Zane doesn’t share the humor. “You need more.”
The silent but heavy tension between us is swiftly reaching breaking point.
I swallow down what’s left of my restraint and meet his eyes. “Zane, I’m not broken. Or fragile.”
Zane’s flint-scented pheromones flood my nostrils in ways nearly impossible to ignore. I must have built up some kind of immunity over the years. But every moment that seems passable quickly devolves the moment Zane comes closer.
“No, you’re not.” His voice is low, nearly a whisper. Like he can barely stand to admit it.
“I didn’t drown.” I want to reach out and touch a hand to his arm. Would it help drive home my argument? But actually touching Zane outside of the professional bounds we’ve decided to keep within feels like too much.
Zane slowly shakes his head. “No, you didn’t.”
Still, his hands curl tight and his shoulders remain tense.
A slow, warm smile creeps across my face. “So please relax. You did nothing wrong.”
Zane releases a snarl—one I can clearly tell is meant for himself, not me. “I didn’t get to you first.”
I level him with a stare. “Is that what this is about? That the lifeguard—whose job is tosave drowning people—saved me first?”
“I’m your bodyguard, Helena.”
Now I reach out to touch him. I place my hands on his muscular forearms. “And you do your job well. We’re in Seamuse, Zane, at your suggestion. A place with little danger. I should’ve paid attention to where I was swimming. And when I didn’t, a lifeguard saved me. That’s their job. You did yours, too.”
Zane shifts one arm so he’s able to place a hand on the back of mine. His fingers are warm and reassuring despite the slight tremble in them. Of all the times Zane has touched me—innocent hugs and hands on my arm and back—this is the least professional.
And it’s divine.
Our pheromones mix together. His flint scent intensifies even with the smallest skin-to-skin contact.
Zane’s breath hitches. “Helena…”
I bite my lip but don’t pull my hand away. “I know.”
Zane doesn’t pull his hand away, either. But he does wrap his fingers tighter around mine. “Please don’t do that again.”
The tension inside me uncoils. Zane’s never asked me for anything. So I can give him this. “No more swimming in choppy water or into riptides, I promise.”
Zane’s shoulders relax. “Thank you.” Finally, he pulls his hand back onto his lap. “I will try to relax.”
I smile again and try to hide the fact that I’m memorizing the way his hands felt on mine. “Good. This should be your holiday, too.”
He nods and then clears his throat. “We should explore the town. I can show you some of my favorite spots.”
I glance toward the window where raindrops have begun gently falling down. “That sounds perfect. I’ll grab our rain jackets.”
And just like that, we’re back to normal.
Zane being my bodyguard. And the scent-match between us? Still mostly ignored.
Seamuse is more postcard than real place, even in a gentle rain. Inside the downtown area stands rows of pastel storefronts with colorful decorative bunting strung overhead. The main street dips and loops toward the harbor. Shops for books, gifts, kitchentrinkets, clothes, and more all fill the space and welcome in customers from all over. Zane and I bounce in and out of all the various stores just window shopping.
Eventually, the rain stops drizzling and turns into a sudden vertical sheet pounding the old cobblestone streets. Zane doesn’t hesitate, just grabs my wrist and tugs me under the overhang of a closed gelato shop. His hand is warm and careful, never tight.
I laugh. “We’re gonna need somewhere more spacious until this passes.” I wouldn’tmindbeing stuck this close to Zane, especially since it feels like something in our friendship has shifted, but I don’t know how he feels about it.
Zane’s gaze darts across the street. He nods. “There.”
