Page 52 of Random in Death

“How long can you?” On another kiss, he took them both back under, where they rolled together, a playful dance, hands sliding and seeking. Sliding and seeking still as they kicked up together.

“We could time it.” She fixed her teeth on the side of his throat. “See who has more lung power.”

“Winner takes all?”

“Win or lose, we’re taking all.”

“In that case.”

He pulled them under again, and slipping a hand between her legs, shot her to a fast, unexpected peak.

She surfaced, weak and gasping. “That’s cheating.”

“I heard no mention of rules.”

Fair enough, she thought, and kept her eyes on his as she stroked her hand down all that wet, sleek black hair. “You’d break them anyway.”

“To have you? I’d break every one of them.”

But when he started to draw her close, she shot away, went deep, pulled out the speed, and aimed for the far end.

She swam like a fish, he thought, and gave chase as he knew she intended. No, a mermaid, he corrected, with all that grace and power in the water.

The chase stirred his blood as much as the feel of her skin under his hands, the taste of her on his tongue.

When he caught her—no simple feat—he heard her laugh bubble out. When they surfaced again, they were both breathless.

“I’d say we’re even.”

He felt her heart race against his. “I’ll take a draw.”

“Then you take me; I’ll take you.”

Now she wrapped her legs around him and stole the rest of his breath with her lips.

She bewitched him, delighted and enchanted him. And aroused him beyond all comprehension.

When he gripped the edge of the pool, he pressed her back to the wet wall. “Mine.” He touched his finger to the little dent in her chin, then skimmed it down, and down. “You’re all mine.”

“Same goes. Now show me. Show me how much you want me.”

He took her mouth first, let the hunger come, let it fill him to aching while she answered with equal fervor. And when her arms locked around his neck, she filled him.

He drove into her and watched the pleasure rush into her eyes, heard the echo of it in the catch and release of her breath.

“Show me,” he said.

Wanting to, wanting him, she kept her arms locked tight. Her hips moved, meeting and matching his thrusts while the water sparkled around them.

His eyes, bluer, deeper than the water, held hers as everything in her opened for him, opened to him. It built and built, that glorious thrill, the dazzling and welcome heat rising, spreading until the long, slow climb took her to the peak.

Then spilled her over.

Still, she held him. She gave him more.

“I love you.” On her words, the return of that love swirled into his eyes. When she tried it in Irish, his lips met hers with such tenderness her heart all but wept.

“A ghrá.”

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