The Forever Girl (Wildstone, #6)(51)

All the anger drained out of her in a single heartbeat. “Oh my God,” she gasped, brushing her hands over his chest as if she could see the damage through the water and his clothing. “Walk, I’m so sorry!”

“Are you?”

“Yes! You think I like hurting you?”

Instead of answering, he pushed the wet hair from her face. Then his hand disappeared into the water and she realized he had a grip on her and was keeping them both afloat. The night air was cool and somehow made the water seem warmer than it was. Above them, the moon was nothing but a sliver, casting a blue glow just to the right of them, enough to see his eyes were dark, mouth unsmiling, and yet nothing about the lines of his body said anger or resentment to her.

So her own anger and resentment also drained. And that was when she realized something else: they were chest to chest, thighs to thighs, and all their good parts in between were touching. And here was the thing about Walker—from a distance, he was impressive. Up close, even more so. He had an air about him, an easy confidence that never tipped into cocky and a way of moving that reminded her of a cat. A big, feral cat. Although this wasn’t what was making it hard to breath or giving her little tremors. Nope. She wanted to say it was adrenaline, but she knew better.

It was arousal.

Because damn. Walker up close and personal had always been her kryptonite, and apparently that hadn’t changed. She stared at his face, utterly still, aware of him holding her close, treading water for both of them, their gazes locked, feet occasionally brushing.

Neither of them shifted away. It was the first time she’d been this close to him in three years, and even longer than that since they’d touched like this, and dammit, how was it that he was even sexier now than he’d ever been?

She didn’t have many rules for herself, but the few she did have were necessary for her sanity. And one of them was to stay miles away from Walker—or if not miles, then about eight inches should do it.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, husky.

A part of her felt more okay and more alive than she’d been in a long, long time. But another part of her felt confused at the closeness and the concern in his voice, not to mention her body’s reaction to it. Unsure what to say, she reacted with predictable immaturity. She dunked him, then started swimming to shore.

He caught her in two strokes. “Are we racing?”

They’d always raced when they were younger. Everything had been a challenge between them, a dare. “Yes.”

“Same rules?”

First to shore had always gotten to be ruler of the universe for a whole day, and the loser had to do everything the other one said. Only a problem if one intended to lose, and she never intended to lose.

“Say it, Maze.”

“I’m going to win and you’re going to call me ruler of your universe for a whole day.”

“And a night,” he threatened . . . or was it a promise? In either case, she was already hauling ass toward the shore.

Before she’d gone three strokes, a shadow passed her.

Damn him.

By the time she stepped out of the water a minute later, dripping wet and breathless, Walker was standing there, casual as could be, also dripping wet, but not breathless in the slightest.

And he wasn’t alone. Nope, the whole gang had appeared—Jace, Heather, and Caitlin—all of them looking boggled.

“Holy cow,” Heather said. “Aren’t you guys freezing?”

Walker shook his head. “The water’s warm.”

The water was not warm, so it was a good thing that annoyance burned hot.

“Were you . . . racing?” Caitlin asked in disbelief.

“Of course not,” Maze said, and Walker actually laughed. She stared at him and found a slow smile curving her mouth too, because damn, his was infectious.

“Dude, you’re supposed to let the girl win,” Jace said.

“Are you kidding?” Walker asked, gaze still locked on Maze. “She’d rather lose than win by pity. And if you’ve spent the past . . . what was it? A year with her now? You’d know that.”

“Okay, so who needs a drink?” Heather asked brightly. Slipping her arms through Jace’s and Cat’s, she turned them toward the house, looking back to give Maze a look that wasn’t that hard to decipher.

Figure your shit out . . .

Right. Like she was so good at doing that. She eyed Walker and found herself wound up all over again.

He swiveled his gaze her way, arching a brow.

“The least you can do is pretend to be tired,” she said with disgust.

“I don’t pretend, Maze. Ever.”

No shit.

“I won fair and square.” He came close. Too close. “But it’s cute you were so certain you’d beat me.”

She snorted. “You think you know me.”

“I do know you. More than anyone else.”

True statement. Didn’t mean it didn’t piss her off. “If you’re so smart then, claim your prize. What do I have to do tomorrow?”

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

She stopped breathing. “You could have me do anything, and you want what, a simple kiss?”

“Oh, there’s nothing simple about kissing you. But I’m not asking for that. I wouldn’t kiss another man’s girlfriend.”