“Where’s your sense of adventure? Or are you too chicken?” I taunt, and like I expected, she gets that competitive look on her face. Kicking back, I give her space to land, and she spends thirty seconds staring down at the water, inching closer to the edge. I’m ready to tell her it’s okay if she’s afraid when she lets out a banshee howl, tosses my hat to the side, and leaps in, flailing as she hits the surface.
My heart clenches as she hacks up water, hair plastered to her face.
Oh, shit.
I rip through the creek to reach her, the coughing fit morphing into loud, boisterous giggles. Her arms wrap around my neck, and I freeze, unsure of what’s happening but terrified if I move, the dream will dissipate like morning fog.
“That was incredible,” she yells, her legs circling my waist.
The addition of her weight makes treading water more difficult, so I trudge to the edge until I can reach the bottom. Her smile is marvelous, transforming her into a thing of rare beauty. My brain hasn’t caught up with the fact she’s still holding on to me, her lips mere inches from mine.
“Spin me around,” she demands, brushing a piece of hair from my forehead.
It’s an intimate touch, and I mentally have to repeat that it means nothing, that none of this means a damn thing right now, not with the camera pointed at the water.
I do as she asks, gently spinning us around until we make a full three-sixty. Her fingers trail down my cheek, along my jawbone, and settle at the nape of my neck.
God, I want to kiss her.
Professional boundaries and fake dating and reckless decisions be damned.
Kiss her and tell her she’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing on my mind before I fall asleep. How Imight be a hopeless romantic, but I think that means something. That I think she could be the end of the road for me.
Her eyes flick down to my lips, only for a millisecond, but I track it.
Does she want to kiss me, too?
The thought sends a ripple of pleasure down my spine. I take the leap and wrap my hand around her neck, tilting her head. She gulps, leaning into the touch. I collect every ounce of courage I have to ask if I can kiss her, when a howl rips through the air.
“Cannonball,” Doug screams, slamming into the water and splashing Sofía and me in a massive wave.
My back is a shield from the spray, and Sofía jerks out of my grip like we’ve been caught in a criminal act. “T-that should be good footage, right?”
Her voice is hoarse. Her chest heaves. A mild tremor shakes her hand.
“Great footage,” I respond.
Not a single person would question any feelings in that video. At least not from my end, because I wasn’t faking a damn thing.
Chapter 17
Jett
“Jett,” a voice hisses. “Ulysses.”
A small knock raps on my hotel door, then another. Sofía stands at the threshold, squinting at the bright light in the room.
“You’re awake?” she asks, tiptoeing over to the desk, where I’m editing the drone footage we took yesterday.
The better question is: Why is she? I’m often awake at four in the morning. There are fewer distractions at night, and it’s whenmy brain works best. I used to fight it, to try to work the hours most people do during the day, but after my creativity dried up, I stopped trying to fit into something that was never meant to work for me.
“I wanted to get some work done before we left for Cairns.”
She leans over my shoulder after I sit back down, her perfume assaulting my senses.
“Can I see?”
Tapping the space bar on my laptop, I allow the footage to play out. Variations of long and short clips play out from our adventures exploring different waterfalls and hiking through the Tablelands. It switches to a longer clip of Sofía laughing as she leaps off a rock and plummets into crystal-clear water. When she breaks the surface, her laugh fills the audio.
