Page 87 of One Wrong Move

The water is cool and murky. Something slimy tangles around my legs, and my feet sink into the muddy bottom of the pond. I’m shoulder-deep in this muck and immediately kick off. It’s instinct, to get away from the sliminess. More snakes?

Probably just plants. But still. There’s a snake around here somewhere.

Someone shouts from the dock. Water splashes, and I realize it’s me.

“Swim, Harper,” Nate demands beside me. Right. We’re in the pond. I make a few awkward strokes, aiming for the dock. I’ve never swam in clothes before, and it feels wrong, the fabric against my skin dragging in the water.

I’m the first to reach the dock. The wood is shockingly dry and warm under my wet hands when I grab a hold of the edge. There’s no ladder. Get away from the snake! That’s my only concern at the moment.

People aren’t meant to go swimming in this little pond.

Something strong grips my waist, and then Nate’s voice is by my ear. “I’ll lift you. Ready?”

“Yes,” I whimper back.

He hoists me halfway out of the water, and I scramble onto the dock. Dripping wet and shivering.

Someone chuckles behind me.

Nate.

I look at where he’s standing in the water as it laps around his waist. His hair is plastered to his head, his white shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, but a smile is lighting up his face. “You all right?”

“Yes,” I say. Something about that smile sets things at ease inside me, and I giggle. I’m high on adrenaline. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Me neither. Fuck.” His gaze locks on someone behind me, and he raises a hand. “Don’t worry! I’ll get the boat.”

He’s off, setting across the pond in a crawl toward our rowboat. It’s upside-down and bobbing serenely in the center of the pond. Like it hasn’t just been the scene of a crime.

I stand up and watch him grab the small rope, and drag it back to shore. Trudging through waist-deep water. He uses his free hand to push his wet hair back and looks at me with a wry smile.

I laugh. It bubbles out of me, and soon enough, I’m laughing so hard that I have to put a hand over my mouth. I’m in shock and complete disbelief at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” Nate says. The teenager manning the dock steps past me and reaches out for the rope. Nate throws it to her, and she quickly ties the rowboat up, now right side up again.

But my giggle dies when Nate braces his hands on the edge of the dock. With strong arms, he lifts himself out of the water and comes to stand in front of me.

He’s dripping wet. His white shirt clings to the contours of his body, and a few tendrils of hair have stuck to his forehead. His lightly tan skin stands out strongly against the fabric.

He looks like the lord of the manor after a summer swim.

His eyes sweep down my body, and the smile disappears off his face. His gaze quickly fixes somewhere over my left shoulder.

I look down. Shit. My white dress is pasted to my body, and my nipples are clearly visible. Hard even through the bra and dress.

I wrap my arms around my chest. “Whoops.”

He glances at me for a second again before reaching for the buttons of his shirt. He undoes them with quick movements, one after another.

“What are you doing?”

“Here,” he says gruffly and hands me his soaked shirt.

I take it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“It’s something, at least, if you want to cover yourself.” His voice is light, but his jaw is visibly tense. I wrap the wet garment around my body, and despite the cold and drenched state of me, heat races up my cheeks.

He’s now shirtless.

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