Sea Of Treason, Pirate's Bluff #1

Can't Resist

Bluff

A laugh bubbles up in my chest and I shake my head in Whitley's direction now in the crashing waves, before joining her in the icy black water.

For a moment I am surrounded, every inch of me bombarded by water. By darkness. It swirls and collides, pushed and pulls me. Home, it whispers in my ear.

My whole body is heavy in the water, as it pulls me below.

I shake my head of its hypnosis and push and kick myself up to the surface.

I belong to the sea—that will always be true. Which is why I avoid it as much as possible. I suck in a breath of air the second I reach the surface, and search for Whitley.

Her blond hair is just visible in the distance and I begin a brisk swim towards her. She's already moving forward though, towards the island ahead. It's nearly a half a mile swim to reach the shore, and I'm hoping she's a good enough swimmer to make it. I can help, if needed, but the longer we stay in the water the more likely the sirens will find us. I can't save Whitley if they find her in open water. I'd be powerless.

My stomach sinks, head spins, just at the thought. I push it away, because worrying won't help a thing. This was our only option.

I reach her a few moments later but she doesn't acknowledge me. She's focused on her swim. She's doing okay, she's able to keep her breathing even and is moving forward—albeit slowly. But her movements are awkward. She's slow.

Her dress, I realize is making it impossible to go any quicker. Heavy and tangling her legs.

"Wait," I tell her.

She stops and treads water in front of me, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright. God, she's beautiful. I could kiss her right now. I clench my jaw, what a terrible idea.

Instead, I'm going to undress her. Wonderful.

I swallow and swim up until I'm close enough to touch her. The wave rush up and down, splashing in her face but she keeps steady enough for me to untie the strings of her corset and then pull. She lets out a gasp as I pull the top of her elaborate ball gown apart and it slips down, leaving only a thin cotton dress to cover her.

She pulls the dress the rest of the way off, kicking its burden from her feet.

"Better?" I ask, but I can't manage the smirk I'm so used to. All I can think of is her. So close. Her pull is stronger than the waves.

Which is terrifying.

She smiles and nods. I swim past her, hoping to God she can keep up because right now my self-control is seriously lacking. We have to get out of this water.

I swim quickly, focused only on moving my body through the waves and towards the shore. Several minutes later I look back to make sure I haven't lost her.

She's only a dozen feet behind me, which is actually surprising, since I wasn't slowing down for her, and, well, being the son of siren means I'm a pretty damn good swimmer.

I don't give myself time to dwell on how strange that is, instead I relish in the fact that we'll be reaching the safety faster than anticipated.

We keep our quick pace until I can reach the sand with my feet. I let out a breath of relief and once again check to make sure she's not too far behind. She's farther back now, but she's showing no signs of distress so I take a slow walk forward, until I reach the dry sand and I flop down.

I'm impressed she was able to do it entirely on her own—besides the whole gown incident. Any of my sailors, I'd have expected to have to pull them half the way. She did it all on her own. Where did she learn to swim that well? Not exactly a lady like hobby.

I keep an eye out at the water as she comes closer, wondering what these next few days will be like. On a deserted island with Whitley. I don't have a plan for getting off this place. We're just away from those that want to use and hurt us. Now we'll just have to hope we don't starve to death.

Her shoulders are now above the water as she walks slowly to the shore. To me.

More of more of her body is expose as she gets closer, and let's just say, that soaking wet, thin white dress... doesn't conceal much.

I stand as she comes closer, every inch of my body buzzing. I realize the answer to my question—what will these days on an island with her be like? Because I can't say no. I can't avoid this.

Especially now that I know she wants it too.

I'm pulled towards her as she emerges from the water. Her breathing is labored, cheeks flushed, eyes wide, staring straight into mine.

I meet her right where the last thin layer of water creeps up to the sand. Where dry meets wet. Rushing gently, then pulling away.

She looks me in the eye, but doesn't say anything. Doesn't move. I again look over her body, which is a terrible idea because I cannot handle how amazing she looks. Water dripping over every inch of her.

I should turn away.

I step forward.

I clench my fists. I shouldn't touch her. I should resist.

One more step, and now I'm close enough to reach her. My hands stay put, and instead my face leans in close to hers. She sucks in a breath causing my whole body to shutter as my nose touches hers. I stop.

This is how you fall. This is how you become trapped.

And yet I know it's hopeless to resist. I need her.

My hand drifts up to her neck, into her hair behind her head, and I pull her in, pressing her lips to mine. She grabs me and pulls me in tighter, so our hips are pressed tightly together. She groans, this time no mistaking the pleasure behind the sound.

And just like that, I'm a goner.