Page 89 of Divine Temptations

This ritual, these barefoot strangers, the soft lapping of water against the stones, it was seeping into the cracks of my armor, a warmth I hadn’t asked for and didn’t know what to do with.

Jude returned to the center of the group. “When you’re ready,” he said, “step into the river. Step in with intention. Let it take what you don’t want to carry anymore.”

No one moved at first. Then Zephyr stepped forward, serene as a moon goddess. Then a couple with matching tattoos followed. And then more.

And then me.

I moved toward the water slowly, as if I might wake up from whatever spell had been cast. I placed one foot in first—the shock of it nearly knocked the air out of me.

Cold. Sharp. Alive.

The river wrapped around my ankle like a silk scarf dunked in ice. And yet, as I stepped deeper, it didn’t stay cold. It warmed around me, or maybe I warmed into it, like we were meeting in the middle. Stones shifted underfoot, smooth and slick, and the current tugged gently at my calves. It was grounding in a way I didn’t expect.

I was halfway in when I felt it. Jude’s presence just behind me.

Then his hand.

An arm slid around my waist, careful and unsure. His touch was soft but firm, like he was giving me the option to pull away. I tensed on instinct.

But then I didn’t.

I let the air out of my lungs slowly, felt the rhythm of the water matching the rhythm of my breath. Jude’s arm remained around me, his warmth bleeding into my side through the wet fabric of our shirts.

One by one, the others slipped out of the river. No ceremony to it—just quiet movement. Towels retrieved, murmured goodnights, someone crooning a tune I didn’t recognize. The sky was deepening, stars winking to life above the tree line.

Zephyr was the last to leave. She passed close, her eyes locking with mine. No words. Just a look. Piercing. Evaluating. Like she was silently warning me: Don’t you dare hurt Jude.

And then she was gone.

Just Jude, his arm still around me, and the water swirling slowly around our legs.

I turned to him.

He turned to me.

And we kissed.

No preamble. No fireworks. Just his lips brushing against mine like a question, and mine answering back like I didn’t know how not to. It was slow. Gentle. Devastating in its simplicity.

I wasn’t used to this.

Sex? That I could do. Mechanical. Strategic. Quick and clean and distant. But this? This was something else. This was bare, and raw. Intimate.

And it scared the hell out of me.

Because as much as I wanted to believe I was in control, that this was still just research for a story, still about exposing a fraud…

…the longer we kissed, the less I believed Jude Brooks was a fraud.

His fingers grazed the small of my back, trailing upward. His other hand came to rest just beneath my jaw. Our mouths parted briefly, then rejoined—deeper this time. Not hungry. Just certain. Like we were carving a language out of breath.

Finally, he pulled back. Only just.

He took my hand in his, and without a word, we walked out of the river.

The grass kissed our ankles. The air felt electric. And I knew—God, I knew—I was in way too deep.

Jude leaned in close, breath warm against my cheek.