Page 18 of Inked Adonis

To be fair, it’s a good question. I’m out of my depth. Literally. The water is already up to my shins, and I’ve never been a good swimmer.

As Samuil starts to get his feet under him, Rufus whips around and bowls him over with a fresh wave of amorous face-licking.

“You’re going to get us a restraining order, you—” I lunge for Rufus’s collar, but he dodges, his huge paws churning mud as he changes course and bolts for shore.

I give up on Rufus and offer a hand to Samuil instead. “I am so, so sorry. Please let me help you?—”

Before I can finish my sentence, the long-limbed, short-haired tyrant who, until a few moments ago, was my new favorite client, takes a wide, drifting turn in the water and crashes his Great Dane butt right into me.

Aaand down she goes.

My feet slip on the slick rocks and I collide directly into Samuil. His arm wraps around my waist on pure instinct as we both go down for round two.

This time, with me on top of him.

I shriek as we splash down and I’m promptly rewarded with a mouthful of Chicago’s finest lake water. I’m tempted to slip beneath the surface and never return. If I even have any dignity left, it won’t survive the walk of shame back to shore.

But Samuil doesn’t give me the choice of living out the rest of my life as a lake nymph. He tows me upright, the two of us reduced to a tangle of soaked clothing and wet limbs as we emerge into a seated position. My scrambling hands find purchase against his chest and his thighs and other parts of him I refuse to name for fear that, if I don’t die of drowning, I’ll die of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter repeatedly. “I’m so sorry.”

Finally, I peel myself off of Samuil’s hard, firm, soaking wet body and rise to my knees.

He blinks water from his eyes and sits up. I hold my breath, waiting for the threats of litigation or bodily harm.

Instead, he says, “I’ve never met someone so determined to get me out of my clothes.”

I doubt that.

I dodge the instinct to say things that’ll haunt my dreams later and go directly into crisis management mode. “You have to let me pay for dry cleaning this time. I insist.”

Suddenly, Samuil reaches for me. I freeze like Bambi in the path of a Mack truck.Is he gonna throttle me? Wag a scolding finger in my face? Give me a swirly in the lake? Honestly, all fair.

But his fingers brush a wet strand of hair from my face with devastating gentleness.

Now, I can see him clearly, which doesn’t help my nerves one bit. Even soaking wet and covered in mud, he’s gorgeous.

He’s also smiling at me. For a man who just had his second expensive suit in two weeks ruined by a behemoth of a dog and his klutzy walker, he doesn’t seem too upset.

I force myself upright and offer him a hand. “Here. Let me help.”

The second his hand is in mine, my ruined walking shoes slip on a rock, and I collapse against his chest. Again.

“For fuck’s sake.” Disgusting lake water sluices into my mouth as I groan. “This is a new low.”

Samuil shifts me off him and rises to his feet with predatory grace. Then he peels off his ruined jacket, revealing the white dress shirt underneath.

Sweet mother of God.

The fabric clings to every ridge and valley of the uncountable muscles on his body. Water droplets trace paths down his chest that make my mouth go dry despite the gallon of lake slime I just swallowed.

Despite it all, I find myself grateful to Rufus. He made this sight possible. Kind of an artist in his own right, when you really think about it.

Samuil reaches for me. “Take my hand.”

Sunlight shimmers around him, glinting golden off of the water droplets clinging to the curled ends of his hair. I feel like I’m being pulled from the depths of the lake by a god.

He pulls me easily to my feet. For a split second, I think he’s about to kiss me. All it would take is a slight tilt closer, one shared breath, and then?—

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