Page 36 of Married to the Scottish Player
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, becauseholy 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 amnothaving fun!” Total lie. I’m havingtoo muchfun, 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.
Chapter 8
Maverick
The power is out.
