Page 54 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

I have no idea how well Van swims, but he’s without a doubt more athletic than I am. I don’t need to watch the droplets of water tracing a slow path over his pecs and down the start of his blocky abs to know how fit he is. My swimming prowess extends to some third- and fourth-place swim team ribbons when I was a kid. Somehow, I don’t think breaststroke is going to help me now.

I may notneedto watch, but I find myself mesmerized for just a moment by the ridges of muscle and—wait. Is he flexing his pecs on purpose?

My steps have slowed while I was distracted, allowing Van to get almost within reach.

I dart back and a little to the side, water sloshing up to my chin. “Stop that!”

“Stop what?” He laughs. “Chasing you? Or distracting you with my pecs?”

“Both.”

“Maybe if you stopped ogling me?—”

“I wasn’t ogling!” When he arches one dark brow, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, I splash him. “Fine! But I was?—”

Van leaps forward, cutting off my words as his hands grasp my waist. I shriek.

“Calm down or someone will think I’m murdering you,” he says through a laugh, then lifts me like he’s going to toss me.

“No! Please!” I beg, trying to find a handhold on his body. Aside from attaching myself to his torso like I’m a barnacle and he’s the prow of a boat, I can’t hold on. My fingers slip over his slick skin, struggling to hold onto the swell of his shoulders.

“No please, what?” Van asks, eyes gleaming and lips curving up in a smile.

“No, please don’t throw me,” I say, not even caring that I’m begging.

“Who said anything about throwing you?”

But even as the question is leaving his mouth, Van jerks me higher, loosening his grip like he’s going to toss me, only to tighten it again. Such a tease. He pulls me back to his chest, laughing. I start to scream and one of his hands releases my waist to cover my mouth.

“No screaming,” he says. I nip at his finger and he drops his hand, going back to gripping my waist. “And no biting.”

“I make no promises,” I tell him.

“Fine. If you don’t like being tossed, how do you feel about spinning?”

Without waiting for my answer, Van adjusts his grip and starts to spin us. Tight circles pinwheeling through the water. My own personal spinning teacup ride.

Okay,thisI don’t mind.

I tilt my head back, reveling in the dizzying feeling of motion and the closeness of Van’s solid body, the warmth and strength of his hands on me. There’s too much light pollution to see many stars, but there are scattered pinpricks of light against the curtain of black sky.

It’s a beautiful night, and I want to wrap it around me like a shawl. To revel in the lightness and joy sparking deep in my chest.

And to think—I was supposed to be married tonight.

Had my life gone according to plan, I would be here with Drew. Though, nothere. Our flight was supposed to be tomorrow, and Drew is not a night swimming kind of guy.

And until now, I don’t think I would have considered myself a night swimming kind of woman. Whatever we would have been doing, I’m so grateful I’mhereinstead.

As Van slows down and comes to a stop, staggering dramatically as though too dizzy to keep his balance—okay, maybe he actually is too dizzy to stay still—I brush his wet hair back from his forehead.

“Thank you,” I tell him, tasting salt on my lips.

He tilts his head. “For not throwing you?”

“No. For making this fun instead of miserable. For giving up Vegas or whatever else you could have done on this break. I know your schedule will be ridiculous when you get back. You’re giving up your time to be with someone you barely know.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Van says.

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