Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(54)

And his so-called heroism had ruined that. Swimming into the bay and getting washed out to sea was beginning to sound like an excellent way to escape this situation.

“How did you even know about this place?” he asked, a little breathless from the constant effort to stay afloat. “I mean…you’re a countess. You have a pool in your gardens. Why come all the way out here?”

“So that no one can disturb me.” The iron still hadn’t left her voice. “I’m sure you would understand the desire, considering you were taking the ‘long way around.’”

He grimaced. “I may know something about it, yes.”

Spotting a group of rocks nearby, Cayo swam up to them. The water was somewhat cold in the shade, but it felt good against his skin, and the rock he heaved himself onto was sunbaked and warm.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you,” he said, wringing out his shirt.

Yamaa sighed again and followed him. Although the simple act of treading water had left him out of breath, she seemed completely unaffected. He watched the graceful way she moved, remembering when she dived to save her servant at the garden party. Did she use to swim wherever she came from? Had her family’s manor also sat by the ocean?

She lifted herself onto the rock near his, dripping water everywhere. She was only in her underthings, and Cayo’s face heated again as he briefly glanced at the curves of her thighs and hips. But she didn’t seem to care about modesty or covering herself around him. She merely squeezed excess water from her long black hair as she studied him with narrowed eyes.

“Do you often go about trying to save young women?” she jabbed.

Cayo let out an embarrassed laugh. “Not usually. I’ll admit that I’m surprised to see you here, though. Alone.” After all, she had brought a servant with her at their meeting at the teahouse.

“You’re not the only one who likes to sneak around.”

“I wasn’t—” He cleared his throat. “I’m not sneaking. Just taking a walk. Sometimes I prefer it over taking the carriage.”

She hummed in a way that said she obviously didn’t believe him. Then her eyes cut back to him. “If you’re going to keep staring at me, you might as well undress, too.”

“Wh—” God and her stars, why couldn’t he talk? “Undress?”

The countess pointed at his shirt. “It looks expensive.”

That was true enough; it was tailored by Ferdicand, one of Cayo’s favorite shops in the city for everyday wear. His fingers hesitated at his collar as she leaned back on her hands, observing him unabashedly.

“Go on,” she urged.

“Why do I feel like I’m putting on a show?”

“You could, if you wanted to. I’m a tough critic, though.”

That made him laugh and start unbuttoning his shirt. He’d been shirtless plenty of times around others, had enjoyed the attention he got as a result. But something about the way her eyes grazed his bare shoulders and slid down his chest was different. It didn’t feel sensual, exactly—but it wasn’t analytical, either. Something in between, as if she were trying to figure out what to make of him.

That calm appraisal made him shiver. There had been something about her at the teahouse as well—an intensity that rooted him to the spot, focused acutely on how her gaze trailed over his neck. Like she wanted to follow the path her eyes left with her fingers, or her lips. Or her teeth.

He was so used to blatant flirtation that the lack of it was startling, and somehow even more tantalizing. For the first time, he wondered if he actually wanted her to want him.

Cayo balled up the wet shirt and dropped it onto the rock next to him. “Better?”

“It’ll do.”

They fell into an uneasy silence. At least, for Cayo it was uneasy. He still couldn’t help but feel like a trespasser, the skin along his arms prickling with guilt and the lingering effects of her gaze. He tried to speak a few times, maybe to apologize again, maybe to say that he should get going and leave her be, but for some reason he stayed glued to his rock.

“I also wanted to come here,” she said at last, eyes on the water that lapped at the rocks, “so that I could clear my head. Get away from everything and just…think.”

“Oh.” Cayo rested his elbows on his knees, his feet still submerged in the water. The air smelled of salt and sunshine, much cleaner than what he had to breathe at the docks. “I know what that’s like.”

“Do you?” She turned to look at him again. It struck him then that for the first time, he was seeing her without flourishes or makeup, without the elaborate dresses and perfectly styled hair. Every time he had encountered her she had been so…put together. Picturesque. Almost as if she were donning a costume instead of an outfit.

But now she had been stripped—literally—and all he saw was a girl without a mask to hide behind, flawed and fierce and beautiful. Someone Cayo could actually relate to.

“Yes,” he admitted. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how you can only ever see the surface of a person? I feel like most of the time, beneath my surface, I’m drowning. And no one can see it.”

Her eyebrows gently furrowed together, thoughtful. “That’s it,” she agreed. “That’s it exactly.”

That initial admission had unlocked some door within him, and now it was beginning to creak open. “A lot’s been weighing on me lately,” he went on. “It helps to be alone with your thoughts. My mother…she used to sit on the balcony and stare at the ocean.” He gestured to the mouth of the inlet that led toward the bay. “That was her way of handling things, I suppose.”