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Shaking her head, she got to her feet and dived into the pool, staying submerged for so long the breath caught in his throat.
When she resurfaced she swam to the other end of the pool and hauled herself out. ‘Jump in,’ she called up to him, now far enough away from the waterfall for her voice to carry.
‘No!’
‘I promise you, it’s the most exhilarating feeling in the world.’
She was too far away for him to see her features clearly but there was a definite air of elation about her.
Pascha did not take risks. Having come so close to death at such a young age, when the question of whether he lived or died had been completely out of his control, he had determined always to decide his own fate. He did not compromise his safety and he never put it solely in the hands of others.
Less than ten hours earlier he’d been tempted to throw off his clothes and swim into the lagoon in the dark. She’d made him want to do that with the sparkle in her eyes as she’d looked out over the lagoon, the sense of an adventure waiting to happen.
The temptation he’d felt had been real. But not half as real or as consuming as the temptation to pull her into his arms and taste those delectable lips all over again. He’d wanted to taste all of her all over again. He still did.
If it had been just the two of them at the beach, he doubted he would have had the presence of mind to hold himself back. His staff surrounding him had kept his control—his sanity—in check. He’d lain in his large, lonely bed and fought the greater temptation to take himself to her, as he’d done the night before, and slip beneath her covers; to make love to her all over again. Because that was exactly what it felt like: making love. And that was the greatest danger of all.
And now she wanted him to jump forty feet with only her word that it was safe.
‘Pascha, trust me. Keep your feet together and hold onto your neck. You will love it, I promise. Trust me.’
Trust her? Put his control and safety in the hands of another?
Despite all his self-imposed safety mechanisms, his body zinged, as if it were trying to take possession of his mind.
Her madness must be contagious.
Focusing solely on the raven-haired beauty perched like a mermaid on the pool’s edge, he removed his boots.
All you have to do is run and jump.
He hadn’t run on anything other than a treadmill since he’d been fourteen.
His legs had had enough of his procrastination.
Almost as if it were happening to someone else and he was watching from afar, he took the short run and jumped.
Those few seconds of flying felt like nothing else in the world.
As gravity sucked his body down to the clear blue abyss, all Pascha could think was that she was right: this was the most exhilarating feeling in the world.
He hit the water, landing with an enormous splash. It consumed him, as if he were being dragged to the centre of the earth.
He refused to panic, keeping a clear head through the enormous shot of adrenaline the jump had produced. Pointing his arms upwards, he propelled his body up until he broke the surface.
The first thing he saw was the relief on Emily’s face, a look that was immediately replaced with the brightest, most beautiful smile he had ever seen.
‘You did it!’ She laughed, a sweet, lyrical sound that warmed his heart. ‘You really did it.’
He swam over, caught hold of her thighs and pulled her down into the water, using his arms to trap her against the edge of the rocks. He tried to catch his breath, tried to suck oxygen into his burning lungs, but all he could focus on was the beam of her smile.
The swell of her breasts pushed against his chest but she made no move to escape the confinement. Instead, she rested her hands on his shoulders and gazed at him, her chest hitching, an intensity swirling in her eyes that drove into his veins and paralysed him.
Her thighs brushed against his. A charge careered through him, so powerful he could feel it singe his blood.
He wanted to lose himself again in the wonders of her—the woman who made his senses come alive. The only woman capable of making him forget himself.
Her eyes had transformed into liquid. Her lips parted.
And then there was no more staring.
There was no slow build and no tentative caresses either. They simply fused into one, plundering each other’s mouths with scorching fierceness.
Her fingers dug possessively into his scalp, her legs lifting and wrapping around his waist, whether by his instigation or her own volition he could not say.
She moaned into his mouth and wrapped her thighs ever tighter, the movement making him realise he’d lost his shorts during the jump. The only barrier between his rampaging erection and her welcoming warmth was the flimsy material of her bikini bottoms.
