Page 64 of Colton's Last Resort

Muscle and sinew rippled and bunched under a tapestry of black-and-white pictures. The wings she’d gleaned under the sleeve of his shirt took the shape of a large falcon. It spread across his upper arm and shoulder, finishing with another wing that reached as far as his left pectoral. The designs boasted more bones mixed with clockwork, as if he had tried to convince the world that he was half human, half machine. They were vivid and detailed. Although some lines and shapes had faded more to blue than black with time, none of them bled into others.

The effect was...breathtaking, she found. She was stunned by her own reaction.

Laura tried not to stare at him—at all he was—as he unzipped his fly and pushed the denim down. He fought with his boots before discarding them and the jeans completely, leaving him standing in his boxer briefs.

She reached for him, happy when he let her lace her fingers through his. Drawing him up to the top of the starting block, she grinned. “On three.”

“One,” he began.

“Two...”

“Three,” he said and pushed her.

She flailed for a second before breaking the surface. She opened her mouth to shout at him but shrieked when he cannonballed in after her. The residual splash was impressive. She swept the water from her eyes as he surfaced, grinning. “Prick!” she shouted, tossing water in his face.

“You look good wet, Colton.”

She felt more than stirrings of heat. The tendrils of steam off the water’s surface could’ve been from her. Unsure what to do with herself, she floated on her back. The moon was directly overhead. She drifted for a moment, watching it and the stars before flipping onto her stomach for a lazy freestyle lap.

She’d drowned parts of herself in this pool. The pool hadn’t been installed for fun or leisure. She’d needed it to stay fit and sane. Water purified. It cleansed. It took away her doubts and reinforced what she needed.

Usually.Still unsure of herself, she did another lap.

“Hey, Flipper,” he tossed out when she came up for air.

She swept the water from her face. “What?”

He nodded toward the starting block. “Want to race?”

She laughed at the idea. “Sure. But, fair warning—I won the California state championship two years in a row.”

“Do you still have the trophies?”

“Maybe.”

“Of course you do,” he said knowingly. He gripped the edge of the pool and pulled himself out.

She tried not to groan. He wasn’t just ripped and inked. He was wet, his boxer briefs clinging. Peeling her eyes away from him, she climbed the ladder to join him. She slicked her hair back from her face. “Ready to lose?”

He didn’t answer. Glancing over, she caught the wicked gleam in his eye as he gave her a thorough once-over. She felt her nipples draw up tight under her sports bra. “Would you like to frisk me, Detective?”

His gaze pinged back to hers. He blinked. His mouth fumbled.

Without warning, she threw her weight into him so that he tumbled into the pool.

Before he could come up for air, she executed a dive. Without looking back, she pumped her arms and legs into motion.

She felt the water churning to her right. As she raised her arm in a freestyle stroke and tilted her face out of the water, she saw him gaining, cutting through the water like a porpoise. She quickened her strokes.

They were coming up to the wall. She reached out blindly, groping for it.

Fingers circled her ankle, bringing her up short. She spluttered, arms flailing, as he held on.

Then she heard laughter—deep, uninhibited. She stopped fighting. As he drew her back against his chest, she abandoned the competition for lightheartedness. Delighted, she dropped her head back to his shoulder and belted a laugh to the sky.

His arms had hers pinned, and he tightened them. She could feel the reverberations of joy from his chest along her back and listened to the colonnades of his laughter. She closed her eyes, absorbing them.

The laughter wound down slowly and his body stilled, an inch at a time. He said nothing, holding her as steam curled around their joined forms.

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