Page 71 of Rusty's Command

When he resurfaced, she splashed him.

“You bugger!” His eyes flared with mock outrage.

He charged after her, and they erupted into fits of laughter, splashing and dunking each other like a couple of crazy kids. As the sun dipped below the horizon, they finally exhausted themselves and their playful chaos gave way to sighs of contentment. They floated on their backs in the calm water, and their hands laced together as they watched the stars twinkle in the night sky.

Rusty squeezed her palm to his. “You ready for a wine yet?”

“Absolutely. And some food. All this exercise has made me hungry.”

Rusty chuckled, and as they stepped from the water, his hand settled on the small of her back, guiding her toward the cave. The familiar touch sent a wave of nostalgia washing over her, transporting her back to a time when life was simpler and their love was new. Rusty’s hand felt exactly as it had all those years ago—warm, gentle, and possessive.

“You still prefer white wine over red?” Rusty broke into her thoughts.

She gasped. “You remember that?”

He pulled his shorts back on, concealing his glorious ass from her. “I remember everything about you.”

“Oh yeah? What else?” she asked, feeling young and electric as she tugged on her shorts and shirt.

Rusty’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Like how you always tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous.” He reached up, catching her hand as it moved unconsciously toward her hair.

“No, I don’t!” A wave of heat flushed her cheeks.

His answering chuckle was deep and rich, something caught between a growl and a laugh that made heat pool in her belly.

Oh yeah, some things definitely improve with age.

His fingers trailed from her elbow to her wrist before he kneeled on the picnic blanket. As he plucked the wine and glasses from the bucket, Sienna studied the tattoo on his arm. Up close, the intricate design shifted and rippled as he moved, revealing details she’d missed in earlier glimpses. Each line and shadow added another layer to the man she thought she knew.

“And I remember,” he said, offering her a glass with that devastating half-smile, “how you used to steal my T-shirts and claim you were just ‘keeping them warm’ for me.”

Heat bloomed across her neck as she sat cross-legged on the blanket, facing him. “About that . . .”

His eyes sparkled with amusement as if he knew what she was about to say. “What?”

“I still have one.” She sipped her wine, enjoying the crisp taste. “The blue UC Berkeley T-shirt you practically worshipped.”

He paused with the glass suspended halfway to his lips. “You kept it for eighteen years?”

“Well,” she said, gliding her fingers over the stem of her glass, “I told myself I was just holding onto it until I could return it properly.” She ran her tongue over her lip.

“You were hoping to see me again?” He set his glass down and shifted closer, their knees brushing.

“No, well, I don’t know what I was waiting for.” She met his gaze.

“I did a lot of waiting too.” His voice dropped lower. “And a lot of regretting. Letting you go that summer . . . God, I was such a jackass.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh yeah, a real jackass.”

“Yeah.” His smile turned apologetic. “I made a lot of mistakes in my life, but that one kept me up at night.”

She traced the edges of the tattoo that curved around his bicep. “We were both young and naïve.”

“That’s no excuse for what I did.” His tone was heavy with regret.

She shifted forward and straddled his legs to sit in his lap with the same natural ease they used to have. His breath caught slightly. “Want to know what I think?”

His fingers found that rebellious strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that made her heart ache. The gesture bridged eighteen years, both familiar yet electric with new possibilities.

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