Burning Up

can swim naked.”
    Her heart tripped.
    He had seen her naked many times. This was no different, and yet she felt curiously exposed. The ocean was hers, her life, a part of herself she had kept carefully separate from him. Now he was asking her to share it, to bring him into her world.
    Jack stripped off his jacket and tossed it on the blanket. “There’s no one to see.”
    He pulled his shirt over his head.
    Her gaze traveled the heavy definition of his muscles, the pattern of his scars, the dark hair that fanned across his chest and narrowed to a line below his navel. Lust stirred, easy and familiar.
    “We do not need to swim,” she said.
    He unbuttoned his breeches. He was already half aroused, dusky and thick. “It will be fun.”
    She did not need fun. She needed . . . She was no longer sure what she needed.
    “The water will be cold,” she warned.
    Jack glanced down at his erection. “That’s probably a good thing.”
    She smiled in acknowledgment, reaching slowly for the front closure of her dress.
    “I can do that.” His hands were there, between her breasts, slipping the delicate buttons from their holes. “Let me.”
    His breath was warm against her face, his expression intent.
    She trembled, undone by more than his hands. “I can manage.”
    “You can do anything,” he murmured. Her bodice sagged open. Her breath caught. “But let me.”
    He cupped the soft weight of her breasts, his thumbs skating over her nipples. “Let me take care of you, Morwenna.”
    Desire clenched her insides. An unfamiliar ache lodged in her throat. No one in her life had ever wanted to take care of her. Even Morgan knew better than to try.
    Jack’s fingers brushed her throat, traced her collarbone, found her wildly beating pulse in the hollow below her jaw. Sliding the pins from her hair, he combed the smooth strands over her shoulders, arranging them over her breasts, caressing her through the long curtain of her hair. His touch made her feel attended. Cherished.
    Loved.
    He nudged her dress from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet.
    They stood together in the sunlight like the first man and the first woman, naked and unashamed. His arousal brushed her stomach, silky and hot. She flushed with anticipation, her skin blooming.
    He laced his fingers with hers. “Take me swimming with you.”
    Her heart hammered. She glanced down at the blanket, sideways at him. “Don’t you want to . . .”
    His smile lit his serious eyes. “There will be time later. Time for everything.”
    The memory of her own words haunted her. Their lives will be short and hard enough. They should love each other while they can.
    How could she refuse him this? How could she refuse him anything?
    She would not Change in front of him. But she could give him this much of herself.
    “All right,” she said.
    They walked hand in hand to the water’s edge, the boundary of her world.
    Jack grimaced. “Damn, that’s cold.”
    She laughed. “Better to go in all at once.”
    She ran forward, kicking up spray, and dived into the cold salt sea.
    Joy.
    The force, the shock, nearly forced her Change. Water enveloped her, embraced her, slid over her limbs, flowed through her hair.
    She dived, free from gravity and the planes of earth, dizzy with freedom, feeling the magic bubble through her veins, wrap her sinews, stretch her flesh, soften her bones. Her thighs fused. Her toes spread. She opened her mouth to drink, to inhale, intoxicating briny gulps.
    In the sea, she was free, she could be . . . anything. Anything at all.
    “Morwenna!” A voice, louder than the cry of the gulls or the pounding of her heart or the rush of water in her ears. Jack’s voice, calling her back to shore.
    Disoriented, she drifted, caught between Change and thought.
    Jack.
    Her hair floated around her in a cloud. She righted herself, found her feet and the direction of the light. The surface. There. She kicked, feeling her legs, bone and muscle, respond.
    Sunlight and air broke on her face.
    She forced herself to breathe. To be. To be human.
    She turned, blinking the water from her eyes. Jack stood waist deep in the cold water, his wet hair molded to his skull. Water ran down his chest, emphasizing the masculine shape of him, the sleek, hard muscles, the tension of his broad shoulders.
    The tension evaporated when he saw her. His face relaxed. “You were under a long time.”
    Time. They had so little time.
    She glided back to him. “I am here now.”
    Let it be