Thea tracked back up his body to meet his eyes, still the color of brandy, but hot brandy that stirred her own rising heat. His gaze was so intense she had to look away, to his dark hair, the curls not so wild when wet. A droplet of water trickled over his cheek and jaw, down his throat, gathering other droplets as it went. She followed its progress all the way down his body, gripping the rock so she would not catch that droplet on her finger and touch it to her tongue.
A strange longing hit her so forcefully she forgot to breathe.
A fierce, hungry longing to dive down inside him, like he himself was a lake and she could travel deep under his surface and discover what marvels lay beneath. Surely, she’d find some magical kingdom, within his depths, where she could begin to understand the workings of his mind, his heart, his body, his soul.
It started with his eyes, she knew. So she gathered her courage and looked back at his face.
“You were swimming,” she said, her voice too high.
“Hmm.”
“I never saw anyone swim like that before. All that splashing.”
“I learned that method from watching members of a Native tribe in America.” His voice sounded rougher, smokier than usual. A little breathless; from his exertions, no doubt. “It enables one to swim with more power and speed.”
“What is chasing you?”
“Hmm?”
“You do not swim to a destination, so surely you require speed only if something is chasing you?”
Thea thought she made an excellent point, but Rafe had that look again, as if he didn’t know what to make of her, yet enjoyed her anyway.
He sidled another few inches toward her. Perhaps if she straightened her legs, she could wrap them around his waist.
“It’s the crocodiles,” he said solemnly.
“You have crocodiles in your lake in Somersetshire?”
He edged closer. “Don’t worry. They’re mostly friendly.”
“Friendly crocodiles?”
“Mostly friendly.”
Under the water, he grabbed her ankle. She yelped then slammed her mouth shut. His hand was firm and sure and oddly warm, and as he traced her bones with his thumb, sensations sizzled up her legs.
“So…” His eyes dropped to her ankle in his hand, still under the water. “The famously, fabulously fascinating ankles.”
When he released her foot, it came to a natural rest against his hip, where his skin burned her and the waistband of his drawers tickled her. He ran his fingers up her calf to the back of her knee, then down again. Up and down.
And perhaps it was those sizzling sensations, or the defiant thought that she had as much right to touch him as he did her, or the desperate knowledge that soon she must leave, she must confess, and never again would he spout nonsense about crocodiles or argue about dessert or hold her ankle in his hand—whatever compelled her, Thea touched him too.
She poked at a sunlit droplet of water on his shoulder and smeared it over his skin. Her fingers brushed the edge of a ragged scar.
“The jaguar got you here, too,” she murmured.
“Hmm.”
Spreading her fingers wide, she pressed her whole palm over as much of his shoulder as she could.
“It was in a tree and pounced on me from behind,” he said. “I heard it and spun, and it caught my face.”
“And then?”
She trailed her fingers along his collarbone. He didn’t seem to mind. He was still running his hand up and down the back of her calf. And even when his touch slid down, the sensations kept going up and up and up.
“The other men were there with the dogs and guns. The jaguar decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and leaped up into the trees. It was over before I understood it had begun.”
“They didn’t shoot the jaguar, did they?”
“It was too fast. Besides, I cannot blame it; I was in its forest, stealing its flowers.”
Gently, he lifted her ankle, straightening her knee. Her leg looked small in his big hand, his weathered skin darker than her own. Though he touched her only in the one place, she felt his touch everywhere, from her throat to her breasts to her quim.
“You look a little flushed,” he murmured, his eyes knowing and intent.
“It’s warm today, don’t you think?”
“Swim with me. Right now.”
“My gown…”
“Leave it on. Take it off. I don’t care.”
She caught a droplet hanging from his hair. “Swimming fully clothed… That seems rather impulsive.”
“It won’t be impulsive if you keep bloody talking about it.”
“You are so grumpy.”
“I am not.”
But he was smiling. Properly smiling, dimple and all. Thea slid an arm around his neck and gave him her weight. He lifted her down into the water, blessedly cool against her hot, tormented skin. Her skirts bunched around her; laughing, she pushed the air out of them and they grudgingly sank below the surface to swirl heavily. Her foot bumped him, and she slid it up his leg, over the roughness of his hairs. Those assured legs did not falter as he pushed back through the water, sweeping her away with him. Her feet did not touch the bottom, but she did not need firm ground to stand, not when he held her in his sure, strong arms.