Jennifer Greene - Sunburst

Her toes touched the first of the smooth, slippery stones at the edge of the lake, and she winced at the icy chill of the water.

“Erica?”

“Not to worry. I just want to cool off before sleeping,” she called back.

He said something else; she didn’t hear it. In four steps, she was up to her knees; at the sixth step, she dived cleanly into that shocking ice bath and surged up again. Every nerve ending burst into life. She whipped back her rope of wet hair and dived again.

The water was both torture and pleasure, a curious combination. The lake was so totally black and endless that she felt a shiver of fear, yet that icy silk embraced her body, seeming to flow in, around and all through her, intimate and possessive.

She couldn’t have explained in a thousand years why she’d gone into the water; it was instinct more than logic. Her arms sliced through the black water in soundless strokes. Then her slow crawl gradually picked up pace. More instinct. She felt wild, frightened, free. Her heart kept drumming out those rhythms of feeling. Her stroke drove her farther, as if she could swim forever, as if she would never tire, as if she could span oceans.

She couldn’t. It hit her all at once that the chill water had finally seeped into her bloodstream. Her limbs were tiring, and her lungs were desperately hauling in air. Suddenly, she could see nothing but black sky and water. The shore could not really be so far, yet she couldn’t see it in the darkness. Panic hovered over her. She rolled onto her back and simply tried to breathe, to tell herself that her arms weren’t too tired to tread water. All she had to do was relax…

A sure, firm hand curled at the nape of her neck, and she opened frightened eyes.

“Easy, honey.” Kyle’s face was white by moonlight; his hair a sleek, shiny black helmet. Water was streaming down his neck, glistening on the deeply etched lines of his forehead. His grim, taut expression was a total denial of the voice dipped in velvet, gentle and soothing. “You’re all right?”

Undoubtedly, she would have found her second wind; she had no cramp; she would probably have made it back to shore with flying colors. Those were thoughts, not instincts. She was terrified. “No,” she whispered.

She didn’t have to say anything else, and Kyle didn’t waste words. He turned on his back, drawing her on top of him. His legs and arms treaded water, but his chest was ballast, safe haven. She lay back, just breathing in and out until the long, gulping breaths calmed.

After a time, he shifted upright, bracing her arms on his shoulders. “You’re cold as hell, love. We’re almost in. Can you sidestroke next to me?”

She nodded weakly. “It was just suddenly so…dark. I got so frightened. Stupid of me, Kyle…”

“Everything’s fine.” His voice was so sure, so calm, so soothing. “Just go easy, Erica. I’ll be right next to you. So close you can touch me; you can reach out and hold on any time you want to. Come on, love.”

He let her go, hovering as she forced her arms to scissor through the water. He sidestroked next to her. Every time she opened her eyes she could see his, watching her, dark and soft, within touching range. All those primitive instincts surfaced again, a wealth of feeling that washed through her physical exhaustion. He had come. Safe haven was within touching range; the love was there, the strength and power of feeling were there. He’d had to know before she had that she’d overestimated her physical strength. He’d had to plunge into the water before the thought had even crossed her mind that she was in trouble.

And now she heard his murmured encouragements next to her, coaxing her to make those last few strokes until her feet could touch bottom. Her hands pushed through the water those last few times, finding a strength she could have sworn she didn’t have.

At last her toes touched the lake bottom, and she surged up to a standing position, breathing in heavy, gasping pants. Kyle’s arms went around her, and her fingers dug into his back, desperate for him to stay close, not leave her. In, out; in, out. Air. Her arms and legs ached; her stomach ached; her shoulders ached; everything ached.

Kyle’s hand brushed back her damp hair, whispering something she didn’t hear. It didn’t matter. He cradled her close, and where her skin touched his she was no longer cold. Her bare breasts were crushed hard against his chest, so hard that they hurt, but it was her own hold forcing that locked-in position. The chill water kept lapping at her hips. Warmer night air brushed the tears from her tired eyes.

Finally, he whispered, “All right now?”

“All right,” she agreed, meaning it.

That soothing, sure voice disappeared. He held her away from him, his wet hands on her bare shoulders, and she stared up in shock at eyes suddenly turned absolutely furious. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“What?”

“Dammit, you could have gotten a cramp! Since when are you an Olympic swimmer, Erica? Going out that far-I could shake you!”

He was rigid with anger, a rage she’d never guessed at. His touch and tone had been gentle, so sure, so soothing in the water, without even a hint of any other emotion. She’d never been physically afraid of Kyle in their nine years of marriage, couldn’t even conceive of it, but she knew at that moment he was very close to doing just what he’d said-shaking her. Because he was terrified of what might have happened to her. Instincts, she thought happily. She’d never trust another rational thought as long as she lived.

“ Answer me! And if you ever do a damn fool thing like that again-”

She raised herself up on tiptoe, fitting her lips to his. His mouth clamped down on hers so hard she would have fallen, except that her body was drawn up, tugged into intimate contact with his. On a dry, hot day, tinder ignited just that easily. Lake Superior…that single largest body of fresh water in the world… His hands rushed over her as if he could warm her shivering body in spite of all those gallons of ice water. He could. Without much effort.

She was shuddering with chill…yet she wasn’t, suddenly. Fire warmed her veins, a fierce, wild, primitive fire… She wrenched her mouth from his only for a moment. “You love me, Kyle. Don’t try to tell me you don’t,” she whispered.

“Dammit. You know I love you. And I swear if you ever do anything like that again-”

He would murder her. Fine. She savored the thought. For someone who’d been afraid of anger all her life, she suddenly relished his, understanding it was a measure of how much he loved her. More instincts, she thought fleetingly. She didn’t need words; she’d been listening to words for months, had torn herself apart with words. From now on, she would listen only to her different heart.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the shore, stopping only when they’d reached the pebble-strewn sand. “Wait here,” he barked. She couldn’t imagine where he thought she would go.

He stalked back from the campsite seconds later with a cotton blanket that he draped over her, rubbing her thoroughly until her flesh came alive again and took on heat. She couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. His hands, so fiercely rubbing her skin, were trembling. Chill water was still streaming down his body; he didn’t seem to notice.

His bold features were forbiddingly carved, but that wasn’t the message his eyes were sending her. His eyes were dark blue and full of torment, registering that she was safe, measuring the loss he had nearly suffered.

It was no small effort for her to extricate herself from the blanket he had so possessively swathed her in. She managed, taking him off-guard as he was about to begin scolding her again. All she had to do was brush her hands over the taut muscles of his shoulders, and the next thing she knew he had snatched her up tight against his chest, his head buried in her hair and the blanket lying forgotten in the sand.