The Brit

But more importantly, should I?

“Shit!” Danny’s hand is quickly off mine, and I startle, loosening my hold of him. I shouldn’t have. My body lurches off the back, and I’m suddenly sailing through the air, Danny’s yell traveling after me. I hit the water with a slap, sinking quickly before I register the need to kick my feet. Fucking hell. I break the surface on a gasp, my head snapping left and right, my limbs working madly, panic feeding the adrenalin.

“Rose!”

I blink the water from my eyes and see Danny diving off the jet ski, swimming toward me. When he makes it, he’s out of breath, his arm slipping around my waist and pulling me to his body. “What happened?” I splutter, clinging to his shoulders and naturally wrapping my legs around his waist, anything to keep afloat without draining too much more energy.

“A log in the water,” Danny puffs, treading water calmly, keeping us both afloat. “I saw it too late. Turned too quickly.” He reaches forward and pulls my wonky sunglasses up, resting them on my head.

“Goddamn it, Danny.” I heave against him, splattering my chest to his and letting my head flop onto his shoulder. And then I laugh, chuckling into his neck as we bob on the calm water, wrapped around each other. I see the jet ski a short distance away, rolling with the swell of the rippling waves. Neither of us make to break away from each other. One of his arms is under my ass, the other around my waist. I’m quite comfy, my heavy head settled against him, my eyes taking in the vast, still expanse of water stretched out before me. My shock has passed. That feeling is back.

Peace.

Calm.

Comfort.

“Rose?” Danny’s quiet calling of my name sounds unsure. Tentative.

I remain where I am. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

My forehead bunches, my fingers clawing into his back. Something tells me he’s not apologizing for throwing me off the back of his jet ski. “For what?” I ask, my eyes now darting over the sparkling water.

I feel him move, pulling out of our cozy embrace, forcing me to relinquish my resting place on his shoulder. Removing his glasses, he slides them up into his hair. And he stares at me. He doesn’t gaze. It’s not soft or uncertain. He stares. A hard stare. An angry stare. I feel my lungs slowly shrinking. He looks truly remorseful. I almost don’t want to ask. “What are you sorry for?”

His hands move from my waist and crawl onto my face. “This.” His mouth finds mine . . . and I’m gone. Lost. Consumed. Overwhelmed with every feeling imaginable.

Anger for loving it.

Hurt for feeling it.

Guilt for not stopping it.

Pain for the aftermath.

My mission is suddenly all I can think of. My imminent betrayal. “Danny.”

“Shut up, Rose.” His palms press down on the side of my face, his wet mouth working over mine like he’s been there a million times and knows it like the back of his hand. I stop myself from opening up to him for only a second. But then his tongue slips past my lips, and I’m quickly past the point of return. My arms cage him in, my thighs tighten around him. His mouth is salty but wonderful, his lips soft but firm. His hand moves to my hair and clasps my ponytail, fisting it hard, but our kiss remains controlled, our tongues moving smoothly and steadily. Never in my life have I been taken away from the cruelty of my existence. Never have I been swallowed whole by passion. I’m drowning. Struggling for air. Fighting to keep my head my own. Our moans are mingling, loud and gratifying, and Danny consistently nips at my bottom lip, pulling away from my mouth long enough for me to find more air before he finds my lips again and explores every bit of my mouth.

I find his hair and grip it, pushing him closer to me. Something tells me this is it. He’s lost his battle to resist me. I’ve won.

Or have I lost?

“Have you ever imagined how amazing something would be?” He talks around my lips, unwilling to give them up, devouring me between each word.

“Only once,” I admit, and he breaks our kiss but keeps our faces close, our fingers still knotted in each other’s hair. Now, he’s gazing at me. Truly gazing, eyes full of awe that I’m feeling myself. This hard, evil killing machine makes me melt. He’s discovered emotions and feelings deep within me. Not lost feelings. They were never there in the first place to be lost. These are new feelings. Alien feelings. My body seems to know how to deal with them even if my brain does not.

“Only once?” he counters, scanning my face. “Now?”

I nod, just a fraction, probably not enough to be seen. But with his hands in my hair, he feels it.