Page 122 of We Redeemed the Rain

“Teach me the color game.”

I laughed at that even as my eyes prickled with heat. I swore the man could remember everything I ever wrote him. I’d told him about all the silly games my family played in our neighborhood pool as kids.

“The color game? Seriously?”

“Come on. Play with me.”

Play.

The word was the kill shot in my determination. Tag didn’t play—not as a kid, not as an adult. But here he was, wild-eyed and ready for an adventure.

Tag’s right hand flexed on my hip then moved, possessively, to the small of my back. His left lifted to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as his gaze roamed my face. Heat stoked low in my belly, a growing inferno.

“Let’s make good memories, Bea.” His voice was a gentle whisper. “Memories together.”

My heart slowly rolled through my ribcage.

Well, put like that…

He let go of me so suddenly, my footing faltered. He fisted the hem of his shirt and jerked it over his head. It landed on the dock in a heap.

My eyes widened and he noticed. A grin lifted his cheeks.

Mischief.

My heart beat wildly as I tried to figure out what to do. What was I even wearing?

I looked down. The white skirt, a tank top. And underneath? Blank, functional, matching bra and panties—thank goodness. I watched as he unzipped his jeans and kicked them off, the hem of one pant leg skimming the top of the water before landing in the clothes pile.

Ignoring the reasons I shouldn’t, I added my tank top.

“You ready?” He asked.

“Not yet.” Pretending like nerves weren't wracking through my body, I shimmied out of the tennis skirt and added it to the pile, too. Just like a bikini. I wore those all the time. No big deal, right? I glanced at Tag, wondering what he was thinking of my gutsy swim attire.

His eyes raked down my body, stirring need in me. He didn't even try to pretend like he wasn't looking. A heavy swallow pulled at his throat. I wanted to kiss him more than I wanted tonotswim in the pond.

My mouth dried as Tag stepped close again. He raised my chin to look into his eyes. His whisper was breathy, husky, and warm against my face. “This, Bea Thompson…is for the molasses.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but a scream came out instead.

Because the jerk pushed me.

Water, thick with only God knows what and uncomfortably warm, enfolded me. A splash sounded in the water as I popped up for air.

Tag let out an excitedwhoopas his head came up next to mine.

I gagged. “Oh mygosh, it smells even worse down here.” I stretched out my toes to find the bottom and shrieked in terror. My hands flew to Tag’s shoulders, and I attempted to climb him like a tree.

He cackled. “Aw. You don’t like the mud?”

I braced my toes on the back of his calf muscles and held my upper half out of the water via his shoulders. “Are you sure that’s mud? It’s squishy and disgusting.”

“Actually, no. Could be cow shit.”

“Cow shit?!”

He leaned back in laughter, and I clung to him even tighter. “I’m messin’ with you. Of course it’s mud. Meadowbrook hasn’t had cows in over a decade.”

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