Bay of Sighs (The Guardians Trilogy #2)(8)

“There are the trees, and it’s so early.”

“Windows over the trees—if somebody happened to look out just the right way at the right time.”

“Oh.” With a little sigh, she lowered the tail into the water. And now he saw her legs lightly kicking. “I didn’t mean to, but it felt so good I forgot.”

“It’s okay, just don’t . . . No, don’t get out.”

He actually felt panic as she glided toward the shallow end, stood. That body—willowy and perfect and . . . wet. Water sparkled on her skin, diamonds on gold dust.

She was killing him.

“I—I’m going to get you a towel. Don’t get out without any . . . Just wait.”

He hurried back inside. Coffee wasn’t going to do much for a throat that had gone bone dry at the way her hair slicked over those really, really pretty breasts.

He tried counting backward by threes from a thousand, and still had to take a minute, adjust himself—only human—when he grabbed a pool towel from the utility room off the kitchen.

When he came out again, she’d stayed obediently as she was.

“You need to . . .” He wound a finger in the air. “Around. Then the dress.”

He didn’t see anything but the dress, which meant she wouldn’t be wearing anything under the dress. And it wasn’t smart to think about that either.

He stared at the lemon trees as he held the towel over the pool.

“Why do women always cover their top half, and men don’t always?”

“Because we don’t have . . . and you have.”

“The breasts,” she said as she stepped out of the pool, wrapped the towel around herself. “Sometimes the maids wear shells over the breasts. But this is for fashion.”

He risked a glance, relieved she’d covered everything. “Mermaid fashion?”

“Yes. We like adornments, too. I made coffee.”

“Yeah, good. Thanks.” He picked it up from the table, took a sip. She’d made it strong enough to fight the champ, but he had no problem with that. “If you’re going to swim, you really need to wear a suit and keep your legs on.”

“I apology.”

“No. No, don’t be sorry.” He risked another look. Now she stood in the dress, long hair wet and sleek as a seal. “It’s amazing. It’s beautiful. It must feel weird for you to swim without it.”

“I like the legs.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty great. Once we score a boat, we should be able to go out far enough, or you deep enough to tail it out when you want. But in the pool, broad daylight, it’s better if you don’t.”

“For a few moments it was just morning, with the little pool of water in the sun, and the smell of the trees.”

“One day it will be just morning.”

She looked at him then, into his eyes. “You believe?”

“Yeah. I believe.”

“Then I can’t be sad. I’ll help you fix the breakfast, and I can set the table. What will you make?”

“The way we’re supplied right now? Pretty much anything. What do you want?”

“I can pick?”

“Sure.”

“Can you make—it’s not the pancakes because you . . .” She made a rolling motion with her fingers. “And put something delicious inside.”

“Crepes.”

“Yes! Can you make those?”

“You got it.”

She liked working in the kitchen. So many smells and colors and tastes. Sawyer said they’d make eggs and bacon, too, and the crepes would have peaches in them and honey over them so they’d be sweet.

She helped him mix, and he showed her how to make the crepe, let her try one all by herself. As she did, Sasha came in.

“Good timing. Everyone’s stirring around. God, it smells good in here.”

“I’m making a crepe.”

“Fancy.” Sasha walked over, put an arm around Annika’s waist, watched a moment. “And you’re doing a good job of it.”

Sasha reached for a coffee cup. “Should I set the table?”

“The table! I forgot to get the flowers. We need the plates and the glasses and the napkins, and—”

“Why don’t I take out the plates,” Sasha said.

With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, Annika nodded as she carefully slid the crepe onto a plate. “Did I do it the right way?”

“Looks perfect,” Sawyer told her.

“I need to get the flowers now.”

As she dashed out, Sasha leaned back against the counter. “Never a boring tablescape with Annika.”

“Maybe you can sort of explain to her about swimming naked, at least in the daylight.”

“Was she?”

“Unless you count the tail.”

“Uh-oh.”

“No harm I could see, and she just got caught up. I think she got what I was telling her about it, but maybe, you know, another woman. I think, on Corfu, she went down to the beach early every morning, swam out, and under, way under, to give herself that . . . ritual, I guess it is. But here . . .”

“I’ll make sure she understands. Do you need any help here?”