by Lily Cahill
“Stay here,” Clayton said. “In case we need the car.” In a flash, he stripped down to his swim trunks and launched off the edge.
The water was cold—a huge mass of snowmelt not yet warmed by the early June sunshine. The whole lake had been ice not six weeks ago. Clayton stifled his shock as he peered through the depths. He couldn’t see her. The water was clear and clean, but he couldn’t see her.
He surfaced for a breath, then dove deeper. What if she’d hit her head? What if she’d gotten caught on something? The thought of her trapped underwater was nearly enough to make Clayton go into a panic himself. But he willed himself on, farther and farther down. As he descended, he could feel the pressure increasing, pressing on his eyes and squeezing his temples. How long could someone survive under here? How long had she been under? Two minutes? Three?
Then, in the distance, he saw her. She wasn’t struggling, she was floating gently in the sway of the waters. And there was something odd, obscuring her face. The sight of her like that—not fighting, not moving—sent terror through him. He swam harder, faster.
But as he got closer, the sight looked all wrong. Her limbs weren’t just swaying. Her legs moved intentionally, slowly propelling her forward. And the thing obscuring her face wasn’t a thing at all. It was nothing.
It was air. It was a pocket of air.
That couldn’t be right, could it? He was short on air himself. His lungs were screaming for it. Maybe he was losing consciousness. Maybe he was closer to the edge than he thought.
At that second, Cora turned to look at him. Their eyes met and the bubble that had been around her head disappeared, floated up, up, up. The water swallowed her whole.
She flailed and kicked, launching her body up. Clayton reached out for her, snatching her hand to pull her to the top.
After what seemed like too long—his chest begging for relief with every kick—they surfaced, coughing and gasping for air. Then Cora smacked his arm and yanked her hand from his.
“What was that for?” Clayton asked. He was genuinely shocked. He had expected at least a thank you for saving her.
“I didn’t need your help.”
“I saw you go in. You were under way too long. What the hell were you doing down there?” he asked, the irritation bright in his voice.
Before she could answer, Clayton heard a clamor from above.
“Put me down, assholes,” Charlie yelled. But there was a trace of laughter in his voice. The guys had obviously seen them surface and moved on with their fun.
“Bombs away!”
Clayton looked up just in time to see Will and Frank hurl Charlie over the cliff.
“Let’s get you back to shore.” Clayton took her hand and started to lead her in.
“I can get to shore myself,” Cora said, pulling her hand away as Charlie bobbed to the surface with a mighty boom of laughter.
“Look out below!” Will yelled from above, then he and Frank flew off the cliff together, landing in the water with a giant splash. This time, they were close enough to feel it.
Cora turned her face away as the water sprayed them both. She rolled her eyes and huffed as the guys broke out into a full-on splash fight not five feet away from them, shouting and calling each other colorful names. Cora turned and swam toward shore.
Clayton followed. This conversation wasn’t over. The more he thought about it, the more he knew what he’d seen had been right. She’d been swimming inside a bubble of air. She was different. They were both different. She was like him. He had to talk to her, and without his buddies there to listen.
Cora was a fast swimmer, lithe and strong, and even though he was irritated, he was impressed by her smooth, even strokes. It was like she was made to live in the water.
He caught up with her as they reached the shore and couldn’t help but notice the way her slip had grown sheer from getting wet. It clung to her body in all the right places, hugging her breasts and dipping between her bare thighs. Clayton forced his gaze away, but it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. His instincts were telling him to take her in his arms, let his hands explore the places where the silk adhered to her, feel what it was feeling. He was jealous of that slip. Very jealous. He’d never been so jealous of anything in his life.
Then he realized that she was staring at him too. She was breathing a little heavier, her mouth slightly open and her gaze fixed on him. He tried to tell himself that it was just the exertion of the swim making her look that way—so wanting, so ready. Then he caught her glance shift down and realized with embarrassment that his desire was all too obvious, straining against his swim trunks. No wonder she was staring.
He turned away from her, tried to think of something else—anything else—but that trail of water dribbling down her stomach as it dripped from her hair. Damn.
He wanted to taste it. He wanted to lick it off her skin.
Knock it off, he told himself. He couldn’t feel this way. Just couldn’t. She was a goddamned Murphy.
God. What if they were alike? What if he was just like a Murphy? His family would disown him.
He coughed, then took a few deep breaths to refocus his thoughts. He needed answers, and he needed them now.
She must have taken his silence for disinterest because she started tromping through the trees and up the trail that led back to the top of the cliff.
He caught up with her and tugged her hand, “Wait,” he said, relieved that they were hidden by the trees, that Will wouldn’t be able to see him touching her like that.
She turned to him and her face looked so open, so fresh. There were those eyes again, deep and blue as the lake. And that mouth, scarlet as a blooming rose in a summer garden. He felt the need to kiss her rise in him again. Could she want the same thing? Or was he reading his own desire into the expression on her face?
“What?” Cora asked, her voice breathy and soft. “What do you want?”
He had to concentrate. He had to know the truth—had to know if they were the same. If only he could talk to her—to anyone—about what had happened to him.
“How did you stay under so long?”
Her look changed and she yanked her hand away from his. He was wrong. She didn’t want him. She was mad at him.
“I held my breath.”
“That’s not possible,” he said, angry now. Of course she was denying it. That’s what Murphys did. They lied.
But what did he expect her to do? Come right out and tell him she was peculiar? If anyone asked him, wouldn’t he lie too? He’d been trying not to even think about it, much less tell anyone.
When he spoke again, he tried to take the accusation out of his tone. He tried to speak softly, to keep from scaring her away. This was too important. He reached for her hand again. “You were under for nearly two minutes.”
“No I wasn’t. Not the whole time,” she said. “I came up for air once. Didn’t you see me?”
She looked away. He saw it now, the fear in her eyes. She was so scared she couldn’t even look at him. In that moment, he realized he couldn’t take her secret from her. Or force it. He would have to earn it from her—at least he would try. When she gave it, it would be hers to give.
“No,” he said. “I must have missed it.”
“I have to go.” She turned toward the path.
“Please don’t,” he said, tugging on her hand. “I want to talk to you.”
She whirled on him.
“Didn’t you already humiliate me enough at the festival?” Her voice cracked at the end—just a little. He could see that she wouldn’t let herself cry in front of him. “Maybe I am a Murphy. But kissing me like that? That was cruel.”
Cora turned away again, but Clayton still held her hand. And he wasn’t about to let it go. Not now that he knew that kiss had meant something to her, too. He pulled her back to him and pressed his lips against hers.
Her mouth was like velvet, so soft and so damn sweet. She gasped and he used the moment to delve deeper into the kiss
, exploring her mouth with his tongue. God, she was delectable. He strung his fingers through her wet hair, the other hand pulling her closer at the waist. She responded to his pull, crushing herself against him and circling her arms around his neck. Her face hadn’t been lying before. It hadn’t.
And the feel of her against him. Oh, God. He felt himself grow even harder at the thought that there was only a thin layer of fabric between them. He could feel the softness of her, the tiny peaks of her nipples against his chest. He longed to kiss them, to allow his tongue to explore more than just her mouth.
He let one hand drift down to cup her bottom and heard her moan. The sound sent a shockwave through his body. Before he knew what he was doing he had both hands on her bottom and was lifting her into his arms. Her legs wrapped around him, pressing her sweet hot center against his trunks.
He lowered them both onto the smooth top of a nearby boulder, aching so badly he could hardly stand it. Every fiber in his being longed to join with her, to claim her with his body, to make her his.
He cupped her breasts, massaging and teasing her nipples through the smooth, wet fabric. Again, she moaned in response. Hearing her only sent his desire higher. He loved that sound. He loved making her make that sound. He wanted to make her do it again and again.
Then he heard something else. The clamor of his friends. They were still messing around in the water, but closer to shore. He had to get ahold of himself. He couldn’t risk letting Will see—Will, who was closer to their father, who would surely tell him how badly Clayton had failed yet again.
He mustered every bit of strength inside of himself and drew back from her, staring into those deep blue eyes as the two of them caught their breath.
“It wasn’t a trick,” he said. “I didn’t know who you were, but it wasn’t a trick.”
He sat up, tried to compose himself. He felt ripped in two directions: his father, his last chance to prove himself. And her, the intriguing woman with the bottomless eyes who might be the only person in the world who was just as damaged as he was. God help him, but he couldn’t just walk away from this. Maybe it was that he couldn’t resist a stupid decision, or maybe it was that he just had a foolish heart, but he needed more.
“I want to see you again,” he said.
“I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“Please,” he said.
“You’re not the only one with a family who disapproves.”
“So we’ll keep it a secret. At least until we can figure out what this is. I just—I want to see you again. I have to. I like you, Cora.”
Cora searched his eyes, and he could see her trying to find the lie. Would it even be possible to regain her trust?
She broke into his thoughts with one simple word, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“You can pick me up tomorrow night after seven. No one should be home.”
Clayton broke into a grin. He knew this was a terrible idea, but he felt the same sort of thrill as when he’d gunned the engine of his boat. He might be headed for disaster, but he couldn’t wait to enjoy the ride.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cora
It was so hot that Cora’s clothes were nearly dry, and she’d only left the lake ten minutes ago. The summer seemed to be coming fast and strong this year, not gentle with the June breeze but all at once. The heat was nearly as intense as July. She wanted to turn back to the lake and stay in the water until the sun went down. But she couldn’t. If she went back there now, Clayton would probably change his mind. Or maybe he wouldn’t be there at all and she would realize that she’d imagined the whole thing. Stranger things had happened in the last few days.
She brushed her fingers across her swollen lips. It really had happened. The way he’d come after her, she thought she’d been caught at first. But no. Clayton hadn’t discovered her secret. Why would he jump to such a conclusion? He’d wanted to kiss her, and more. So much more.
She’d been so swept up in the moment, in him—how his hands felt around her, beneath her, pressing her to him—that she’d almost lost control. What would have happened if he hadn’t stopped it? Would she have just given herself to him, just like that?
She wanted to think she wouldn’t have, but she wasn’t sure. All her life it had been easy to resist the temptation of boys. She didn’t want to end up like her mother and had thought she’d been staying strong. But really, there had never been a single boy who had been a temptation. Not like Clayton. She had always prided herself on her restraint, but now she realized it wasn’t restraint at all. It was disinterest. No one had ever affected her the way Clayton did. Not once.
She felt herself flush at the very memory of what he had looked like standing there in his tight swim trunks, his muscular chest exposed to the sunlight, his erection straining toward her, longing for her the way she longed for him. She wondered what it would feel like to touch it, to touch him there and have him touch her too. The thought made her breath short.
She had to stop. She had to get ahold of herself. What if he was trying to take advantage of her? What if he only wanted her for one thing? She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—end up like her mother, knocked up at seventeen and tied for life to a brute.
A little voice whispered inside her. Was that comparison fair? Hadn’t she wanted it all? Hadn’t she longed for his kiss, his touch? Besides, Clayton was nothing like her father. He was kind and strong—wasn’t he? Surely he wouldn’t do to her what her father had done to her mother?
She was getting ahead of herself. This was ridiculous. She barely knew him. And he hadn’t declared his love. He’d barely asked her on a date.
A date.
A date.
She was going on a date with Clayton Briggs.
The thought sent a fresh wave of terror through her heart. She suddenly realized that she had no idea what a date with Clayton would even be like. Where would he take her? What would he want to do? How was she supposed to act; what was she supposed to wear? She couldn’t imagine a single dress in her wardrobe that would be appropriate for any of the possibilities.
At the very least, she was even more certain that he hadn’t seen her little trick underwater. If he had, he would never have asked her out. Honestly, what had she been thinking? And really, what had he been thinking?
If it wasn’t lust, it suddenly seemed completely impossible that he had asked her out of anything other than pity. Maybe the kiss at the festival had been a joke, and he’d felt guilty about it. Maybe he saw her on that beach, all soggy and moon-eyed, and felt so bad for her he decided to ask her out as an act of charity.
But he had said he liked her.
He liked her.
Did he really like her? She didn’t see how it could be true. They barely knew each other. How could he possibly like her?
But then, she realized, she liked him. She liked him a lot. And she knew almost as much about him as he knew about her. Their families were equally well-known in town, but her knowledge of him as a person was just as limited as most people’s assumptions about her.
Still, she liked him. She knew she did. He was so incredibly handsome. And the way their bodies felt together was pure magic. But was it just the kissing? Was she letting herself be blinded by her desire for him physically? She was the practical one. She ought to have better control over herself.
Cora kicked a rock at her feet. She wanted to explode. This was all so confusing. She couldn’t imagine how people ever fell in love at all.
Had she just thought the word ‘love’?
Oh, dear Lord.
She was losing her mind.
Cora tried to put Clayton out of her mind as she worked on the day’s baking. If she hadn’t lost so much time messing around with the water this morning, she would have had the cupcakes done in time to deliver to Mrs. Goodman on her way to Dr. Pinkerton’s office. The morning already seemed like it had happened weeks ago. What a confusing, crazy day it had been.
Cora preheated the oven, then rea
lized her only cupcake pan was still dirty from whipping up muffins for breakfast this morning. It gave her an idea. While she was in the lake today—before Clayton had rudely interrupted her—she had decided to practice her new skills whenever she got the chance. Now seemed like the perfect opportunity. She turned on the faucet and concentrated on directing the flow from one side of the sink to the other. She didn’t want another giant mess on her hands. It worked, rushing down the metal pan just as it would have coming out of the faucet. But that was little help. She’d still have to scrub to get the thing clean. What she needed was more pressure.
She concentrated harder, focused on speed, on the rush of water. All at once, water blasted out of the faucet and onto the pan. There was a loud, metallic thunk. Cora looked down to see that she’d bent the pan nearly in half.
No! It was her only one. How would she make the cupcakes now?
She pulled it out of the sink. It was certainly cleaner but shaped like an L, with the crease right at the middle. Perhaps she could bend it back into shape. But when she tried to press it over her knee, the thing just snapped in half. She supposed she could still use it like that, but it made her cringe to realize she would have to spend money to replace it soon. Cora decided that was enough practice for today. She removed the remaining bits of muffin with elbow grease instead.
With the pan clean and ready to use, she set about mixing the ingredients. She added flour and sugar to the bowl, then vanilla, oil, and eggs. As she stirred the batter, she imagined Clayton in the kitchen, watching her bake. And not just any kitchen—their kitchen. She imagined them in an apartment of their own—something small and sweet and cozy that they could fill with warmth on cold winter nights. In her imaginary world there were no Briggs and no Murphys, just them. She imagined him walking up behind her as she baked. How would it feel to have his arm circle around her waist, feel the press of his lips to her neck as he sneakily dipped his finger into the batter? The idea of it made her melt.
This was silly. Did he even like cake? She had no idea.