The Wicked

He turned back to her, frowning slightly. “If I recall correctly, none of you have much experience scuba diving.”


She knew he was talking about all the symbologists, because his crew was highly trained for everything they needed to do. He hadn’t been present for any of the evening’s activities, so either Bailey had briefed him or he remembered that detail from their individual files.

She said, “That’s right. I went into a practice tank a couple of times to get ready for the trip, but I’ve never actually been diving.”

His frown deepened. “It’s too bad that this will be your first time for both diving and crossovers. They can both be terrific experiences, but I don’t think you’ll be getting the best of either this time around. Travelling underwater through the passageway will probably be disorienting. It’ll be dark, and the magic will shift as you travel. You might find it uncomfortable.”

Bailey had said the same thing earlier. Olivia shrugged. “I’m not claustrophobic, and I think the buddy system for the crossing is a good one. And the actual underwater trip isn’t supposed to last long. This trip is more than worth a brief amount of discomfort.”

He turned to lean back against the railing, arms crossed. He said, “I’ll partner with you for the crossover.”

Once again she reacted physically, as surprise throbbed through her.

Surprise, and something else.

They would be swimming together in dark water with magic swirling all around them. She thought of his forceful, steady presence alongside hers. His hard, powerful body would move through the water with the same effortless grace he had bounded up the stairs with before. Her mouth went dry.

She managed to clamp down on the, “Yes, please,” that was ricocheting around in her head. Instead, more or less calmly, she replied, “Thank you.”

And, damn him, he picked up on her reaction for a second time, despite the wind blowing off the Bay and the indirect lighting from the yacht and the lampposts that dotted the length of the slip.

His attention sharpened on her. She could see it in the shift of his expression, and the change in his body stance. His already forceful presence became so intense she could not take a steady breath. It shuddered out of her, another telltale reaction.

She did not feel that she was in control of her own body.

He was.

He pulled this response out of her without ever touching her.

Her composure started a long, slow slide down an unknown hill, to an unseen destination. Still facing the railing, she leaned against it to steady herself as she huddled in her blanket, averted her gaze and pretended to look out over the water. Every nerve in her body turned on until she felt ablaze with some kind of light.

In a liquid glide filled with predatory grace, he turned fully toward her and moved closer until he stood at her shoulder, and a shiver ran along her skin. Angling his head, he pushed into her personal space. Not much, not so that their bodies touched, but just enough.

Speaking quietly, almost in a whisper, he asked, “Are you warm enough now?”

The warmth of his breath curled against her chilled cheek, and her shivering turned convulsive.

This was a man who knew exactly what he was doing, each movement choreographed down to the millimeter. That should have turned her off. It always had before. But it didn’t this time. Where was her turn off switch?

With lightning speed, her mind tried out and discarded several answers in an effort to find one that sounded normal. The problem was, they all sounded suggestive.

I’m warm enough now. Oh, thank you. (Don’t even.)

I could be warmer. (No. It doesn’t matter if it’s the truth. Just NO.)

The decision was too difficult. She couldn’t figure out what to say, and the mounting pressure of the passing seconds got to her. She muttered, “I—I don’t know.”

His hand clamped down on her shoulder, the grip punishingly tight. It jolted her so much, she jerked her head up and stared at him.

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