Seven Minutes in Heaven(80)

“I want to kiss you.” He moved backward, farther out. He didn’t pull her toward him; he merely squeezed her hands, as if to promise, you are safe.

She looked down at their feet. Although he was no more than an arm’s length from her, his ankles were completely submerged.

“Are you trying to bribe me?”

“You’ll have kisses, either way,” Ward assured her.

But he made a little sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat when she stepped toward him.

He crushed her against his body, his hands running over her bottom and pulling her even tighter. Then he took another step back, bringing her with him. Her hands clenched on his shoulders.

“All right?” he murmured.

The water was brushing her calves, but she felt so overheated that its cool caress was welcome.

“Are you certain no one can see us?” she gasped, because his hand was caressing her breast.

“Quite certain,” Ward promised in a rusty voice. “Your back is to the house. Close your eyes.” Her chemise was no barrier to his mouth. Eugenia’s knees weakened, but he supported her.

She didn’t notice that he had guided her further out until cold water reached her thighs. Her eyes popped open.

“You’re seducing me into the water!” she gasped, pulling away from his arms and standing free.

He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. For a moment she was struck by the sheer beauty of his face and arched neck. The shadow of lashes on his cheek, the sunlight striking gold from his hair.

He gathered her close again, and picked her up. Her legs curled around his hips just as they had when she lay underneath him in bed. Her chemise billowed around her, floating on the surface.

He took another step backward, bringing her bottom perilously close to the water. Eugenia wrapped her arms around his neck. “You cannot possibly think that we—that we could—”

“Well, we could,” Ward said, laughter threading through his voice. “But perhaps not during your first swimming attempt?”

“You must be joking!” Eugenia cried, missing the step that brought water all the way to her waist. “This is cold!” she squeaked, huddling against his chest.

“Your body will warm in a minute,” Ward said, nuzzling her ear.

Eugenia took a shuddering breath. “Very well, you may go a little deeper.”

Ward grinned. “I think you said the same thing last night.”

She pinched him in reply, and ordered, “Farther out, please, before I change my mind.”

When the water reached her shoulders, Eugenia made two discoveries. The first was that, below the water’s surface, her breasts looked enticingly mermaid-like.

The second was when one is plastered against a warm male body, cold water was surprisingly tolerable.

“I do not want the water to go over my head,” she told him. As secure as she felt with Ward, she had reached her limit.

“This is far enough for today,” he reassured her. “Uncurl your legs, Eugenia. I’m going to slide an arm under them.”

Somehow she forced her legs straight in the water. She trusted Ward with every particle of her being. He wouldn’t let her sink.

“You’re changing everything,” she whispered, squinting up at him as she floated—actually floated!—with the support of his arm at her back.

“I’m making you into a swimmer.” He scooped her back up against his chest again. “Enough for the day.”

Eugenia couldn’t stop smiling. “I floated!” He had opened doors for her, doors inside herself that she never knew existed.

“You did,” Ward said, kissing her nose. “Next thing I know, you’ll be swimming the Channel.”

“Do people do that?”

“Not as far as I know,” he replied cheerfully. “But you’re a woman who goes where others don’t, Eugenia.”

“Floating is enough,” she replied, resting her cheek against his chest.

Ward was plowing steadily through the water and up onto the shingle. “I think we should make this a daily ritual.” His voice was dark and needy.

Following his gaze, Eugenia looked down. Her dripping chemise clung to every curve. It was so thin that the tuft of hair between her legs could be seen through the fabric.

Morning ritual, Ward had said. He was planning their life together. They were both experiencing this new, tender emotion carved out of desire.

She felt a bolt of happiness that warmed even her chilled toes. “There’s more to us than desire,” she said. She could not shout that she loved him and she knew he loved her, even though it was true.

Ladies didn’t do that. Not proper, even for those conducting an illicit affaire.