“Security?”
“It was everything. To this day, I could be walking through Piccadilly, but I still feel it. Not as strong, perhaps, but there. Always. That quiet hum in my bones. It’s everything. Security, yes. Strength. Power.”
“But on water—”
“I’m cut off. Imagine floating above the earth with no tether.”
“Adrift.”
She gave a tight nod. “Yes. Smothered and empty, all at the same time.”
They lay silent for a few more minutes, still holding hands and staring up into the night sky. She tried to imagine what expression he wore. Would he be angry? Disappointed? When he finally nudged her to the side, his face was very carefully blank. Not angry, not triumphant at her admission of weakness. Certainly not concerned.
“You know…” He propped his head up in his hand and played with a piece of her hair. For some reason, the familiar habit soothed her. “It’s still there, Gem. The earth. It’s still under the water.”
She broke in. “I know. Rivers don’t really bother me. Or lakes. But the ocean—”
“It’s still there, luv. Underneath all the sea, the earth remains, just as it’s always been. It’s what the water rests on, isn’t it?” He leaned over and gently kissed her forehead. “You’re thinking of it all wrong. The ocean flows over the earth, it doesn’t smother it.”
She took a deep, unnecessary breath to calm herself. “I know.”
“And the sand drifts through it. Volcanos press up. The earth… it’s what shapes the water. Gives it direction.”
Gemma felt unexpected tears come to the corner of her eyes. She cleared her throat. “You’re a poet, Terry.”
“Want me to curse again? Just to make you feel better?” He pinched her waist teasingly. “Bugger the ocean. You’re tougher than a great drink of water.”
She couldn’t hold in the laugh.
“Stiff upper lip, old girl. What would the Queen say?”
She punched him. “Shut up.”
Now he was laughing, too. “Dammit, Gemma, are you an Englishwoman or not? You live on a great, bloody island after all. Do your ancestors proud!”
“You’re crazy.”
He grabbed her and pulled her in for a quick, heart-thumping kiss. “Aye. I am. For lots of reasons.”
Like loving me.
“Listen… Terry—”
“Come on.” He was already standing, holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” She took it, and he pulled her to her feet.
“For a swim.”
Gemma dug in her heels the instant he pulled harder. “No.”
“Yes.” He stopped and turned to her. “Do you trust me?”
Did she? Yes. However complicated her feelings for Terry might have been, she did trust him.
She was still hesitating when he said, “You’ve never run from anything in your life. Don’t be a coward, Gemma Melcombe.”
Well, that did it. She couldn’t back down now. Terry challenging her was the surest way to make her stubborn about something, and he knew it. He did it just to be contrary at times.
“Fine,” she muttered.
“What?”
“You heard me.” She punched his arm, but he only smiled. “Where are we going?”
He held up a finger, then stripped all his clothes off before he dove in. He surfaced and said, “I have an idea.” Then he was gone again.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
She knew not to be nervous. Knew it. He was in his element for God’s—
She heard the water break. “Terry?”
“Here,” he laughed, pulling himself up the ladder to peek over the edge. “Just here. Unfortunately, there’s not much out there. I’ll take you to warmer waters some day and swim in the reefs, but I did find something fun.”
She bit her lip. “What is it?”
“A surprise. I’ll not let anything happen. I promise.”
“Are there sharks?”
He burst into laughter. “You can’t be afraid of sharks.”
“I told you it wasn’t rational!”
Terry was still laughing when he climbed dripping over the side of the Conquest. “Take off your clothes and get in the water.”
She hesitated.
He gave her a warning look. “Gemma…”
“Fine.” She pulled at her bikini top. Wherever they were sailing, the nights had slowly become balmy, so the air temperature was more than comfortable. Still, Terry eyed her breasts and they came to attention. Infuriating man. Her body always had a mind of its own when it came to him.
“You know, on second thought—”
She cut him off by diving into the water, surfacing to see him watching her with hungry eyes.
“Is there anything good to eat in here? I’m getting sick of the preserved blood.” She slicked the hair back from her face and deliberately kept from squirming at the overwhelming sensation of emptiness that surrounded her. Plus, the air may have been warm, but the water was still the Atlantic. It was more than a little chilly.
“Sharks.” Terry dove in, swimming underneath her, then sliding up her back and letting his hands run over every curve on the way up. Suddenly, the feeling of emptiness was gone and he was there; his amnis wrapped around her like a blanket as his mouth kissed the curve of her neck. “But then I tend to find the most vicious things delicious.”