He should have obeyed. He should have savored the sweet moment for what it was, allowing her to enjoy the peace and serenity of the sea as he did every morning when he swam. But she was holding her floating position so well that he seized upon the opportunity, slowly withdrawing his hands from beneath her.
For a few glorious seconds, she floated by herself, her body gently nudged by the wavelets.
Then, he ruined it. “You’re doing it, Matilda!” he cheered. “You’re doing it by yourself! I knew you were just overthinking. See, you’re?—”
Her eyes flew open, and he could see the very second that her brain took over from her instinct. She flailed her arms and kicked out her legs, sinking like a stone. Her head disappeared beneath the surface, dragged down by the rest of her.
Cursing under his breath, Albion grabbed a trailing wrist and hauled her upward, pulling her into his arms without hesitation. She coughed and spluttered as he grasped her to him, one hand cradling her neck once more as she tried to wrench away from him. Her sense of betrayal was clearly greater than her logic, for if she let go of him, she would sink again.
“What is wrong with you?” she raged, smacking him hard on the chest. “I told you not to do that! Two seconds ago, I told you not to do that!”
He smoothed seawater out of her face, brushing back the sodden tendrils of her hair. “I know, I know,” he said, grimacing. “But you were doing it by yourself. If you’d just stayed the way you were, you’d have kept on floating. I shouldn’t have said anything then you wouldn’t have panicked.”
“I did not panic; I was drowning!” she replied sharply, coughing.
“Take deep breaths,” he told her in a soft, soothing voice. “Catch your breath. You’re safe. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, but I’ve got you now.”
Her arms looped around his neck, and as her feet could not reach the seabed, he kept her close to him, ensuring her head and shoulders were above the water.
Slowly but surely, her breathing calmed down and her body relaxed against him, her eyes—the same color as the shallows of the cove—lifting to his with only a hint of resentment in them. He heard his own breathing, harsher than hers, and realized that his heart was pounding.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wish you could’ve seen you, though.”
“A bedraggled, pale thing, floundering for air?” she said, the acid in her tone receding.
He dared a smile. “No, you looked like you belonged to the sea, that you came from the sea and had just drifted toward the shore. It’s exactly what I was thinking before… the floundering.”
“I really did it?” she asked quietly, her eyes igniting with something like wonder.
“You really did.”
“And I ruined it.” She frowned, her mouth downturned. “I panicked. I overthought.”
His hand came up to cup her damp cheek, stroking away the droplets that coursed down her face. “You didn’t ruin it. Now that you know you can do it, you can do it again. And I won’t trick you, this time.”
“Thatwasrather mean of you.” Her gaze drifted to his lips for a moment, and one hand moved up from his shoulder to the side of his neck. A subtle adjustment that he felt like a red-hot brand to his flesh.
“Allow me to apologize profusely,” he murmured, his heart in his throat.
If she looked back up into his eyes, he would be done for. If she gave him that signal, he would have to rally to the call.
She looked back up at him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes shining. And before he could talk himself out of it, before he could think of the consequences and the sharp slap that might soon sting his cheek, he dipped his head and caught her mouth with his. A bold graze that felt more like a question than an apology, and he did not know what her answer would be.
Her hand tightened on the side of his neck, her other hand gripping a handful of his wet shirt, but her lips did not respond… not at first. But as he held her closer and grazed his mouth across hers for a second time, it was as if he had breathed life back into her.
Tentatively, she kissed him back: a soft press that was more than he had expected.
All the world fell away, the chill in his bones fading to a distant warmth, the gooseflesh that prickled his skin now rooted in a different cause, and every wavelet that bumped into him seemed to be an encouragement from the sea itself.
He kissed her with abandon, and she kissed him back in kind, echoing the movement of his lips and hands, absorbing the knowledge with each demonstration to prove that shecouldlearn that way. And though he was the one holding her and keeping her safe from the perils of the water, it felt likeshewas something of a life raft, keeping him afloat while he was out of his depth.
This is my wife, hismind whispered.I am kissing my wife, and she is kissing me in return.She had answered his question most favorably.
In an instant, like Matilda had done a short while ago, he let his mind overwhelm his instinct. He panicked and began to drown, submerged in a million racing thoughts that swept through his head:What if she wanted more? What if she wanted children? What if she wanted a husband who was capable of love? What if she had not meant to kiss him, and was being polite or merely caught in the moment? What if she regretted it? What if she started to see the scars and ugliness again, and felt disgusted with herself?
He pulled away, breaking the kiss. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. You were half-drowned, you were vulnerable, and I—I’m sorry.”
“Albion, it?—”
