Zane stepped closer to the shore. “I’ve never brought anyone from crew down here.”
“Good.”
His brows drew together. “Good?”
“Yes.”
“Daphne.”
“What?” I asked, but my voice had gone thin.
He came to the water’s edge. “If I come in there, I’m going to want to touch you.”
Heat rushed over my skin.
The lake wasn’t nearly cold enough.
I looked at his boots, then his jeans, then the broad shape of him under that dark sleeveless shirt. “I want that.”
Zane’s breath left him slowly. “Say it again.”
“I want you to touch me.”
He stepped into the water in his boots.
I laughed once, startled. “You’re wearing shoes.”
“They’ll dry.”
“That seems very reckless for a man who had strong opinions about my footwear.”
“My opinions are changing.”
He stopped in front of me, water moving around his boots and my bare ankles. We stood close enough that I had to tip my head back to hold his gaze.
Zane lifted one hand and brushed his knuckles along my cheek.
The touch was so gentle it made my chest ache.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he said. “If you don’t want that, tell me now.”
“I want it.”
His hand slid to the side of my neck.
Then Zane kissed me.
It wasn’t careful after the first second.
The first touch of his mouth was controlled, a firm press that gave me one last chance to step back. I didn’t. I grabbed the front of his shirt and rose onto my toes, and whatever leash he’d had on himself went tight, then snapped.
Zane’s arm hooked around my waist. He pulled me against him, and I gasped into his mouth. He tasted like water and sun and restraint gone bad. His hand spread across my lower back, big and sure, holding me while he kissed me deeper.
I opened for him.
The sound he made went straight between my thighs.
My fingers twisted in his shirt. His chest was hard under the cotton. The lake washed around our feet, cool and soft, while everything above the waterline burned.
