He didn't move. He knew if he did, there'd be no telling what he'd do.
She splashed water ineffectually in his direction, missing him by yards. It was just to make her point. "Of course, if you're chicken..."
And there was a gleam in her eyes—he finally saw it—that told him she knew damned well what would happen if she succeeded in goading him into the water.
"Piper—"
"It's not that cold, even for a Southerner."
That did it. He raced in after her, the water shockingly cold against his overheated skin. He caught her around the middle, and at her howl of laughter, acquainted the rest of her with Cape Cod Bay.
Only she had experience with this sort of thing. She had older brothers, nephews, friends who'd grown up on the water, and she knew where, and how, to place a strategic kick that would buckle him at the knees. He went down and under, and when he popped up, spitting salt water, freezing vital parts solid, she was practically doubled over with laughter.
"Proud of yourself, are you?"
She tossed her head, virtually every strand of chestnut hair still dry. "Next time don't underestimate me."
"Damned straight I won't."
Being of an arrogant Yankee nature, she proceeded under the assumption that next time wouldn't be within the next ten seconds. Which was to underestimate him.
As much as he wanted to get out of the icy water, he swooped in on her, caught her low, and dragged her into the bay with him.
"Uh-uh, no, you don't," she yelled and hooked her legs around him, determined that he should go wherever he meant her to go.
He could have pried her loose and dunked her good and proper in a dozen different ways, but instead he went down with her, into the next swell, knowing they'd end up a tangle of arms and legs on the sand.
"Oh, hell," he murmured, breathless, as he stared down into the dark green of her mercurial eyes.
His mouth covered hers. He tasted salt, the cold of her lips contrasting with the heat of her tongue as she greedily plundered, flicked, explored. They were both soaked to the bone, chilled, shivering, and the breeze off the water only made them colder, but as their kiss deepened and their pulses raced, he knew the cold wouldn't stop them.
He felt her body—soft breasts, firm stomach and thighs— beneath him, felt the smooth silk of her legs. She smelled of sand and sea, her crazy aunt's bug repellent washed off in the bay.
"You know I want you," he said in a ragged drawl, "don't you?"
She smiled, trailed fingers up his thigh. "I'd say that's evident."
"Here, now."
"Yes."
His mouth found hers again, his body pressing hard into hers, as if there were no clothes between them. He kissed her throat, tasted salt as he descended lower. She arched under him, and he could sense her urgency even as his own threatened to explode beyond his control. His hands skimmed her breasts. With her wet clothes, she might have been naked.
But he gritted his teeth, sucked in a breath, and rolled off her, sand clinging to his feet, his legs, his rear end. He raked a hand through his wet hair. "Hell."
She sat up, reaching back to lift her twill shirt and give it a shake. "Common sense intrudes, does it?"
He glanced at her, saw her weak smile, her breathlessness. "Making love out here on the sand, in daylight."
She screwed up her face. "Blame those long June days. Yeah, there are too many people out on the water I might know. It'd get around town fast—Piper Macintosh and that rogue Tennessean out here on the beach." She glanced at her watch. "And besides, my brothers will be here any minute."
"Nice timing."
"Nothing new there. But they can't see us from the house."
"Good. Then they won't shoot."
She climbed to her feet, dusting off sand as best she could. "I don't keep a gun in the house."
The cold wind froze his clothes to him. "I didn't want this to happen."
"Oh, really? That's a hell of a compliment." There was little outrage in her tone; she was amused, disbelieving. "Maybe I will sic my brothers on you."
"You know what I meant. I didn't come up north with the intention of having a mad affair with my next-door neighbor."
She grinned at him and scooped up her sandals. "I figured that from the No Trespassing signs."
He got stiffly to his feet, nowhere near as matter-of-fact about freezing his ass off as Piper seemed to be. Damned Cape Codders. She'd already started up the path through the marsh. "I'll go on back to my house and get dry clothes on," he called to her. "Tell your brothers about Hannah's treasure, the tincture, the shoebox, the calls. Everything, Piper."
She stopped in her tracks, glanced back at him. "Or you will?"
"No. I'm just giving you unsolicited advice." Using his toes, he peeled off one shoe, then the other. He hadn't taken them off before chasing into the water after Piper. Now they were stiff and squishy with salt water and sand. "But I'd tell them."