Credence

“I’ll be safer with you,” I rush to add, turning my head to glance at him. “I mean, right?”

He stares down at me, almost like he’s not breathing, either. “Yeah,” he mutters.

He finishes reeling the line back in, and I take it from him. Rearing my arm back slowly to give him time to veer out of my way, I cast the line, pressing my thumb into the button as soon as my arm shoots out in front of me. The line—silver in the sunlight—glints as it flies, and I land it just at the far edge of the pool.

“Good,” he says. “One more time.”

His heat covers my back, making the rest of my body miss the warmth. I reel the line back in.

Holding the handle, I inhale through my nose and finally pinpoint the part of his scent I couldn’t place before. Burnt wood. He smells like a fall night.

Unable to stop myself, I lean back a little, meeting his chest with my back as he puts his hand over mine on the handle.

“Am I crowding you?”

“No.” I shake my head.

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Here I am, saying I don’t need help, but please don’t take your hand off.

He fits his grip on top of mine, both of us holding the handle and my arm resting on top of his.

He draws my arm backward. “Back,” he whispers with my thumb on the button and his thumb on me. And then we throw it, flicking our wrists as he calls out, “Release,” casting the line far out into the stream.

It billows into the air, pulled by the weight of the bait and drops into the water with a plunk.

His chest moves rapidly behind me, and I can barely hear his voice when he says, “That’s good, Tiernan.”

But he doesn’t move.

A light sweat covers my forehead, my breasts heave, and I wonder if his eyes are on them. I hope—

“We haven’t had a woman living in the house since their mother,” he tells me. “I don’t have a… a great track record with taking care of women.”

I look over my shoulder and up at him.

He shakes his head, whispering, “No matter how hard I try.”

His brow is etched with pain as he focuses on the stream, and my throat tightens.

His first love killed herself, and the mother of his children was sent to prison. He feels responsible.

“I thought I was protecting Kaleb and Noah, keeping them secluded up here,” he says, watching his line. “I think I just gave up, though. I didn’t want to fail again.”

I gaze at his eyes and how young they still are. How they betray all the things he still wants.

“I didn’t even have a desire to try,” he murmurs.

Then he looks down at me, and everything else stops.

“But now we have you,” he tells me.

His heated stare holds me frozen, and something pulls at every inch of my skin, begging for something.

His hands. His rough hands.

Heat pools low in my belly, and I’m wet. I feel the slickness between my thighs as I throb, embarrassment rising to my cheeks.