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He swiveled in the water and set his rod on a mounting pole.

He waded toward her, droplets gliding down his inked skin, sun catching along the runes etched into his chest and shoulders.

He took the rod from her, hands steady, fingers brushing hers.

‘You’re holding it like it’s a rifle.’

‘It’s got a trigger. I’m improvising.’

‘You ever fish before?’

‘Never had the luxury,’ she grumbled. ‘Do you know how many hours I have to indulge in the art of fresh-caught fish on a generational ship? None. I’m too busy wrangling traffickers, druggies, and external bomb attacks to indulge in water sports.’

He huffed. ‘You’re plucky to try it, then.’

She glanced up.

His eyes locked with hers for a beat, smoky, amused, and with a glint of respect dancing with the indigo heat.

Emotion, hell, pure need, twisted in a delicious swirl in her gut.

He stepped in close behind her, wrapping one hand over hers on the rod, the other adjusting her elbow. ‘Relax. Let it flow with the shoulder. Feel it like a rhythm.’

His scent hit her: bergamot, musk, smoke, pine, and salt.

A charge of energy danced along her nerves like a live current.

Lit by how his chest aligned flush to her spine, his waist settling against the curve of her lower back. Also, by the thick, sinewed plane of his thighs pressed against the backs of hers.

The contact was unspoken and unacknowledged, but it detonated a myriad of sensations inside her. Her skin came alive, every inch of it sparking. Her breath hitched. Her pulse skipped and thundered.

For a moment, she couldn’t hear anything but the blood in her ears.

She swallowed hard, fighting not to arch into him, to lean her head back into the crook of his neck. Her whole body pulsed with want, raw, aching, immediate.

Just as sinuously, he stepped away.

The air cooled. Her senses returned.

He didn’t say a word, but his eyes met hers from the side, glinting with that maddening knowing like he felt every inch of her reaction.

‘Now cast.’

She obeyed his husky, sultry rasp.

The line arced in a rippling ribbon and splashed into the lake with a splash.

She gave a huff. ‘Look at that. Didn’t even knock your hat off.’

‘That’s because I’m used to dodging flak,’ he said, mouth curling.

She didn’t trust herself to answer.

Moments passed. Quiet rippled between them. Birds chirped. Waves lapped around their thighs and waists.

All of a sudden, her rod jerked.

She jolted, reeling her catch in. ‘Oh! I’ve caught something!’