.
"I've got to get a suit."
He only smiled and tugged the straps from her arms. "Why?" His graceful hands skimmed her breasts as he freed them and made her brows raise.
"What kind of water sport did you have in mind?''
"Whatever works." He cupped her face in his hands, bent to kiss her. "I love you, Eve."
"I know." She closed her eyes and rested her brow against his. "It's so weird."
Naked, she turned and dove into the dark water. She stayed under, skimming along the bottom. Her lips curved when the water turned a pale blue. The man knew her moods before she did, she thought. She did twenty laps before rolling lazily to her back. When she reached out, his fingers linked with hers.
"I'm pretty relaxed."
"Are you?"
"Yeah, so relaxed I probably couldn't fight off some pervert who wanted to take advantage of me."
"Well then." He snagged her waist, turning her until they were face to face.
"Well then." She wrapped her legs around him and let him keep her afloat.
When their mouths met, even the whisper of tension fled. She felt loose and fluid and quietly needy. Sliding her fingers up, she combed them through his hair—thick, wet silk. His body was firm and cool against hers and fit in a way she'd nearly stopped questioning. She all but purred as
his hands skimmed over her, just hinting of possession.
Then she was underwater, tangled with him in that pale blue world. When his mouth closed over her breast, she shivered with the thrill of sensation, from the shock of being unable to gasp in air. And his fingers were on her, in her, shooting her to a staggering climax that had her clawing toward the surface.
She gulped in air, disoriented, delirious, then felt it whoosh out of her lungs again when his clever mouth replaced his fingers.
The assault on her system was precisely what she'd wanted. Her helplessness. His greed. That he would know it, understand it, and give was a mystery she would never solve.