Chapter 16
1036 Words
LORENZO
Everything inside me went silent.
I reached her before conscious thought caught up.
One arm around her waist.
Pull.
Her body broke through the surface against mine.
“Get off me!”
Of course those were her first words.
She twisted.
Her elbow came toward my ribs.
I caught her wrist.
“Stop fighting.”
“Let go.”
“You’re cramping.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to drown.”
“Then let me drown in peace.”
My grip tightened.
“Not an option.”
Why?
The question appeared uninvited.
I ignored it.
She kicked.
Her knee struck my thigh.
“Fuck.”
“Bonnie.”
“Lorenzo.”
“Stop.”
“No.”
She twisted again.
I pulled her against me.
And instantly understood my mistake.
Her body hit mine.
Chest.
Stomach.
Thighs.
Everything stopped.
Including her.
For the first time since Marco had dragged her into my office, Bonnie Powell became completely silent.
So did I.
Fuck.
The water was freezing.
She wasn’t.
Her blouse was soaked through, the thin material providing almost no separation between her skin and my shirt. Her breasts pressed against my chest with every breath. My arm circled her waist, palm spread across the small of her back.
Her hand was trapped between us.
Against my chest.
I felt every finger.
Every breath.
Every tiny movement she made.
And suddenly the cold water around us ceased to matter.
My body reacted.
Hard.
Immediate.
Completely f*****g inconvenient.
Bonnie moved again.
Barely.
A small adjustment of her hips as she tried to find balance in the water.
My jaw locked.
“Stop doing that.”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“Doing what?”
“Moving.”
Confusion.
Then understanding.
Her eyes widened.
Colour rose over her cheeks despite the cold.
There it was.
That should have satisfied me.
Instead, watching her realise exactly what she was doing to me made the situation considerably worse.
“You’re the one holding me against you.”
“Because you keep trying to drown yourself.”
“I was escaping.”
“You lost.”
“I did not lose.”
“You’re in my arms.”
The words came out lower than intended.
Her eyes held mine.
“Temporarily.”
My hand shifted against her waist.
Her stomach contracted beneath my palm.
I felt it.
Every f*****g inch of it.
“Very temporarily,” she added.
No.
The answer came from somewhere I didn’t particularly care to examine.
Not temporary.
I looked at the woman in my arms and experienced the first clear, unreasonable impulse to simply keep her there.
Mine.
Again.
Stronger this time.
It wasn’t tenderness.
It wasn’t affection.
I barely knew her.
It was something far less civilised.
The same instinct that made men guard territory and destroy anyone stupid enough to take what belonged to them.
Except Bonnie didn’t belong to me.
Yet.
The last word arrived with disturbing ease.
She shoved my chest.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“Lorenzo.”
“Bonnie.”
Her eyes flashed.
“I swear to God, if you say my name like that one more time…”
“Like what?”
“Like that.”
I knew.
Of course I knew.
“Bonnie.”
She shoved me again.
I caught both wrists.
And then neither of us moved.
Her face was inches from mine.
Water clung to her lashes.
Her hair floated around her shoulders.
Her lips were parted.
My eyes went to them.
So did hers.
To mine.
Once.
Then again.
There was no mistaking it.
No fear could explain that look.
No anger.
No survival instinct.
She wanted to know.
So did I.
For the first time that night, kissing her seemed less like a possibility than an inevitability.
All I had to do was lower my head.
An inch.
Maybe two.
She wouldn’t have anywhere to go.
That thought stopped me.
Not because I didn’t want her mouth.
Fuck, I wanted it.
I wanted to know whether she would fight a kiss the way she fought everything else.
Whether that vicious mouth would become soft beneath mine.
Whether she’d grab my shirt again.
Whether she’d make that tiny break in her breathing she’d made when my thumb touched her lips upstairs.
But not like this.
Not with my hand restraining her wrists.
Not while she was trapped against me in freezing water after spending forty minutes trying to escape.
When I kissed Bonnie Powell, I didn’t want to wonder whether she’d chosen it.
I wanted her choice unmistakable.
I wanted her furious about making it.
I wanted her to know exactly what she was doing when she came to me anyway.
And the certainty of that desire disturbed me more than wanting her body ever could.
“You’re staring again,” I murmured.
“I hate you.”
“That wasn’t a denial.”
“It’s the closest you’re getting.”
My gaze returned to her mouth.
“Tonight.”
Her pulse jumped at her throat.
I saw it.
“Arrogant.”
“Curious.”
“About what?”
I met her eyes.
“How long you’re going to keep pretending you don’t feel this.”
Silence.
Finally.
I had rendered Bonnie Powell speechless.
It should have felt like victory.
Instead I became acutely aware of how much I wanted to hear what sound she would make if I kissed her.
Dangerous.
Enough.
I turned toward the dock.
“Wait. What are you doing?”
“Getting you out.”
“I can swim.”
“You’ve demonstrated that.”
“Then let go.”
“No.”
“I am not a f*****g handbag.”
“Handbags are quieter.”
She continued complaining behind me.
I barely heard half of it.
Because my arm remained around her.
Because every few strokes her body brushed mine.
Because the possessive thing that had awakened somewhere in the middle of that marina had not gone back to sleep.
If anything, it had become considerably more certain.
I had entered the water to retrieve a witness.
I was leaving it carrying a woman I wanted.
Those were not the same thing.
Not remotely.
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