Page 38 of Fated

He stumbles as his feet hit the sand, the water shallow enough for him to touch, and then his hands are on my back, reaching down to my thighs. His fingers dig into my legs and tug me to him, pressing me against him.

A sharp jolt jumps through me as I settle against the hard length of him. Then I kiss him, lick his lips, touch the tip of my tongue to his, and delight in the heat that arches between us and lights my insides as bright as the noonday sun.

His hands scrape over my thighs, and his fingers and the current drag my dress higher. The buoyancy of the water presses me closer, and all around us there’s salt and ocean and heat.

Aaron kisses me as if he’s never kissed me before, as if he’s drowning and the only way to survive is to press his mouth to mine and devour me. He kisses like a man given a second chance at life.

He doesn’t kiss like a man married fifteen years. He kisses as if this is our first time and he’s been aching for me for years.

His hands draw over me, as soft as the salty sea. His mouth is firm, slanting over mine, breathing me in. He tugs me into him, pressing every wet inch of us together, as the waves rock us closer.

And then, as suddenly as he dove in, he yanks his mouth from mine. The shock of his sudden absence has me blinking, stunned, into the bright light.

I’m panting, blinking at the blinding sunlight glinting in crystal sparks off the sea. Aaron takes a heaving breath, and his chest shudders as he slowly exhales. Finally, looking away from me, he carefully takes his hands from my thighs, setting me back from him to float free.

Even though I’m the one who—in this dream—almost drowned, he’s the one who looks shaken and pale.

On the beach, the three old women under the tree stare in our direction, their hands shielding their eyes from the sun. The four men, working to set up the party, are all turned our way. Not worriedly, but more curious. Except for one of them—a long-limbed, taller one with copper-colored hair, who is jerking the chairs open and punching them down into the grass with a force that borders on angry.

On the porch of Aaron’s house, the teenage girl dressed in her bikini and shorts peers our way. There’s a toddler in her arms, waving a yellow plastic beach shovel in the air.

“Why did you do that?” Aaron asks. His shirt is plastered to his chest, now see-through and showing the outline of his abs and the lines of his tattoos.

“Kiss you?”

He turns to the side, his jaw hard. I’m not sure why, but I get the impression he’s angry about the kiss. Although that doesn’t make sense considering earlier he wanted to take me back to bed and make long, sweet love.

Hmm.

“Why did you run into the water when you know there’s riptides and you know you can’t swim? And you know what happened and how it?—”

He cuts himself off, his mouth closing again into that tight, rigid line.

What happened?

“What?”

His eyes darken, the brown tinging to velvety black. “I know you haven’t been happy. Not for a long time. But ... don’t ...”

I scared him, this dream man.

“I’m sorry.” I smile. “I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His eyebrows rise, and I get the feeling I said something he didn’t expect.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re happy?” He doesn’t seem to believe me.

I look around. Feel the soft, air-like salt water cradling me. Take in the colorful island cottages on the beach. Feel the sun stroking over me in hot-tongued heat. Smell the sea and the loamy tropical scents bursting with spice and floral perfumes.

This place is uncomplicated. It’s far from life, and I don’t have to worry about missing anything, because when I wake up I’ll be back in Geneva.

I can be happy here.

“I am,” I say, smiling at him.

He still looks skeptical. His brow is furrowed and water runs down the side of his face and down his neck, back to the sea.

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