A Night to Surrender

He almost reached her, but again she swam out of his reach. He received only a splash of seawater for his pains.



“If you do this regularly,” she called out to him, surfacing some distance away, “you’ll be able to rebuild your strength without heaping more damage on your knee.”



He had to admit, the theory of it made some sense. “Who taught you all this?”



“No one. Two summers ago, we had a girl here recovering from a nasty fall from a horse. She’d broken her leg and hip. Even months later, she could barely hobble around. Her physician at home had told her she would be an invalid. The poor thing was devastated. Only sixteen, you know. She thought she would never have a season, never marry. Fortunately, her father decided to send her here.”



“For a cure?” Bram lunged in her direction. He was catching the rhythm of this exercise now, and this time she barely escaped him.



“I doubt he had any hope of a cure. He was probably hoping she would acclimate to life as an invalid spinster. But the sea bathing helped her tremendously. We did exercises like these several times a week. By the time she left at the end of the summer, she was walking unaided. Even dancing.” He could hear the pride in her voice. “I received a letter from her just a month ago. She’s engaged. Her new betrothed is the heir to a barony. He’s very handsome, I’m given to understand.”



“Good for her. But what about you?”



“What about me?”



“How is it you’ve never married?”



A soft splash. “It’s an easy enough thing. Every morning I wake up, go about my day, and return to bed at night without having recited marriage vows. After several years, I have the trick of it down.”



The tone of her remark was easy, light—but he could tell there was a deeper emotion beneath it. “You can’t tell me no one ever asked.”



She didn’t tell him that.



“I never had any reason to marry,” she said. “I am my father’s only child, and there is no entail. His fortune and Summerfield will come to me, eventually. Though hopefully no time soon.”



“But security isn’t the only reason you might wish to marry. Don’t you want a husband and children? Or are you too modern for that?”



She was silent for a while. When she finally spoke, she said, “Turn around. Walk to that boulder, and then double back to this spot.”



He didn’t move, just crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh no. You can’t pull that trick with me.”



“What trick?”



“Deflecting an uncomfortable question by giving an order. It won’t work, not with me.”



“I don’t know what you mean.” She tried to sound bored.



He wasn’t fooled. “Of course you do. Because you once accused me of doing the exact same thing.” He shook his head. “I’ve never met a woman like you. You’re so much like me. It’s as though we’re two examples of some rare, exotic breed. Only I’m the male specimen, and you’re the female. Clever as you are, you must know what that means.”



“Enlighten me.”



“It means we should mate. We have a responsibility to Nature.”



Laughing, she pushed a wave of spray in his direction. “You must have learned that line from your cousin. Does it work on other women?”



“What other women?” He barely remembered that other women existed. Tonight, they were like a waterlogged rendition of Adam and Eve, and this cove was their isolated Eden. For him, she was the only woman in the world.



God, he wanted her so fiercely. She could have no idea. With every erotic splash of her lithe body undulating in the water, his imagination ran wild. He pictured the two of them, linked in all manner of strange, salty embraces. His cock stiffened to a painful degree, jutting out in front of him despite the cold, carving his way through the water like the prow of a ship. The HMS Priapism.



“The boulder,” she reminded him. “March to the boulder and back.”



“Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll turn around, walk all the way to that boulder”—he pointed to one much farther distant, near the spindle—“and double back in under a minute’s time. But you must remain in that exact spot. And when I reach you, I want a reward for my pains.”



“Oh really? And what sort of reward would that be?”



“A kiss.”



“No. Absolutely not.”



“Come along.” He stood tall, shoulders and torso emerging from the water. Seawater traced cold rivulets down his chest and back. “You’ve been leading me a merry chase, weaving circles in the shingle as if we’re playing some foolish parlor game. I deserve a forfeit. A kiss.”



She shook her head. “After the other night? I know there’s no such thing as ‘just a kiss’ with you. We’re here to work on your knee.”



“Well, I’m not moving until I’m promised a kiss.”



She was silent for a moment. “Very well. A kiss. But you don’t get to kiss me. I will be the one to kiss you. Do you understand?”



Oh, he understood. He understood this little exercise of hers was about to become very interesting.



Energized with a new sense of motivation, he did just as he’d promised. He turned, covered the distance to the far boulder in large, powerful strides, and then he worked his way back to her. By the time he’d completed the circuit, his breath was a loud, painful rasp.



“Now,” he said, taking her by the waist and pulling her close. “Kiss me.”



The moon had emerged from behind a cloud, bathing her in silvery light. So beautiful. She could have been a water nymph, or a fierce, avenging angel. She framed his face in both her hands. Those elegant, yet so capable hands. He moved with her as she tugged his head down, reflexively wetting his lips in preparation.



And then she kissed him—square on the forehead. Her lips pressed to his brow and lingered, blessing him with warmth and sweetness.



“There,” she whispered, pulling away.



He stared at her, his throat working. He didn’t know whether to rage or laugh or weep. No, that kiss hadn’t been the openmouthed, passionate tangle of tongues his body craved. It had been exactly what his soul needed. He wouldn’t have known to ask for a kiss like that. The warmth of it sank straight through him, coming to rest in his heart.



She still held his face in her hands. Her thumb dabbed a salty drop from his cheek. “I know what you need, Bram.”



Sweet heaven. Perhaps she did. And what else did he need, that he couldn’t have known to put into words? He was desperate to find out. Wordlessly, he slipped away from her. Covered the distance to the boulder in strong, purposeful strides. Returned to her, splashing his way through wave and foam, to stand breathless with need and longing.



“Again.”



This time she reached for his hand. She lifted it to her face, curling his wet fingers over the curve of her cheek. Then she turned her face, nuzzling into his caress. Her breath rushed over his chilled flesh, rousing his every nerve to attention. And then she pressed a kiss to the exact center of his palm.



A bolt of bliss streaked from the spot, rushing straight for his core. Bloody hell. A tiny kiss on his palm. He felt it everywhere. His knees went weak. He wanted to fall at her feet, lay his head in her lap for hours. I am your slave.



He withdrew his hand, flexing it to disperse the sensation and get a grip on himself. Who could have guessed a fully grown man could be utterly felled by such a tiny, precise assault? Did the army know this? Maybe they ought to issue plate armor to protect soldiers’ vulnerable palms.



“Susanna.” He reached for her.



Quick as a fish, she wriggled away. “If you want more, you must work for them.”



He retreated again, making his way to the boulder more slowly this time. Partly out of fatigue, but mostly because he needed time to calm himself. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, battering his ribs. He couldn’t let her see, didn’t dare let her know that with those two tiny kisses, she’d shaken him to his soul.



On his way back to her, he tried to shrug off the sensation and find a way to regain control. He was a soldier, he told himself. Not a supplicant. As he slashed his way through the water, his blood rushed through his limbs, hot and powerful.



But just as he neared her, he misjudged his step. The chain caught on a rock, and his ankle turned. He lunged forward, loosing an involuntary growl of pain.



She dashed to him, fighting her way through the water. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”



“I’m fine,” he said, denying the fresh stab of agony. It wasn’t his knee that hurt so fiercely, but his pride. “I’m perfectly fine.”



“You’ve done enough for tonight.” She unlooped the ribbon and key from his neck and disappeared beneath the water. After a bit of tugging, he felt the cuff release.



“Put it back,” he said, once she’d surfaced. “I can do more. I’m not even fatigued.”



“Be patient with yourself.” She pushed the water from her face. “You’ve made a remarkable recovery, and you’ll get stronger still. But you were shot, Bram. You have to accept that your leg will never be quite the same.”



“It will be the same. It has to be. I can’t accept anything less than a complete recovery.”



“Why?”



“Because I need to lead.”



She choked on a laugh. “You don’t need a perfect knee for that. You have more leadership in your great toe than most men have in their whole bodies.”



He made a pained face that was meant to indicate modesty.



She took it as Do go on, please. “Truly. People just naturally want to please you. Take Rufus and Finn. You don’t know them well enough to see it yet. But I do, and those boys worship the ground you limp on.”



“Those boys just need a man to look up to.”



“Well, they couldn’t have chosen a better one.” She wreathed her arms around his neck.



Cool water swirled around them, emphasizing the heat where their bodies met. Right now, he felt closer to her than ever, and still he wanted more. Every cell in his body craved that perfect union of bodies they’d achieved under the willow tree. But if he ignored the frantic clamor in his loins and took time to hear the insistent, steady message of his heart . . . simply holding her was lovely. Peaceful. Right.



“If I’m such a remarkable leader,” he said, “why is it I can’t bring you in line?”



“Because you don’t want to. You like me this way.” She smiled the smug little smile of a woman who was utterly convinced she was right.



But she was wrong. He didn’t like her this way.



He thought he might love her this way.



Damn. Love. It wasn’t something Bram had much experience handling. The very idea of it seemed dangerous, unsafe. So he dealt with it the same way he treated other hazardous, explosive things. He tucked it away in a cool, dark place inside him—to be examined and measured at some later time. When his hands weren’t trembling, and his loins weren’t aching with unspent lust. And his heart wasn’t pounding so damned loud.



“I’m going to marry you,” he said.



“Oh, Bram.” Her features screwed into an expression of dismay.



“No, no. Don’t make that face. Every time I propose to you, you make that twisty, unhappy face. It wears on a man’s confidence.”



“I might be making a different, much more pleasant face—if only you were planning to stay. Not just marry me before you leave and get on with the rest of your life.” She glanced out toward the open sea. “There’s a peculiar curse to residing in a holiday locale. Friendships are abundant, but brief. Ladies stay for a month or two, then they go home. Just when I’ve grown close to people, they leave. It’s bearable, for a friendship.” She eyed him. “Perhaps even for a scandalous, clandestine affair. But a marriage?”