Page 90 of No Hope of Rescue

“I like fire.”

He grins again, and then I watch as his stomach ripples with the effort of first sitting up, and then his deltoids flex as well when he pushes himself to stand. He pulls me to my feet.

Jutting a chin out to the crystal blue spring lake water, he says, “Let’s douse that fire.”

I shake my head. “Not sure that really works—dousing?—are you dousing passion?—what is your point?”

“This,” he says, easily swinging me into his arms and heading for the water.

His skin is warm across his shoulder blades, and as we slip into the water, the balance between hot and cold leaves me shivering. He tugs gently, and my bikini bottom slides off.

I love skinny-dipping. I have to say, having water swirling around you, free from clothing, is intoxicating. So, when he pulls at the pull tie at the nape of my neck, and the top gently peels away, I laugh at the buoyancy of my breasts and how light and free I feel.

I do a quick dive under, the icy spring water lacing through my hair and scalp. I feel for his trunks and tug them off.

As I surface, he steps out of them.

“How are you doing?” I ask with an arched eyebrow to something below the surface.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. You know. Cold water tends to shrink—”

He grabs me, and four steps later we’re in deeper water. “I can handle anything you throw at me,” he says and kisses me.

The water is up to my neck and his hand, half in water, half on my throat, strokes my skin in time with his tongue, and in a minute, heat rises between my legs.

I moan. The water laps at his skin, rising just below his pecs, below those clavicles. His shoulders, so broad and muscular, are beaded with water.

“I say let’s try for our own nugget,” he says.

My hand flies to my mouth before I know it. “I don’t think I’m ready,” I say, afraid, suddenly, that I just made a terrible mistake.

His grin softens. “Hey,” he says. “No rush, babe. I just wanted you to know . . .” He wipes water from his face. “I just want you to know,” he corrects himself, “that I know you’re strong enough to be there for our kids, for both of us if you had to. I’m not scared anymore of hurting anyone. Love is stronger than that. You taught me that. I trust us. And even if something horrible happened I would never give up the chance to see you be a mother. That change is extraordinary. You would be . . . you’d be an amazing mom.”

Watching him in the sun, under the blue sky and against the green of the pine forest, my heart breaks open.

“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “I love you. I love you for the person you are now, and I love you for who you will be.”

This is the man I dreamt of. This is the man who sees me. When we kiss this time, it’s slow, tender, and my fingers on his face trace his jawline as he lifts me to him.

Brock Weston

Colton-Weston Search & Rescue’s interest in the smuggling case is finally wrapping up. After contacting my uncle, an attorney up in Maine, it’s clear that Codie’s testimony will be needed this fall regarding the kidnapping case, which is separate. Outside the details of the case, Crystal remains Agent Trent’s biggest problem so far. She apparently keeps calling him with more information about her terror while being housebound. With my brothers. For two hours.

I wish her well.

Everything else is done, wrapped up. The T-Rex skull is on its way to Mexico soon, and the artifacts will be returned to Guatemala. There is no official word yet, but the fossils and artifacts seem to have suffered minimal damage. Mom has a standing invitation to visit as a guest lecturer anytime.

We’re all up at the cabin again, and my brothers are out climbing with Codie. I picture Savi running along the base, barking or dashing off, chasing deer. Carter made sure she had her new beacon collar on when they left. Ross is having the new Bell, a dream machine, painted with our logo. He’s flown it to a graphic design couple in Durango, who are making us look official—on both doors.

That leaves just the two of us—just the way I like it these days. Riley’s in the bathroom taking a shower.

When she exits wearing a light white cotton robe, moist air hits the dry summer air and perfume releases.

“Man, you smell so good,” I say, and she leans against me for a kiss. The top of her head is still damp.

It’s been a busy spring, and we’re halfway through summer. She sighs and then steps back.