Her Royal Husband by Cara Colter Page A

the surface, and had been able to make her see how extraordinarily beautiful she was.
    How he wanted to see that side of Jordan again.
    And to do that, he realized he might have to take chances. So ignoring her protests, he jumped up from the side of the pool and strolled up to her. He could see she was uncomfortable with him in his bathing trunks, her eyes darting here and there. It pleased him that they always came back to him.
    So, she still liked him in that way. She’d never been able to hide that—that hungry light that would burn bright in her eyes when her gaze fell on his arms, his chest. She liked muscles, and he remembered her running her fingertips, her tongue along his biceps, his pecs.
    With thoughts like that he had better get them both in the water fairly quickly!
    “What are you doing?” she said. “You aren’t supposed to be looking at me. Owen, stay over there.”
    “How could I not look at you?” he said. “You are more beautiful than the sun and the moon and the stars.”
    “Stop it,” she said. “Or I’ll call it all off. I’ll leave. I’ll—”
    He reached her. She tried to scramble away, but it was too late. He had her wrist. “One, two, three, jump,” he said, and leapt for the water, pulling her in with him.
    She came up sputtering, her short blond hair flattened to her head. She looked like a drowned kitten. And hissed and spit like one. She cupped her hand and hit the water, hard. It sprayed up into his face, went up his nose.
    He coughed, and closed his eyes against the sting of the mineral water. When he opened them she was racing away from him. She had the strongest crawl he’d everseen, man or woman, but he knew an invitation to give chase when he saw one.
    He lit out after her through the smooth, warm, water. Anytime he got near, she would splash him with her feet. But then she ran out of room and she had to cut back. Even she couldn’t swim that fast, and he captured her foot. She tried to kick away but he held fast. He ran his palm over her smooth heel, and desperately she splashed at him. He ignored her, and lowered his lips to the dainty arch of her foot where he knew her to be insanely ticklish.
    And then the most incredible thing happened.
    The moment he had been waiting for.
    She struggled. She screamed. And then she laughed, and the light went back on in his world. She kicked hard, landing a solid thunk right in the center of his chest, and he released her foot and fell backward in the water. When he surfaced, she splashed him hard, before taking off across the pool again.
    They swam and played and dove and dunked. She reminded him of an otter, so utterly comfortable in the water, so sleek, so graceful. Occasionally she let him get close enough to touch her, a skim of his hand over silk-wet skin. It seemed to him that one second touching her was more pleasurable than anything else he had ever done.
    “Woman, you’ve exhausted me,” he said, and made his way to a natural bench that formed under the water on one side of the pool. He sat on it, leaned his head against the slick bank, felt the turquoise water lapping against his chest.
    He looked up through the canopy of trees at the sky. Content with the progress he had made, he closed his eyes.
    He heard her coming, and was careful not to move, not to scare her away.
    The water stirred beside him. Her shoulder touched his lightly through the liquid warmth of the water.
    “Owen, this is the most beautiful place in the world.”
    “I know. Even in the winter the air stays so humid and warm around the banks that the ferns grow and the flowers bloom.” He pressed his shoulder a little harder into hers. She moved away slightly, but didn’t break contact.
    “Thank you for bringing me here. For today. I won’t ever forget it.”
    He heard the underlying goodbye, the underlying I won’t ever be here in the winter. He wanted to hold on to her, to keep her forever.
    Could she walk away from him? Was she that strong?