“Am I supposed to be shocked?” she asked, breathless.
“By what?”
“By your nudity.”
“You did not knock, so I’ve had no opportunity to cover myself decently. Do you wish me to teach you to swim? So that you might take advantage of this pool whenever you wish?”
Christine bit her lip. She was tempted. Deeply tempted. The notion of being in the water with him. Even if he covered himself with a shirt. Of being held by him, her body supported while she…did whatever one does when learning to swim.
“Very well,” she whispered, “but cover yourself…please.”
Tristan’s smile was crooked and, finally, mocking.
“Should I blindfold you?” he asked.
“I will close my eyes.”
She did so and heard Tristan walk across the room. A moment later, he had reentered the water. When she opened them, he was covered from the neck down by the dark water.
“Are you decent?” she asked.
“I am wearing breeches beneath the water,” he said.
She looked around but could not see where he had left his clothes. Cheeks flaming, she discarded her robe and cautiously sat on the stone edge of the pool. Dipping her toes into the water was like getting into a bath. The water was beautifully hot. She pushed forward, letting her feet and then her legs slip into the water, questing for the bottom.
She did not find it. Then her hands slipped, and she fell in, splashing through the surface and sinking several feet. Panic seized her, and she thrashed for a moment until she felt a strong arm around her waist, pulling her upwards.
“Put your feet down. This part of the pool is five feet at the most. Stand,” Tristan commanded.
His chest was hard against her back. His muscles were stone and his grip iron. She felt absurdly safe, given how afraid she was of water that she could not see the bottom of. That hold was so solid that she trusted it implicitly. It would not slip. Would not weaken. She pushed her feet down and touched smooth stone.
Relief made her limbs weak as she stood, the water reaching her chest. Tristan stayed close, moving silently and gracefully through the water around her like a fish. His eyes were watchful. And hungry.
“Better?” he asked.
Christine wiped her hair from her face and nodded. “Much.”
Her nightdress was clinging to her breasts, the material rendered transparent. She saw his eyes locked on hers, never wavering. Never lowering. So, she did not scramble to cover herself. She stood there, chin lifted, nipples pressed against the flimsy material, breasts perfectly outlined.
“So, how do I avoid making a fool of myself like that again?” she asked.
Tristan grinned and reached out his hands. “Take my hands and let your legs float up behind you. They will do so naturally.”
Christine found this hard to believe, but she took his hands and lifted one leg. Then the other. Her body sank, and shefought to keep her head above water. It remained so and, to her amazement, her legs came floating up behind her.
“Now kick, gently up and down, from the hip.”
She did so, looking into Tristan’s eyes as he began to slowly move away from her. She clutched at his hands.
“I won’t let go,” he told her, “kick.”
She floated. Her body moved after him faster and faster, arms stretching out. He moved away from her until only her fingertips held onto his.
“Don’t let go!” she cried.
“It won’t make any difference. I’m not holding you up anyway,” Tristan said, then he shot away from her.
Terror seized her. She sensed he had drawn her into the deepest part of the pool, that the water was more than her own height deep. She kept kicking.
