Page 23 of Awakened in Her Enemy's Palazzo

The furrow in his brow deepened as he realised that during that time his plans had shifted and realigned in his head in a way he wasn’t comfortable with. It was as inexplicable as the prickle of guilt that he was experiencing.

He replayed the message in his head, which he presumed must have come from one of Grace’s family members. Unless there was a supportive section in the latter portion of the text it would seem that Grace wasn’t about to receive any tea and sympathy from her nearest and dearest. Which could mean she was a repeat offender, who had embarrassed them previously, or they were heartless bastards.

Or none of the above, he added, aware that he was guilty of the sort of speculation he usually frowned on.

Either way, it would seem she didn’t have a support network to fall back on—which should have made him feel happier than it actually did.

He wandered towards the place where he had spotted the footprints, but they were already being sucked into the swirls of water before vanishing like—like she had vanished.

He froze, belatedly aware of where he was standing.

A moment later he was not standing. He had kicked off his trainers and was wading into the water. It felt like tortuously slow progress, and Theo felt a surge of relief when he was able to kick away from the bottom and swim.

Head down, in seconds he’d made it through the iconic arch and surfaced, treading water, thinking perhaps his reaction had been an instinct too far. He searched the cavernous cathedral-like interior that appeared to be lit by a deep, subterranean green reflected off the water.

Almost immediately he saw her, sitting like some sort of stranded mermaid—albeit with pale, slender legs—on a stone shelf.

A stranded mermaid in cut-offs and a clinging vest top.

His relief morphed into anger—the logic-cancelling variety.

Cleaving through the water with a few strong strokes, he brought himself up to her side and floated there, treading water.

Grace blinked at the flood of angry, fluid Italian—which, despite her recent lessons, was utterly incomprehensible. The emotion behind the flow of words from the dark-haired figure floating below her, however, did not need translation.

‘Hello.’

It sounded so stupid she began to laugh, the tension and fear of the last few minutes evaporating into a weird euphoria.

The speed with which the water had risen when she had emerged from her awed contemplation of the cave had shocked her, but she hadn’t panicked. Instead she had escaped the tug of water that was driving her deeper into the cave by dragging herself up onto a rocky ledge that ran along the side. Of course it had quickly become clear that she’d have been better off panicking and swimming out straight away, hoping for the best, before the swirling water got scarily high.

Now the strong surge of the current made it unlikely she’d even make it through the arch into the open sea.

When Theo had appeared she had almost decided that her best hope—her only hope—would be to swim for it before the opening was totally covered by the incoming tide.

‘You think this is funny?’

She totally appreciated his outrage. She also appreciated, even at a moment like this, how incredible he looked. His dark hair was clinging to his skull, to the perfect bones of his perfect face, and the sybaritic angles and planes were defined against his wet, olive-toned skin.

‘Not at all,’ she soothed.

He didn’t seem soothed. He looked hotly furious.

‘You—’

She could almost see him bite his tongue, and his next words were spaced evenly and enunciated with elaborate calm.

‘Can you swim?’

‘Of course I can swim.’ Otherwise she’d be...well, dead. ‘I’m not a great swimmer, but I don’t sink—not straight away,’ she admitted.

Theo cleared his throat and crafted his civilised response with the utmost difficulty. There would be plenty of time to tell her what he thought of her later. The present problem was what he needed to focus on.

‘Right, you do what you can. Let’s get out of here.’

He glanced over his shoulder towards the exit that had grown even smaller while he had wasted precious seconds noticing how her small, pointed breasts with their thrusting nipples looked under the clinging wet fabric.

As if he was judging a wet tee shirt competition.

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