Page 23 of Wicked Waters

What was I doing?

Have some self-respect, Quinn.

I tore myself away, breathing hard. Roman’s eyes reflected the storm, and his darkened gaze was fixed on me. He was breathing just as hard as I was, his chest rising and falling in time with mine.

“No, you fucking don’t, Quinn,” he growled, yanking me back into him and covering my mouth with his. The kiss only lasted for a second before a bright flash of light had him springing back, cursing under his breath. Wrapping his fingers around my wrist, he tugged me towards the tree line.

“We need to get away from the water.” He stooped to pick up a bundle of fabric, still gripping me tightly, and then moved to my left, still holding on to my wrist and leaving me with no choice but to go wherever he was leading me. The truth was, a part of me wanted to go with him, wanted answers for what had happened on the boat. To find out why he’d been so hostile towards me ever since I’d returned to Hatherley Hall. I wanted to have it out with him once and for all.

I kept my gaze fixed on him, an anchor in the gathering storm. His raven hair, dripping water onto his broad back, his muscles shifting beneath his tanned skin as he moved with purpose, seemingly unaffected by the rain. He came to a stop in front of the boat sheds, pushing open the door, and then he tugged me inside. As soon as the door closed, he was on me again, one hand cupping my throat underneath my jaw, the other wrapped around my back.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he rasped. “I’m guilty of leaving you, but you’re not innocent, either. We still need to talk, and we will. After.”

I swallowed around his grip, my chilled body rapidly heating against his. He stared at me, his lashes inky spikes, his eyes still reflecting the storm clouds outside. Fuck him for being so hot, with his chiselled body and that intense, heated gaze focused on me. He was a god, and no mortal could resist him.

“After what?” I managed.

“This.”

He kissed me, hard, making me gasp against his mouth, and then he pulled away. “Fuck you for making my life so difficult,” he muttered, dipping down to rummage in the bundle of fabric he’d dropped near our feet.

“I could say the same about you.” I wrapped my arms around my body in a futile attempt to warm it.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he rose to his feet, tugging my raincoat from my shoulders. Something that looked a lot like guilt flashed in his gaze, and he cleared his throat.

“I can’t fucking stand to see you shivering.” Before I could reply, he stepped closer. “This is what should have happened after the boat,” he murmured, wrapping a soft, fluffy towel around my shoulders.

My shivers stopped, and he smiled. That smile. It made me melt inside, gave me butterflies, made my heart race…all the things I’d been suppressing and denying to myself.

It was beautiful, and it was for me.

He gently wiped the towel over the parts of me that had been exposed to the elements, taking extra care with my face. With his brows pulled together, his gaze intent on what he was doing, I had a moment to just study him. What a mess of contradictions this man was. Like the sea in a storm. Restless, churning, wild, but in the hidden depths, far beneath the surface, there was calm. Stillness.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, and I wasn’t sure if he’d even meant to say it aloud. He traced the pad of his finger across my cheekbone, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. My face was bare of make-up, my hair was a mass of wild tangles from the wind and rain, despite the protection of my hood, and I knew there were dark shadows beneath my eyes from my lack of sleep. But the way he looked at me…it was almost reverential.

Dipping his head, he kissed me again, so softly. “Put this on,” he murmured, handing me a navy zip-up hoodie. My breath caught in my throat. It was his lacrosse hoodie, with his surname across the back in royal blue lettering.

I hesitated for too long, and his softness disappeared, his jaw visibly clenching. “Fucking hell, stop being so stubborn. Put it on. Now. You’re still cold.”

“Fine.” I handed him the towel, pulling on his hoodie, and I watched as he roughly dried his hair and body.

A smirk curved over his lips when he caught me staring at him. His fingers teased the waistband of his tight swim shorts. “Might want to turn around unless you want a show.”

I spun around instantly, my face heating, and I heard him laugh behind me. We’d had a moment on the boat, but a nude Roman Cavendish was not something I was equipped to deal with.

“You can turn around now,” he said.

I turned.

And stopped.

And stared.

And kept staring.

My mouth went dry.

Yes, Roman Cavendish had his back to me, but he was fully naked.

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