“Oh, Ialwaysoffer.”
Before he could step closer, she splashed him—hard, a full wave across his bare chest.
He jumped back, sputtering. “You little traitor.”
She giggled—open, delighted, the sound high and bright as the sky. Her hair stuck to her cheeks and neck, wild. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
He stared at her a beat too long.
Was this really Helen? His Helen? With her soft voice and careful hands, darting glances and lowered lashes—was now soaked to the knees, laughing like a girl who didn’t care who was watching. Who’d followed him into a stolen skiff, into a hidden lagoon, into a lake without shoes or shame.
“Fine,” he said, recovering with a grin. “You want a war? I’ll give you a war.”
He splashed her back, aiming low. She shrieked. Dolly barked from the bank.
They lunged and twisted through the shallows, water slapping up in glittering arcs. She ducked under his arm, sent a sneak attack up his back. He chased her, stumbled, caught her wrist—only for her to twist away, laughing the whole time.
He lost himself in it. The wildness. The freedom. The way her shift floated around her like seafoam. The way his heart’s lake swelled—unwound, light, like nothing could touch him.
When he caught her at last, she was breathless, slick with water, curls pasted to her forehead. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her slightly, just enough to make her squeal. Then he stilled.
Her chest rose rapidly against his. Her hands settled at the base of his neck. Her laughter faded—but the glow remained in her eyes.
She didn’t pull away.
Neither did he.
He lowered her back into the water slowly, carefully, never letting go.
Then he kissed her.
Not with heat this time, but with reverence. Her lips were soft and wet, her mouth parting easily beneath his, and he kissed her like the whole day had been building to this—not the ache, not the teasing, but thestillnessof the moment. The rightness.
She rested her head on his shoulder, arms draped around him, the water rocking gently at their waists.
Nic held her close, one hand tracing slow circles at the small of her back. His mouth found the curve of her temple, then the shell of her ear.
“How do you do it,” he murmured, more to himself.
Helen looked up at him, “What?”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “Nothing. Just trying to figure out what kind of danger I’m in.”
He kissed her—lightly, deeply. Then just held her, waist-deep in summer, neither of them in any rush to leave.
