The harbor shivered, and from its depths a figure sprang.
She walked toward him, bathed in starlight, her body
glistening, her hair streaming wet and wild down her back.
Zach's next breath snagged in his throat.
A siren, he thought. A mythical creature rising from the sea
to seduce him.
His lungs felt crushed, deprived of air. The walls of his
throat narrowed as an electrical charge pulsed across his
nerve endings.
Then he realized the siren was Becca. She'd gone for an
evening swim. She loved swimming at night because the water
was always warmer then. Shadows played along her curves,
making her hips rounder, her stomach flatter, her breasts
fuller. Her hair was a deep bronze, her skin a translucent
ivory in the pale light of the moon.
His body instantly responded to the sight of her, hardening,
aching, until he couldn't remember why he'd vowed to keep
his hands off her. None of it seemed to matter anymore.
She grabbed a towel from the porch railing and swathed it
around her figure, and it took all of his self-control to
bite back the protest that scratched at his throat.
"I was wondering where you disappeared to," he muttered
instead. His voice sounded gruff.
"After I tucked Noah and Kristen in, I decided to go for a
swim. You were busy with Will, and I can always use the
exercise." She lowered her body next to his, smelling of the
sun and the sea. Water dripped from her hair. Rivulets
trickled over her shoulders and slid down her arms.
Unable to stop himself, he captured one of the drops with
the back of his index finger. It was cool against her warm
skin, silky. Their gazes locked, and awareness sizzled
between them.
"Did Will go to sleep okay?" Her question pierced the cloud
of lust enveloping him.
"Yeah." He let his hand fall away before he was tempted to
explore more of her. "He was exhausted after all that crying."
"Not to mention all that fun in the sun." A hazy smile
ghosted across her lips. "We had a pretty full day. The kids
were really excited, weren't they?" The tenderness on her
face shook him. It was the same look Lindsay always used to
get whenever she spoke of the kids.
He eyed her steadily. An image of her playing in the waves
with the pack earlier today flashed through his mind.
"You're really something with them." He couldn't suppress
the note of wonder in his voice. "I never expected it."
She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Half the
time—correction, most of the time—I feel like
I'm in way over my head." Bolt ambled onto the porch to sit
beside her, and she stroked him absently. Zach's gaze was
drawn to the gentle rhythm of her fingers as she threaded
them through the dog's lustrous coat. He remembered how
those hands had felt on his body when she'd massaged him
last night, the way they'd twined in his hair and chased the
tension from his limbs.
"But I understand them. Understand how they feel," she
added, oblivious to the dangerous path his thoughts were
taking. "I get Noah's anger, Kristen's totally delusional
hope, Will's tantrums."
Zach made a sound that was half laugh, half snort. "At least
one of us does."
"You're being too hard on yourself as usual. You're great
with them. I can see how much they look up to you."
"That's because I'm tall."
Her heartfelt laughter filled the night. God, he'd missed
hearing her laugh. The sound of it made a strange energy
pulsate in his pores and burrow deep within the marrow of
his bones. It took all his self-control not to reach out and
touch her again. Instead, he clasped his hands together and
let them hang between his knees.
"Can you answer a question for me?" He stared at his joined
fingers, unable to look her in the eyes for fear of what he
would see there.
"Sure."
"When I suggested adoption, why did you refuse? I thought
maybe you believed you couldn't love a child that wasn't
biologically ours. But now that I see you with these kids I
can't help but wonder—"
"You thought I couldn't love a child I didn't give birth
to?" She sounded offended.
He ventured a glance in her direction. Even in the dark he
couldn't miss the indignation that flamed in her cheeks.
"I didn't know what to think," he answered honestly. "You
were so set against it."
"Because I was angry. Because if I couldn't have what I
wanted, then I wanted nothing at all. It was the injustice
of it, the unfairness. Why should I be deprived the joy of
feeling my child grow inside me when it came so naturally to
everyone else? Adoption felt like acceptance, like throwing
in the towel."
"Would that have been so bad?"
"At the time, yes."
"And now?"
She hesitated. "It doesn't really matter anymore," she
whispered. "The choice is no longer mine to make." He barely
heard her past the whoosh of the waves.
"That sounds oddly like acceptance."
"Maybe it is. Even I have to give up sometime." Her
inflection held a hint of amusement, but he wasn't buying
the flippancy.
"Is that what this feels like to you, giving up?"
She was quiet for a long time. The waxing moon haloed her
head and made her eyes sparkle like liquid gold.
"No," she answered with more conviction than he'd expected.
"It feels like family."
Vulnerability sparkled in her eyes, more potent than her
glistening skin, her clingy swimsuit, the small towel
wrapped around her breasts and hips. Zach lost the battle
and extended his hand to cup her face. Her skin was soft, an
odd blend of velvet and satin.
He never should have allowed himself to touch her. Now the
need to kiss her blinded him. She turned her cheek into his
palm, moved closer...