Chapter 7 Annabelle #2
Maverick watches me for a moment, smirk shifting into something softer. “What about you?”
“Huh?”
“What else scares you besides rides?”
“Um. Bees,” I confess. “And horror movies.”
He laughs again, low and dangerous. “Bees?”
“They’re scary!” Plus, I’m allergic, which makes them even more terrifying.
He flashes me a wolfish grin. “I’ll protect you, bonnie lass.”
Oh my God. I swear my cheeks are about to catch fire. His grin is lethal, and the way he calls me bonnie lass makes something warm and fizzy seep through my bloodstream. All over. Fuzzy, warm.
Zip.
Zing.
I can’t take it. If I keep sitting here next to him, listening to his deep voice use random Scottish terms, I’m going to combust.
So I stand, fix the strings of my bikini top, and square my shoulders. “I’m going for a swim.”
Yup. A cold dip should do the trick. I give him a sassy toss of my hair and march to the edge, refusing to let him see how rattled I am.
Behind me, he calls, “Watch out for sharks!”
Rolling my eyes, I leap, and the cool water envelops me. The shock is glorious—pulling the heat out of my cheeks, the thump out of my loud heartbeat.
Underwater, silence washes over me, cooling every part of me that tingles from Maverick McBride’s voice and that smug, playful smile.
Even his stupid last name is sexy.
Ugh!
When I surface, slicking my hair out of my face, he’s there—all six-foot-five of him, bare chested, sunglasses propped on his head, watching as if worried I wasn’t going to emerge.
“The water is a bit cold—it might feel good on your leg.”
He lifts a thick brow. “You trying to get me wet?”
My mouth parts. “I mean—yes?”
A grin teases the corner of his mouth. “I’ll pass.”
Coward.
“Suit yourself.” I float on my back, letting the sun warm my belly and boobs while the chill of the water keeps me from overheating. My eyes close, and my ears dip just below the surface so the world goes muffled and distant.
The engines whir in the background.
But then a splash—a massive splash—roars against the side of my face, pulling me upright.
Maverick is in the water.
I sputter, blinking. “You—” Son of a bitch! “You said you’d pass!”
He shrugs. “Changed my mind.”
Another splash—this time courtesy of me, shooting water straight at his face.
He laughs, rich and deep, and retaliates with a shot of water of his own, sending me backward. I gasp, catching my breath between giggles, treading water as he moves closer.
“Stay where you are,” I warn him, though I have no idea what I’ll do if he reaches me.
Maverick arches a brow, dark hair plastered to his forehead, droplets clinging to his lashes like tiny crystals. “Or what?”
He’s teasing me, I know he is—there’s a glint in his eye that says he’s enjoying every second of this, same as I am.
“I mean it. Don’t come any closer.”
I’m lethal, but he’s determined. One slow stroke, then another, and he’s cutting through the water like a predator out to get me.
I squeal, kicking back, but he’s faster, dammit, and built like a Scottish football god.
Maverick lunges and scoops me up, water cascading around us. I shriek, trying to squirm away, but his solid arms lock around my waist.
“Gotcha,” he murmurs near my ear, warm breath wrapping around me like a vise, sending more delicious shivers down my spine . . .
“Put me down!” I giggle, smacking at his biceps—which, spoiler alert, are rock solid and absolutely useless to smack, because holy muscles. Seriously. Damn!
“Put you down? I can’t—it’s opposite day!” Instead of putting me down, he tosses me straight into the air. As if I were a child that weighed nothing.
I go flying, screaming all the way up until gravity yanks me back down. Splash! More cold lake water swallows me whole.
“You—” I cough.
He puts his palm around his ear. “What? Sorry, can’t hear you over all the fun you’re having.”
“I am not having fun!” Total lie. I’m having too much fun, and my face gives it away, because his grin widens, dangerous and wicked and sexy. He has such nice teeth . . .
Before I can react, he closes the distance again, reaching for me—and I do the only sensible thing: dunk myself underwater and swim away.
But the man is half shark, apparently, and is on me before I’ve kicked five feet to scurry away, his hands closing around my waist to haul me against his chest.
His lips are dangerously close to the curve in my neck. “Stay still so I can do it again.”
“Stop screwing around or you’ll hurt your leg.” I chastise him, hoping he won’t toss me again, at the same time hoping he will.
Before I can properly scold him for a second time, a low rumble rolls across the lake, distant but unmistakable.
Thunder.
I tilt my head back to the horizon. Clouds gather fast, swallowing the bright blue sky in a matter of seconds, shadows rippling over the water like a warning.
“Uh . . .” I glance at him. “Was that . . . ?”
“A storm was not on my bingo card for today,” he says, pulling me toward the ladder. “And I check the weather religiously.”
Well, that’s a fun fact.
Another roll of thunder is followed by a flash of lightning in the distance. So weird.
I let him drag me up and out of the water; he’s clearly paranoid about being caught in the water in a storm, even though we’re already wet.
I’m laughing, teeth chattering, adrenaline still buzzing in my chest. “You think you’re fast, McBride? Race you.”
We lunge for our discarded clothes, yanking shirts and sandals into our arms like scavengers in a flash flood, then bolt for the cabin as thunder cracks, closer now, shaking the deck under our feet.
The wind whips at my hair, plastering wet strands to my cheeks, but it doesn’t matter—we’re laughing so damn hard, hearts pounding, toes slapping against the rain-slicked boards.
By the time we reach the porch, I’m gasping for breath, clutching my towel around me like a lifeline. Maverick barrels up behind me, slides open the patio door, and ushers us both inside.
Neither of us cares that we’re dripping wet.
For a second, we just stand there, dripping onto the hardwood, eyes wide and chests heaving, like two kids caught after breaking the rules.