Shipped(36)

“And the reef shark.”

“I can’t believe we saw a shark!”

“You weren’t afraid it was going to…” Something scrabbles against the side of my knee—his fingers. I shriek and kick away, accidentally splashing him in the face.

He pinches water out of his eyes. “Oh, you want to play that game?” Mischief dances in his smile.

“What, this game?” I sweep water at him again, this time intentionally. I have half a second to brace myself before he splashes me back.

My heart alights with juvenile delight even as water runs down my cheeks. Laughing and shrieking, I shovel water at him for all I’m worth, all while averting my face and squeezing my eyes shut to avoid the worst of his watery assault. His deep, rumbling laughter joins with mine and my palm connects with something firm—his chest.

Blinking open my eyes, I curl my fingers automatically against the slick neoprene of his wetsuit. He’s stopped splashing me. The amusement dims from his eyes and winks out. We’re close; the current from his legs swirls around my own as he pumps gracefully to keep himself afloat.

Warmth floods my veins, chasing away the chill. Graeme’s nostrils flare and his eyes glint as they search my face with an unspoken question…

Do you feel what I’m feeling?

Oh God, I don’t know what I’m feeling. Graeme’s always been larger than life, taking up an inordinate amount of space in my mind. But now his image has shifted. Instead of repelling me, it invites me to come closer.

Have a taste, just a little.

I’m Eve and he’s the apple—a shiny, beckoning promise filled with the joy of delicious knowledge… and the threat of regret.

And I want to devour him whole.

My fingers uncoil, but instead of pulling away, I press my palm more firmly against his chest, just above his heart. His breath hitches like a rip in thick fabric and his hand finds my hip through the clear blue water. My lips part on an inhale.

“Henley?” he murmurs. His fingers squeeze, drawing me closer…

A loud whistle pierces the air and I hastily pull away. The naturalist on board the nearest Zodiac waves at us before extending his arm and bringing his fist to the top of his head. Graeme returns the gesture—the “I’m okay, no problems here” signal we learned about earlier.

What’s the signal for “I’m losing my mind please come save me from myself”?

Gliding backward through the water, the moment broken, I tilt my head back to wet my hair and smooth the curling tendrils from my temples. “We should head back to shore.” At least my voice is steady. My heart is anything but.

What is happening to me? Yes, Graeme is undoubtedly attractive, but I need to get a hold of myself before my out-of-control libido leads my career prospects into a ditch. You’d think with my bad history of romantic entanglements at work that I would have learned my lesson by now. Apparently not.

I pull my mask back over my eyes before remembering it’s foggy. “Damn it,” I mutter, yanking it over my waterlogged ponytail.

“I know a trick for that. Spit in it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Spit in the inside of your mask and rub it around with your finger.” At my incredulous stare, he adds, “Keeps it from fogging up.”

“Oh.” Just as I’m about to follow through on his suggestion, suspicion wells in my gut. “Wait, have you snorkeled before?”

He hesitates. “Not for a long time.”

“But you’re experienced.”

Water swirls around his arms where he treads. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve snorkeled a few times, but I prefer diving. But again, it’s been a while.”

He’s a scuba diver? That goes way past I’ve snorkeled a couple times and need a refresher to I’m a freaking marine recreation expert. Irritation and embarrassment burst like a Roman candle in the pit of my stomach. Pulling the mask over my eyes, I swim for the beach—fog be damned. A low curse followed by splashing tells me Graeme is behind me.

Soon my fins brush bottom, and in another dozen yards I stand. “Why did you go on this beginner excursion?” I demand over my shoulder through labored breaths. “There’s a group out there right now offshore somewhere probably seeing infinitely cooler things.”

Graeme splashes up next to me. “What’s cooler than snorkeling with sea lions and sharks?”

I pluck off my fins and tuck them under my arm as I wade through waist-deep water. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Because I was worried about you, okay?”

My cheeks flame. “I didn’t need your concern. You should have worried about yourself.”

“I’m still waiting for a thank-you.”

“For what, teaching me how to float and breathe through a tube at the same time? Like I couldn’t have figured that out on my own.”

“You know, I don’t get you. I was just trying to be nice.”

I thrust through the remaining tide and storm the beach like Normandy. My skin is chilled and my lungs pump from equal parts exertion and irritation. I throw my snorkeling gear down on an incline of white, powdery sand and whirl on him. I know I’m being unreasonable, but I’m past caring.

Irritation—at myself for not keeping my game face on, and at Graeme, for underestimating me—chokes off any gratitude I feel.