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Watching her experience the night like she’s never smelled the Pacific breeze before. I wonder how long it’s been since I stopped to notice it myself.
Yes. I smell that coolness, that crispness, that hint of something like mint and spice, brine and sweet night air.
More than anything, I smell apples.
Her.
Her scent radiates through me like I could cradle her inside me.
Yet I can’t even cradle her in my arms for long because I blink, and there’s a wriggling bundle against my chest. Knocked out of my reverie, I open my eyes to find Elle squirming forward to hike her dress up and pull at her heels.
I should be used to how spontaneous she is by now.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Taking my shoes off. You’re right. They’ll sink in the sand.” She flashes me a wicked smile. “Put me down and come on.”
I know better than to question her at this point.
I wait until she’s done yanking her strappy heels off, then set her down on her feet. She immediately drops her shoes and gathers the skirt of her dress up like she’s stuffing a load of laundry into her grip, ungainly and eager.
Somehow she goes from ethereal to adorable in two seconds flat.
“Take your shoes off,” she orders. The night is in her eyes until blue and hazel war with each other like candles in the sea. “Let’s go!”
I have no idea what she’s planning.
Not until she goes racing across the pale, gritty sand toward the rolling waves. Her slender feet leave prints behind her.
I stare after her. “Elle, hold up, that’s freezing—”
Wasted breath.
With a shake of my head and a sigh, I bend down to pry my dress shoes and socks off, leaving them next to hers. Just for good measure I take off my jacket, cummerbund, and the neck band as well, dropping them in a pile.
Then I do something I’ve never imagined I’d do in my life.
I follow this wild, reckless woman across the sand, my footprints melding into hers, and go tumbling into the icy waves after her.
It’s like sticking my feet into a vat of ice.
I let out a shocked gasp and almost stumble to a halt, while Elle patters a few more steps into the shallows before squealing, her laughter rising up over the night.
“Oh my God, that’s cold!” she cries.
“I could’ve told you that.” I take a few steps toward her into calf-deep water that soaks the hems of my slacks, making them cling to my legs like a frigid film. “It’s Puget Sound in February. Were you expecting a sauna?”
“Okay, smart-ass.” Visibly shivering, Elle takes a few dancing steps backward, the water swirling around her ankles. “Keep being sarcastic and I’ll dunk you.”
“You will not.” I lunge toward her and catch her waist, pulling her against me.
Our warmth collides, two opposing storm fronts swirling around us—body heat and winter waves.
“And you will not go a step more in the dark,” I say. “You know what the riptides can be like out there.”
“Yeah, I know.” Undaunted, she leans into me. She’s still holding her dress above the waves, her pretty, slender calves speckled in the dewdrop spatter of sea spray, her curves lush against me. She tilts her head up, asking for a kiss, and I want so much to answer that unspoken request. “But I got you out here, minus the stick up your butt, didn’t I?”
That insolent little mouth, pink and full.
