The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(95)

“I thought you were afraid of the water.”

“Not with you here to protect me. Though I suppose you’ll have to catch me first.” She angled away from him and began swimming, water churning as she performed a very competent breaststroke.

She was no match for him, however.

Lockwood dove in, kept his face in the water, and started a hand-over-hand stroke. It required a flutter kick as his arms rolled up and through the water, like a windmill. Every few strokes, he rolled to the side and took a breath.

In seconds, he caught her.

She laughed and fell into his arms like she belonged there. “That is hardly fair. You swim like a god.”

“I am a god, remember?”

“How could I forget?” She pressed close and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel her warm breath on his cheek. There was no one else around for miles, as far as he was concerned. The water was their safe haven, the moon their only witness.

It was magical, a world away from responsibilities and marriages.

“Are you married?” she asked, as if reading his mind. “I sincerely hope the answer is no, that your wife isn’t staying at one of the cottages.”

“No wife. Tonight I’m at the inn near the train station.” Real life began tomorrow. This was fantasy, a few stolen moments in the water with a beautiful stranger. So he made the offer without stopping to think of all the ways it could complicate his plans. “Would you like to come back to my room?”

She sighed near his ear. “I can’t. My absence would be noticed.”

Disappointment burned in his throat, but at least she hadn’t refused on the basis of being uninterested. If she was employed at one of these cottages, she couldn’t risk her position by disappearing with a stranger. “I see.”

“It probably sounds silly but I’ve made a promise and must abide by it, even if it does ruin all my fun.”

“And mine.” He cupped her face and dragged his thumb over her jaw. They were drifting away from the beach, into deeper water, but he didn’t care. He felt untethered by this woman, cast free from his moorings. Fitting they should make it literal, then. “This is likely wildly inappropriate,” he whispered, “especially as you have already turned me down, but I would very much like to kiss you right now.”

“And here I was waiting for you to ask,” she murmured and moved to gently place her mouth on his.

Oh, thank Christ. Relieved, he let her control the kiss, her lips soft and curious as they brushed over his. Anticipation built between them, a slow slide into the depths rather than tumbling in. He followed, content to let their breath mingle as the water rocked them into the deep. After a minute or two, she shifted to wrap her arms and legs around him, and he held them above the surface, his body straining to tread water as they continued to explore one another.

Suddenly, she broke off and swam toward the shore. When she crooked a finger at him, he was lost. Diving, he grabbed her and towed her closer to dry land, just until he could stand on the sandy bottom. This time, he captured her mouth in a brutal kiss. He held nothing back, letting her feel how much he wanted her, and she returned the kiss with abandon. When he flicked at her lips with his tongue, she opened and he thrust inside that warm haven. Their mouths and tongues worked in tandem, like the lapping of water against their sides, and she held on, lightly digging her nails into his scalp.

“Harder,” he said into her mouth, and her nails found purchase in his skin. The rush of pain made him feel alive, like he was sparkling inside, tiny crackles of energy and light in every vein. His balls were heavy, his cock throbbing. He bit her lip, sharing a bit of that dark energy, hoping she liked it even a fraction as much as he did.

She gasped and clutched him tighter.

Suddenly, he was ravenous, his mouth slanting over hers at a frenetic pace. She kept up, her hands pulling at him while little whimpers escaped her throat. He let his lips wander over her cheek, along her jaw. Down her neck and across her collarbone.

He wanted to eat her alive.

“Are you certain you won’t come back to my room?” He should not be asking, considering his pending commitments, but the words tumbled out before he could hold them back. One night, that was all he needed. One night with this woman before he settled into responsibility.

“I can’t. I could meet you there tomorrow afternoon.”

“I won’t be there. What about here on the beach?”

“What time?”

“Midnight. Will you meet me?” His stomach clenched. He wasn’t certain what he would do if she said no.

Looking up at him through her lashes, she whispered, “Another midnight tryst. I can hardly wait.”

Then his mysterious red-headed siren hurried toward the rocks, where she stopped to collect her things before blending into the darkness. It had only been seconds, but he already craved her again.

How was he going to survive the next twenty-four hours until he could have her?





About the Author


USA Today bestselling author JOANNA SHUPE has always loved history, ever since she saw her first Schoolhouse Rock cartoon. Her books have appeared on numerous yearly “best of” lists, including Publishers Weekly, The Washington Post, Kirkus Reviews, Kobo, and BookPage. She lives in New Jersey with her two spirited daughters and dashing husband.