Or drown himself.
No time for that. He had to get to the village and send word to his father—Alex is with me; do not worry, and do not search.I will take care of it.By which he meant he’d let Alex do whatever the hell she wished to do. He owed her that much.
He set off for the shore, and when he stood, the water up to his waist, a cry and a splash from the other side of the lake swung him around. A head popped up above the water—blond hair darkened by the water, a round, soft face, with wide, parted, lush lips.
Miss Jones, rolling onto her back to float belly up, eyes closed not far from where she’d jumped off a bank and into the water.
The water lapped at Keats’s hips, barely hiding the most pertinent bits of him. He should dress, walk to town, and send word to his father. The right thing to do.
Damn, but he’d never been good at being good. He swam back out into the lake. Really, it was her fault she’d not seen him. Or… perhaps she had.
He grinned as he swam. How to approach her? Didn’t want to scare her, after all. Some feet away, he came upright and treaded water.
She floated, softly, making tiny waves with the languid movements of her arms and legs, the corners of her luscious lips tilted up ever so slightly. Her shift had molded to her body, and hell, his own body pulsed to life. Big breasts, soft belly, wide, full hips—she was a feast, and he was ravenous. He wanted to set his lips to the nipples that peaked against the shift, rosy shadows he needed to taste.
“A divine treat to a man who deserves one.”
He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until she screamed, her entire body dunking beneath the water then resurfacing with a sputter, her hair tangled over her face.
“Hell.” He swam forward. “Let me help.”
“No!” She flung out an arm to keep him away and sank beneath the water once more, popped up more quickly this time. “No, no, no.” Each word tripping into the next. “Do not come any closer.”
Her legs pumped beneath the water, and one arm waved wildly to keep her treading upright, she pushed her hair off her face with her only free hand in jerky movements, blinking water out of her eyes. When she seemed to catch her breath, she stared at him with… well, there was no other word for it buthorror.
“Perhaps we should move to a shallower bit of the lake,” Keats suggested.
Her gaze darted from one of his naked shoulders to the other. “No!” Then her eyes narrowed. “How far down does that bare skin go?”
“All the way down.”
Her eyes widened.
“To my smalls.”
She released a breath and closed her eyes. “Thank God.”
“I thank him, too, for bringing us here at the same time.” She’d told him not to flirt. He’d determined not to flirt. Unfortunately, flirting ran thick through his veins. Like breathing, he couldn’tnotdo it. “I was about to leave.”
“Do not let me stop you.”
“Oh, you already have. No stopping me from being stopped. But you may certainly leave if you wish.” There. Better. He wasn’t here for a flirtation. He was here for Alex. And this woman, this goddamnheroine, certainly deserved better than a drunken coward like him.
“I will.” She swam toward the bank, slowed, and turned around, muttering a curse.
And he watched it all, unable to look away as long as she was within view. “What is wrong, Miss Jones?”
“How do you know my name?”
“Asked around. Miss Lucy Jones. I must say, my tongue rather likes saying it.”
She scowled. “Don’t say it. And you must turn around and close your eyes.”
“Must I?” Hadn’t he, after all, just determined he couldn’t close his eyes? Not against the sight of Miss Lucy Jones.
“I am going to tell Mr. Beckett he’s brought a wolf into our midst.” She took off for the bank.
Panic shot through him, propelled him through the water and after her. He couldn’t let her tell Mr. Beckett anything of the sort. He’d be sacked.