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“By relaxing. Get your whole body wet first.” He rested his hands on her shoulders, and together, they lowered down into the water the rest of the way. “Now, let your arms come up to the surface. That’s right,” he said when he could feel the tension moving out of her. “Tilt your head back, chin up, and let the rest of your body float up. Don’t fight it or try to control it too much.”
Slowly, Sophie stretched out in the water. He stayed beside her with one arm under her shoulders and the other near her waist. “You’re doing great. Let your legs come up to the surface.”
“How?” she asked, tilting her head up. It made other parts of her sink, but he had her. Her weight rested against him with her stomach touching his lightly. A charge went through him at the contact, and he felt her draw in a breath and blow it out. She seemed to be as affected as he was. The other couples were laughing and splashing, but what was happening between them was on a different level. He’d never been lucky enough to touch her like this, to feel her bare skin beneath his hands, and he couldn’t get enough of it.
He felt the familiar tension building beneath his swimsuit, so he forced himself to concentrate on the exercise. It was why they were here. “It’s okay to go limp.”
He needed to follow his own advice.
“Won’t I sink?”
“Just the opposite.” Relaxing the body was key to being comfortable in water. “Trust me.”
“I guess that’s the point.” Slowly, she let her body become more pliant, more one with the water. He moved his arms so they weren’t in contact anymore as she became aligned with the water, her body stretched out parallel to the pool floor, hovering on the surface. The water crested and receded over her body, caressing her. Owen focused on her face and found her watching him, her lips slightly parted.
Damn it.
“That’s the end of our session,” Luna announced in a calm voice. “If you arrived late, feel free to stay longer and continue to bond as a couple.”
“I think she means us,” he said. Others around them were leaving the pool, talking quietly as they went.
“Not going anywhere,” Sophie said. “I’m floating at peace for the first time in my life. I like it.” A few minutes later, everyone else had gone and they were alone in the water. “I suppose we should switch places.”
“It’s not really necessary. I don’t have any trouble floating,” he said.
“But what about trusting? That’s the point of this, right?”
“Do you trust me more now?” He couldn’t prevent himself from asking.
She seemed to consider that for a moment. “I think I do. You’re not what I expected.” She sighed. “I had this notion of who you were as a man. But I was wrong.”
He should just accept that and be glad, but Luna’s words about finding a love for Sophie were stuck in his head—along with Sophie’s words from years before about him not being her type. Was she seeing that hecouldbe her type? And whatwasher type?
“So what do you look for in a man?” Before he could think better of it, his question was out. “I mean, what’s your type?”
Her feet immediately sank, taking her torso down until she rested against his arms. A second later she was standing, her brow furrowed. “My type?”
“You told me I wasn’t your type so—”
“When did I say that?” She frowned at him in pure confusion. Did she really not remember their conversation?
“That New Year’s Eve party at Ethan and Helen’s three years ago.” He was starting to wish he hadn’t started this conversation, but it was too late to retreat now. “I kissed you at midnight, and you told me I wasn’t your type.”
She stared at him, understanding seeming to come when her eyes widened. “Youliar!” She slapped the water with her palm, splashing him. “You said you didn’t remember our kiss. Said you were too drunk.” Another splash followed. He considered pinning her arms to her sides to stop the deluge but opted to just stand there and take the water in the face. After a few more drenchings, she drew back with her hands on her hips. “Why did you lie to me?”
He was tempted to make a joke of the moment, the way he usually would…but he was starting to feel a connection to her that he couldn’t deny. And that connection seemed to demand honesty. “It hurt to be rejected like that.”
Her face went serious. “Oh, I—”
“Didn’t think I had feelings?” he asked.
“That’s not it. I thought your feelings were…shallow.”
“Says the woman who goes for one hour or less hookups.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sex isn’t the same as a relationship. I know the difference.”
“So your type would be a guy who can give you something deep and meaningful?” That made sense. She was so passionate about everything in her life—she committed with all that she had. Of course she’d want that in her love life, too. And she didn’t see him that way. Was that what she was saying?
