Some impish whim kept her silent.
“What was that?” He bent his head close to hers, his hair feathering across her cheek.
Heat shot through her, along with the languorous impulse to lay her head back against his shoulder and close her eyes. His arm was still firmly about her, his other hand resting on her hip.
“Very well,” she whispered. “I surrender.”
“You will not run again?” His breath warmed her ear.
“I promise….”
Slowly he opened his arms.
“I promise to run as fast as I can.” She darted away, and he followed, a single laugh pulled from his throat.
“So that’s the way of it?” He caught her easily, despite his uneven gait, and scooped her up in his arms. “I can see that someone needs to introduce you to the sea.”
Before she could protest, he waded into the surf, still carrying her. The cool water foamed over her feet and curled about her ankles, climbing higher with each step. Now the backs of her thighs, the chemises flapping wetly. She did enjoy swimming, truly. It was just getting into the water that was difficult.
“Mr. Trentham!” She tried to scramble up him as he lowered her into the water, but he would not let her go.
At last her feet found the bottom, the ocean surging around her waist.
“All right?” His grip on her hand never faltered. “We need to go deeper.”
She nodded, could not help gasping as the layers of cotton wicked moisture up, the fabric damp nearly to her breasts.
“Alex, I’m not sure—”
“You’re making it much harder than it needs to be.” He led her farther from shore.
They were past where the gentle waves broke, into that place of buoyant swells. She reached for him, and he supported her effortlessly. Water curled around her ribs, lapping up her spine—shockingly pleasant. When it rose past the curve of her breasts, Caroline let out a breath. There. It was not so bad after all. A laugh escaped her.
He looked at her, eyes dark with amusement. “You survived.”
“I’ve finally found the best way to enter the sea. Pity I can’t take you with me every time I desire a swim.”
The bright sun on the surface dazzled, reflecting the light in an infinite variety of shifting patterns. It was pleasant here in the water, she had to admit. But not as pleasant as it had been in his arms.
Chapter 11
Alex fought the urge to take Caroline back into his embrace and press kisses on her full, tempting lips. It had been foolish to bring her here alone, and even more foolish to have carried her into the sea. God knew he wanted her—wanted to taste her, feel her sweet curves pressed against him. Instead he let the water roll and surge, let the cool weight of the sea take some of the heat from him.
Chasing her down the beach had been one of the best moments he could remember, knowing he would ultimately catch her, sharing her delight as she laughed into the wind. What was it about this woman that made it impossible for him to act sensibly? Every time he thought he had reinforced the barriers, she said or did something that delighted him, that reminded him he was still alive.
“Shall we begin?” She was looking expectantly at him.
Oh yes, her rehabilitation. He forced himself to resume the role of doctor.
“Start by pushing the water away from you. Flex the joint. That’s it.”
“Goodness, my arm feels like it’s made of lead.” She swirled the water in front of her, then made great arcs back and forth, nearly losing her footing in the process.
“Steady.” He moved to stand behind her, ready to brace her or fish her out if she went under, but she surprised him. In one smooth movement she launched herself into a breaststroke, heading parallel to the shore. He stood, evaluating her form a moment. Good, she knew how to handle herself in the water, though her arm would tire easily.
It did not take him long to draw even with her; she was a decent swimmer, but he was better. The water was his best friend now, more than the land, where each step recalled him to the burden of the past.
She glanced over and smiled, then stopped moving and let her feet find purchase. “You were right—a dreadful habit of yours, I must say. This feels wonderful.”
“How does your elbow feel? Strain? Ache?”
“Fine.” She pushed a wet tendril of hair back. “Though a bit noodley.”
“Ah, noodley. A well-known medical term for that very condition. Indeed, you have a serious case of noodley arm.”
“And what do the medical texts recommend for such a malady?”
He stroked his chin and pretended to ponder. “A bit of butter and garlic, or perhaps a nice tomato basil sauce.”
“Do you mock me, sir?” She looked down her nose at him, but her eyes were laughing. He caught the motion of her arm and ducked just as a glittering spray of water arced toward him.
He swam underwater, finally emerging deeper out. She was scanning the water around her, brows drawn together until she caught sight of him.
“There you are! I declare, are you part seal?”
“I was born beside the sea—a far wilder one than this. As a lad I had to be a strong swimmer or the current would drag me away.”
She paddled toward him. “A lad? I can hardly imagine you as one.”
He shrugged. “I can hardly imagine it either. Come, let’s swim to those rocks.”
It deflected her, as he knew it would. Miss Caroline Huntington could never resist a challenge. It was not too far to where the rocky arm of the hills curled in to shelter the cove, but Alex was careful to pace her, ready to offer his own strength if hers faltered. A few minutes later she hoisted herself up onto the warm reddish stone.
“Ah,” she said, “you must agree it is more pleasant in the sun than in the water. Do climb out.”
He could not.
The bathing costume she had fashioned, while scarcely modest when dry, was stunningly inadequate when wet. The garment clung to her, almost transparent despite the double layer of fabric. Her breasts were clearly outlined, the dusky rose of her nipples pressing against the cloth.
He swallowed, his breathing ragged, and not from the exertion of swimming. There was no way he could join her; his aroused state would be immediately obvious, and the cool water did nothing to assuage him. She seemed unaware of his reaction, or of how exposed she was, lying back with one arm pillowed under her head.
No wonder sailors ran their ships aground when they saw mermaids sunning on rocks. Lonely men, long from the company of women.
He cleared his throat. “I’m going to swim a bit longer.”
“Very well. I’ll just have a nap. Wake me when you’re done.” She brought her arm up, laying it across her eyes.
Heat pulsed in his groin, and he could not take his gaze from her. Her throat curved down in a graceful line to the dip of her collarbone, and the shape of her breasts made his body ache with wanting. Her belly, her hips, the sweet length of her legs…
With a groan Alex pushed off from the rocks and swam away from her—this siren, this temptress who did not even know her own power.
It took two circuits of the cove before he gained enough control over himself to return. Without looking at her, beyond seeing that her eyes were still closed, he pulled himself onto the rocks beside her and resolutely stared out to sea.
The light was starting to fall into heavy afternoon. This time of day, in summer, everyone would be home, shades drawn, trying to find escape from the heat in dreaming, but that was months away. Now it was perfect, air as warm as his own breath, gentling the touch of the sea from his skin.
“Caroline. Wake up.” He turned to her.
She murmured but did not stir. Temptation rose over him in a sudden wave and pulled him under. He bent, pressed a kiss on her shoulder, her cheek, the point of her jaw. When he reached her lips he felt her smile beneath his mouth. She lifted her arm and hooked it about his neck, and he was lost.
The desire he had held in check r
oared through him, as unstoppable as a rogue wave. His mouth claimed hers, hotly, desperately, and she welcomed him, arching up into the kiss. Impossible, courageous woman. His hand moved to her breast, touching her through the thin layers of cotton, learning her exact curve and how it fitted to his palm.
Her nipple stood erect, and he brushed it lightly with his thumb, back and forth, teasing her, tempting her.
“Ah.” Her voice was soft, laden with arousal.
He laid one leg across her thighs and slid over her, covering her. “Siren,” he murmured. She had lured him here, all unknowing. It was a welcome doom.
Her hands smoothed down his sides, caressed his ribs. Years of rigidly suppressed need leapt when she touched him, a dark flood that threatened to carry him away. Alex was drowning—in her kiss, in the feel of her softness against him, with only the thin barrier of layered cotton between his skin and hers.
“Caroline,” he breathed, then placed urgent kisses down the curve of her throat. He was so full of wanting.
She sighed and arched back, her breasts pushing against him, the flutter of her pulse fast under his hungry mouth. He slid his hands around to brace her, then dipped his head lower, taking one nipple into his mouth through the cloth. She moaned deep in her throat as he curled his tongue around the tight peak and sucked gently.
So lovely, so passionate. He had known she would be, knew it from the fire in her eyes, the way she never backed down from a challenge.
He moved to her other breast, teasing and stroking her with his tongue until the nipple pressed tautly against the damp cotton. She was intoxicating—he could lose himself in the valley between her breasts, or in the rounded rise of her hips, where his hands circled. Or her ripe lips. He kissed her there again and she met him, moving her mouth under his, wanting him as much as he wanted her.
Nothing could cool this fire, not a thousand swims in a thousand seas. He was burning and only the taste of her could quench him. His tongue swept against hers, mouths fused together, and he was acutely aware of her hands splayed across his naked back, the press of her breasts and stomach and thighs. Need coiled through him, tightened his groin to an unbearable ache.
Some sliver of sanity held him back, even as he ravished her mouth and held her hard against him, some awareness that remembered who he was. What he was.
With a harsh groan he broke the kiss, but he could not relinquish her. Not yet. He needed to hold her, needed the feel of her burned into his body. Something to remember during the long nights after she had gone.
She slowly opened her eyes and stared up at him. This close it seemed as though shards of sunlight danced in their brown depths.
“Well.” Her voice was unsteady. “Was that part of your cure, too?”
“Was it effective?”
She wet her lips with her tongue. “I must say it was.”
“Good.” It affected him more than she would ever know. Their kisses already deviled his nights—this would make them nearly unbearable.
An impish smile lit her face. “I presume the treatment will take several applications.”
How she tempted him. But he was returned to himself now, no longer a sailor and a captive mermaid, lost in some dreaming shred of myth. He shook his head and rolled off her, then got to his feet. Impossible to stay so close without touching her again.
She sat up and tilted her head at him. “Are we swimming back?” She waved across the cove toward the white foam of the almond tree.
“Unless you fancy a barefoot walk over sharp rocks. Or—I could carry you.”
“You would, too.” She gave him a measuring look. “That will not be necessary. I suppose I must go back into the water.” A delicate shiver ran through her.
“Jump in. Like this.” Alex found handholds and climbed up onto the highest rock. “There’s a flat spot here,” he called, “perfect for diving.”
He looked down at the blue waves, a good twenty feet below, then launched himself, spearing cleanly into the water. Into the rushing, cool embrace of the sea, deep blue shading to lightness, then the pure air as he emerged. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and looked up at her. “Care to try?”
She had her arms clasped around her knees. “I really don’t—”
“I’ll catch you.” He sculled himself backward a few feet as she stood and eyed the water. “Unless, of course, you’re afraid.”
That did it—she lifted her chin and scrambled up the rocks. She gained the top and stood, her form perfectly silhouetted against the sky.
“Ready for me?” she called.
“Yes.” More than ready.
“All right.” She drew in a deep breath and leaped.
He was there, ducking beneath the surface moments before she submerged. He caught her, held her close, then kicked them up to the air with a powerful thrust of his legs. They broke free in a gust of spray and laughter.
“Oh my! Oh goodness!” Caroline clung to him, her legs scissoring next to his to help keep them afloat. “I never thought I could do that. It seemed so far, and hitting the water so shocking.”
“But you’re already used to it.” He felt himself smiling at her.
She blinked at him. “Why—I am.” Droplets clung to her lashes. The touch of her hands, water-slick against his skin, made his pulse begin to drum again, low and insistent.
He made himself pull away from her, then nodded at the beach. “After you, milady.”
They went at an easy pace, but partway there he stopped, treading water. He could tell her arm was tiring.
“Hold to me a moment and catch your breath.”
She nodded and grasped his shoulders. He could feel her relax, her breathing ease as they floated together on the waves. The cool sea lapped at the warmth where their bodies touched, and her hair swirled loose and free in the water, brushing his arms and chest. Desire flared again, and he closed his eyes, shutting out everything but the feel of her as they moved in the push and pull of the sea. A slow rhythm, insistent. God, he wanted to step out of time and place and let the tide of wanting carry them someplace far away.
They drifted together another long moment, and then she let go and together they swam to shore. The current fought with him, the shifting sand under his feet, but he knew the sea too well to yield to the undertow. He caught her hand in his, felt her stumble, and immediately pulled her up into his arms.
“Carrying me after all?” Her voice was throaty, but she made no protest, just slipped her arms around his neck and laid her head against his shoulder. “I’m getting used to it, I must confess. Dreadfully spoiled of me.”
“Yes, you’re quite overindulged.” He splashed through the low waves and glanced down at her. “Though hasn’t it crossed your mind that perhaps I have the better end of the bargain? After all, I get to hold a beautiful woman in my arms.”
A blush colored her cheeks and her gaze slipped past his shoulder.
“You don’t believe me?” Alex set her on her feet but kept one arm hooked about her waist. The expression on her face was half yearning, half disbelief. It was an endearing combination, and a rare one on the forthright Caroline Huntington. “I’m quite serious.”
He lifted his hand to her face, traced the curve of her cheek, then set his fingers under her chin. One last kiss, here, today. The two of them alone against the sea. He could not help himself, any more than he could help the beating of his own heart.
It began lightly, full of soft yearning, but soon the fire rose in him, the hunger he could not leash when he held her. He devoured her mouth, his touch restless over her body as she pressed herself against him. It was not enough. He set his hands to her hips and pulled her close, his hard arousal pressed against her, trying to brand the feel of her into his skin, his bones.
She wrapped her arms about his neck and sighed with pleasure. The sound nearly drove him to bear her down onto the sand, tear the layered chemises from her lovely curves, make her indelibly his. Nearly—but she deserved so much better.
/> Slowly, he lifted his head, opened his arms and stepped away from her.
“Time to go.”
Caroline opened her mouth, as if to argue, but he strode past her to the almond tree. A drift of petals had settled on their clothing. He lifted her skirt and shook it, loosing a flurry of white that could almost be snow, then held it open for her to step into. The touch of her hands on his shoulders, the thin drift of her cotton chemise, her fragrance—all these tangled his senses.
She donned her clothing, unhurriedly fastening the buttons and twisting up that fall of sun-shot brown hair. Something bittersweet settled in him, seeing the goddess that had shared the cove with him transform back into a proper Englishwoman, down to the pointed toes of her laced boots.
His own conversion was quicker. Pull on shirt and coat, shake the sand from his boots, run his fingers through his hair. Neither of them spoke, as though by holding their breaths they could spin the afternoon out a few more moments. Words would break the enchantment, and then they would be nothing but two separate, mortal souls, traveling too quickly away from one another.
Chapter 12
England, April 1848
“Keefe. Come in.” Reginald turned from the rain-studded window of his library and waved the viscount to one of the leather-covered armchairs near the fire. “How kind of you to visit. Would you care for a whiskey?”
The blond man draped himself into the indicated chair and drummed his fingers on the arm. His green eyes were watchful. “Just wondering if there has been progress on our current project. Your cousin appears to be delayed.”
Caroline had been due back a week ago. She was spoiling his plans, the blasted woman. Keeping the impatience from his face—though the viscount’s restlessness mirrored his own—Reginald poured a tumbler and handed it to his guest. He was not surprised Keefe had paid him a call. The trick was to keep him on the hook until the chit actually materialized.
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