‘Sì, Eva is fine,’ he reassured impatiently. ‘Although I’ve no idea what she was thinking, going for a swim in her condition.’
‘She’s a strong swimmer, and I was right beside her until she decided to head back. Then I made sure I kept an eye on her.’
‘From here, close to where the currents swirl dangerously?’ he accused. He couldn’t see below the water, but he could see the neckline of her gown and knew how long her dress was, and how hopelessly inept she would’ve been at saving herself had she been caught in a rip current.
Her mouth twisted as she treaded water. ‘Did I not mention I was regional champion swimmer? It was one of the many almost talents my parents tried and failed to turn me into. Sadly, I never made it to nationals. One of my many, many failures, I guess.’ The bitterness in her voice caught him in the raw, threatened to rip open a place he didn’t want touched. Especially not since her declaration this afternoon.
‘So you thought you’d add one more tick to this imaginary quota by wearing a dress that adds at least twenty pounds to your body weight when it’s soaking wet?’ he snarled, all the alien feelings that had been bubbling through him since their conversation on the terrace this afternoon rising to the edge.
She looked away from him, and he could’ve sworn she blushed before her face tightened with deep unhappiness. ‘Not exactly.’
He caught hold of her shoulders and pointed her towards the beach. ‘Swim back now.’
Her chin rose mutinously. ‘Or what?’
Despite the dark emotions swirling through him...the searing agony of knowing that ultimately this woman didn’t want him, the knife-edge of arousal lanced him at the fire in her eyes. ‘You swim back under your own steam or I drag you back. Those are the only two choices available to you.’
‘Romeo—’
‘Now,’ he interrupted her, unable to believe how like heaven and how very much like hell it felt to hear his name on her lips. ‘You may be in a hurry to end this marriage, but it won’t be through you carelessly drowning yourself.’
Her mouth dropped open in stunned shock, and he wanted to believe tears filled her eyes, but she turned abruptly and struck out towards shore before he could be certain, her strokes surprisingly swift and strong considering what she wore. He waited until she was a few dozen feet away before he followed.
She was wading waist deep by the time he passed her a few metres from shore. Heading for the cabana where fresh supplies of towels were stocked, he grabbed two and stalked back.
‘You had no right to say that to me!’
Romeo looked up and stopped dead. ‘What the hell are you wearing? Where’s the rest of your dress? And I had no right to say what?’ he tagged on abstractedly, unable to tear his eyes away from her body.
‘To say that I’d deliberately drown myself.’
‘I didn’t say you’d do it deliberately, but I didn’t think you’d be that careless, either. Although from the look of you, I was wrong in my assumption.’
The bottom part of her dress was missing, leaving her clad in a scrap of wet white lace that brought a growl straining from his chest. And with the top part wet and plastered to her skin, Romeo wondered how long he would last on his own two feet before the strength of need pounding through him buckled his knees.
Under the lights strung out between the palm trees, he watched heat crawl up her face. Although it was a fraction of the fire lighting through his veins. ‘Care to tell me what happened to the rest of your dress?’ he asked, his voice thick and alien to his own ears.
She waved at the sand near the steps. ‘The skirt’s over there. The top and bottom are joined by a zip,’ she supplied. ‘See, I wasn’t as stupid as you imagined,’ she added bitterly. ‘Nor did I plan on risking drowning, either accidentally or deliberately. Amongst other things, I love my son too much to do that.’
Romeo wanted to ask what those other things were, whether it could include him, but for the first time in his life he stepped back from the need to know, his mind clasping on the fact that she hadn’t corrected him on the need to end their marriage. Weariness moved through him, parts of him he didn’t want to acknowledge feeling brutalised, as if he’d gone ten rounds with an unseen opponent and emerged the loser.
‘Are you going to stand there all night or will you hand me one of those towels?’ she asked in a low, tense voice.
He started to hand it to her, then stopped. Moving closer, he stared into her eyes, darker now with whatever emotions swirled through her. ‘You’re not a failure.’