Page 26 of Songbird
“It feels like this!”
Rosie runs on bare feet, red flannel fluttering around her thighs, down to the dock, right to its edge, and flings her phone into the water.
Dakota trots after her, and I shake my head with amusement as I follow at an easy pace.
“I’m happy for you, Rosie,” I say, then cut off with a frown as she starts to unbutton her—my—shirt. “What are you doing?”
“I feel free, Finn. For the first time since I was a kid, I’m free!”
Another button passes through her fingers, and another, until the shirt opens all the way, and she lets the fabric fall to her feet. She’s wearing the red lace panties I accidentally on purpose spotted in her shopping bags.
“Jesus fucking—” I shove a hand through my hair and drop my eyes, but not before she turns around and I notice the sexy little dimples at the base of Rosie’s back. “Put your clothes back on.”
“No.”
I swipe the shirt from the dock and thrust it at her, the whole time hiding how much I love seeing this side of her. The nudity’s nice, sure, and you can damn well bet I’ll be thinking about it again later tonight, but her confidence and exuberance and the way her laugh bubbles up like she’s been fighting it for too long are what make her so beautiful right now.
“No more nakedness,” I remind her. “You promised.”
She glances over her shoulder at the shirt, then pointedly ignores it. “I guess I lied.”
Dakota barks and wriggles back, tail wagging madly as Rosie drags her underwear down her legs, steps out of it, and faces the water. I should look away. Turn around. Stare at anything but Rosie’s bare form but I can’t. I fucking can’t.
Her body is smooth and pale and perfect. Slender with gentle curves—the soft flesh of her thighs, the contour of her hips, the tempting crease just below her ass. The heavy swell of her breasts and tight pink nipples gone hard in the open air. Skin sosmooth I can’t help but imagine my hands, my lips, my tongue gliding over every inch of it.
Stunned too stupid to string two words together, I watch in mesmerized awe as Rosie positions her toes on the edge of the dock, flexes her muscled legs, and launches into a shallow dive. She breaks the surface of the water with grace, then pops her head back up with a rapturous smile.
“Are you serious?” I cross my arms and try to look stern, but I’m too captivated by this version of her. “Anyone could see you. You know that, right?”
She laughs and lies back until the slopes of her breasts lift out of the water, moving her arms in wide arcs and kicking her toes to make little surface splashes.
“I’m not in public,” she says. “But even if I were, nobody knows I’m here. Do you know what a miracle that is? Do you not understand what that means?”
Dakota barks again and spins in an excited circle, her tail whipping back and forth.
I do know what Rosie means and I also know she’s right. I can’t imagine a time she’s ever felt safe enough to swim naked in a river, and as her protector, it’s my job to worry while she lets go of her fears. I need to measure these moments clinically. Professionally. Neutrally. I’ve done it before, I can do it again, and part of me is fine with it.
The other part of me is, well… hard.
“Come on, girl!” Rosie sends light sprays of water toward Dakota. “Come swimming with Rosie!”
My heavy Lab hurls herself off the dock with a lot less finesse and a lot more impact than the global superstar waiting in the water. Rosie laughs again, a musical sound that ricochets off the river and the trees and even the sky.
“How about you?” she asks.
“Me?” I shake my head with a chuckle. “No.”
She splashes me, harder than she did Dakota, and I step back with water soaking my shirt and dripping from my hair.
“Oh, come on.” She slaps her hand over her eyes. “If you’re shy, I won’t look.” Her fingers part so she can peek out between them. “I promise.”
I snort. “You’d look,” I argue, and at her impish grin, I know I’m right.
“The water’s wonderful,” she says in a singsong voice meant to lure me in. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
I peel off my wet T-shirt and drop it onto the pile of flannel, then remove my jeans. I laugh low and husky at the devilish glint in her eyes, but there’s no way I’m getting in that water. Self-control is one thing. Self-destruction is another altogether. The trick is to find the middle ground.
When I lower myself to the edge of the dock and dangle my feet in the water instead of diving in after her, Rosie pouts and splashes me again. “Spoil sport.”
