Cara Colter - Passionate Calanettis - Soldier, Hero...Husband?

“There it is,” she said, finally, pointing at the ribbon of river that had become visible up ahead of them. “When you come to the bridge, turn right and follow the river. You’ll see a tire suspended on a rope where the boys swim.”

“Thank you. Grazie. ”

“You’re welcome.” She should have turned back toward the town, but she did not. She recognized a reluctance to leave the simple glory of this moment behind. He must have felt that, too.

“Come with me.” His voice was husky.

Come with him? Where?

“Swimming?” she asked. Her voice felt very squeaky. It felt as if he had asked something far graver. To tangle their lives together, to follow the thread of magic that had led them through the town in the enchanted light of early morning.

When he said nothing, she rushed to fill the silence. “I couldn’t possibly. I don’t know how to swim. The water will be cold. I—I—I don’t have proper bathing wear.”

“Don’t come this far and not at least put your feet in the water.”

It felt as if he was saying something else altogether. He was inviting her to wake up instead of sleeping. He was inviting her to really live instead of going through the motions of living.

“I have to tell you a little secret,” she confessed. “I’ve never learned to swim because I am a little bit afraid of the water.”

“All the more reason to say yes instead of no,” he said.

It occurred to her Connor Benson was that kind of man. Being with him would challenge you to be more than you had been before. She had always been perfectly content with who she was before!

“Maybe another time,” she said uneasily.

“Putting your feet in the water is the first step to swimming, to overcoming that fear.”

“It’s not as if it’s a crippling fear—it’s not as if it changes my life,” she said defensively, already sorry she’d confided in him that she was afraid.

“Fear can be a gift,” he said, his voice calm and low. “It can show you that you are in very real danger. But an irrational fear can change your life in ways you don’t even understand. If you give in to it, it can expand. So, one day you’re afraid of swimming, the next you’re afraid of everything.”

Did he see her as afraid of everything? And how much truth was there in that? She looked at the safe little world she had created for herself. Maybe, even if it was annoying, maybe he was right. She needed to stretch just a tiny bit out of her comfort zone.

What would it hurt to get her feet wet?

“All right,” she whispered, and was rewarded with a tentative smile. The smile put the dawn to shame and warned her exploring new territories and experiences was always going to be fraught with hidden dangers.

That’s why she had chosen life as a schoolteacher in a small town. Her choices had given her a life with a reassuring sameness to everything that made her feel safe and secure.

Though in this amazing dawn, she saw things in a new and less flattering light. Had she allowed herself to become utterly boring? Apparently. Apparently she had become the kind of woman who you could tell in a single glance was a schoolteacher.

They came to the bridge and stood on it for a moment. The water was flowing underneath it like liquid gold, stained by the rising sun. They stood there in silence, watching morning mist rise off the vineyards all around them.

“Everyone should know how to swim,” he said sternly, as if he was deliberately moving away from the magic of the shared moment, as if he was making sure she was not mistaken about his motivations in asking her to join him.

“Really? Why?”

He frowned at her, as if the question was too silly to deserve an answer.

“Most of the world’s population, including you, lives near some sort of body of water. You could be in a boat that capsizes. You could fall in.”

“I suppose,” she agreed, but looking at him, she recognized what was at his very core. He protected people. It was more than evident that was his vocation and his calling. His shoulders were huge and broad, but broad enough to carry the weight of the whole world?

He broke her gaze, as if he knew she had seen something of him that he did not want her to see. Connor moved off the bridge and found a path worn deep by the feet of hundreds of hot little boys over many, many years.

The path was steep in places, and her footwear—a pair of flimsy sandals, fine for town—was not very good for scrambling over rocks.

“Oh,” she gasped at one point, when she nearly fell.

He turned, took it all in in a breath, and his hands found her waist and encircled it. He lifted her easily over the rough spot and set her down. But his hands remained around her waist for just a hair too long, and then he turned away just a hair too quickly.

Her sensation of being with a man who would protect her with his life, if need be, strengthened.

It made her feel exquisitely feminine to be the one being looked after, for a change. Giorgio had never looked after her. It had always been the other way around.

A touch of guilt rippled along the perfect mirrored surface of the morning. But it evaporated like the mist rising all around them as they arrived at the swimming hole. Her awareness of Connor seemed to fill up every crack and crevice in her, just as sunlight would be filling every crack and crevice as it poured into the town.

The river widened here, gurgling on both sides of a pool that was large and placid. A tree leaned over it, and from a sturdy branch, a tire swung on a frayed rope.

Connor kicked off his shoes and shucked his trousers and his shirt and stood before her much as he had yesterday, totally unself-conscious in bathing trunks that were the same cut and style as his underwear had been, and every bit as sexy. He bent over his bag for a moment and fished out something that he held loosely in his left hand.

He stepped to the water’s edge.

“Is it cold?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” he said with deep pleasure. He reached back his right hand for her. “It’s a bit slippery.”

Crazy to accept that invitation, but really, it was much too late to stop accepting the crazy invitations now. She kicked out of her sandals and reached out. His hand closed around hers, and he tugged her gently to the water’s edge. She was not sure anything in her entire life had felt as right as accepting the strength of that hand, feeling it close around her own, with a promise of strength and protection.

“The first step to swimming,” he encouraged her.

She stuck a toe in, shrieked and pulled it back out swiftly. She tried to loosen her hand from his, but he just laughed and held tight until she put her toe back in the water.

“Come on,” he said, patiently. “Just try it.”

And so, her hand held firmly in his, she stepped into the icy cold water and felt her eyes go round. The mud on the bottom oozed up between her toes.

It felt wondrous. She didn’t feel the least bit afraid. He tugged her hand and smiled. What could she do? She could say yes to life. Isabella bunched up her skirt in her other hand and lifted it. The morning air on her naked thighs felt exquisite. She saw his eyes move there, to where she had lifted her skirt out of the water, and felt slightly vindicated by the flash of deep masculine heat she saw in them. That was not the look one gave a boring schoolteacher.

He led her deeper into the water—it crept up to her calves and to her knees—and he smiled at her squeal that was part protest and mostly delight. And then she was laughing.

The laughter felt as if it was bubbling up from a hidden stream deep within her; it had been trapped and now it was set free.

Connor was staring at her, and his gaze added to the sense of heightened awareness. She was entering another world, a foreign land of sensation, his hand so warm and strong guiding her, the cold water tugging on her feet and her bare calves, licking at her knees, storming her senses. She was not sure she had ever felt so exquisitely and fully alive.