But that’s exactly what she did. She just reached out, planted the flat of her hand against his back, and gave one mighty shove to send him toppling headfirst into the green, slimy water.
Despite not knowing exactly why she’d done it—aside from feeling rather put out over being called naive—Evie was certain, even then, that she’d never regret it. Not for a single minute.
He went in with a loud splash, and for a split second he disappeared beneath the murky water. Then he broke free of the surface. He didn’t come up gasping or swearing or any of the things she rather suspected she’d be doing if she’d been tossed into the water. He rose smoothly, almost gracefully. Then he just stood there, staring at her.
Aside from his less-than-ideal reaction, Evie thought it priceless, absolutely priceless, to see the extraordinarily unflappable McAlistair standing chest deep in a pond, sopping wet from head to toe. Water ran in steady rivulets from his dark hair. A long strip of plant matter draped his shoulder. Something black and gooey marred his right cheek. Still staring at her, his dark eyes slitted, he wiped it away slowly with the back of his hand.
“Care to rethink your opinion of me?” she asked sweetly, and wisely began to quickly back away toward the shore.
“Come here, Evie.”
She swallowed down a laugh and took the last step off the dock. “Would you add simpleminded to your list of compliments?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he kept his gazed fixed on hers and began an unhurried but determined walk toward the shore—toward her.
She danced farther away from the water’s edge as the first bubble of laughter slipped out. “You’ve no right to anger, you know. You insulted me.”
“I said you were delicate.” He reached the muddy beach.
She pointed an accusing finger at him. “Exactly.”
He came at her in long, deliberate strides. She yelped, dropped her hand, and made a somewhat belated dash for it.
She didn’t get far.
He caught her from behind. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her back and up against his chest, lifting her off her feet. Then he headed toward the water.
“No! Stop!” She squirmed and kicked, but protests were rarely taken seriously when laughter was involved, and she was laughing so hard she could barely get the words out.
He walked to the end of the dock and let her feet dangle over the edge. “Can you swim?”
She hesitated before answering. “No.”
“Liar.”
He grinned and stepped off the dock.
There was just sufficient time to either scream or take a deep breath. She took the breath.
Then she was underwater. It wasn’t quite cold enough to hit her as a shock, but it was a very near thing, and when he brought them back up to the surface, she was gasping, laughing, and swearing.
“You bloody fool! I cannot believe—! Cannot believe you—”
She cut off, astonished, as she realized her laughter wasn’t the only one sounding across the water.
McAlistair’s was, as well.
He was laughing. And it was no mere chuckle either. It was a loud, rolling, straight from the belly sort of sound that stunned her far more than her sudden immersion in the pond.
“You’re laughing,” she said softly.
Because he stopped laughing at her comment, she added, “I rather like it…even if it does sound like two boards being struck together.”
His laughter didn’t return, but he did grin at her. She smiled in return and wondered which of them would make the first move to draw away. It wouldn’t be her, she decided. She liked the feel of his strong arms around her waist, his broad shoulders under her hands, and the sensation of being held up so easily, as if she were weightless. She liked it very much.
He let go with one arm, but kept the other holding her weight. “You’ve a bit of…” He chuckled and wiped a smear of algae from her shoulder.
She looked at it a moment, then threw her head back and laughed. “You’ve a bit of…” She wiped her finger across his algae-covered coat and held it up. “Everywhere.”
He glanced down at himself. “I do seem to have taken the worst of it.”
“No more than what you deserved.”
“For being shoved into a pond?”
“For speaking of me in a manner that required shoving.” She sniffed primly. “And for enacting an unjustified revenge.”
“Unjustified, was it?”
“And ungentlemanly,” she pointed out.
“Never said I was a gentleman.”
“You rarely say anything,” she teased.
“You speak enough for the both of us.”
“And now I’m a babbling ninny. Name-calling is no way to begin an apology, you know.”
“Evie?”
“Yes?”
“Hold your breath.”
“Hold my—?” She saw the glint in his eye just in time to gulp in air before he dunked her.
When she came up, spluttering and splashing, he was already halfway to shore.
“You’re deuced lucky I can swim,” she called out after him, pushing aside sopping hanks of hair.
“Not really,” he called over his shoulder. “Water’s no more than four feet deep.”
Which put it halfway up her neck when her feet hit the muddy bottom.