Page 162 of Only the Wicked

Just like that first day, clothes are abandoned without ceremony. Rhodes beats me to the edge, but only because I get tangled up in my sports bra. He stands poised on the familiar boulder, and for a moment he looks exactly like he did two years ago—stoked to be with someone willing to take a leap.

“Together?” he asks, extending his hand.

I take it, and he counts, “One, two…”

My cheek muscles burn from the wide grin. “Three!”

The water is shocking and perfect, stealing my breath. We’re both laughing as we surface. Rhodes pulls me against him in the water, both of us treading water and grinning like idiots.

“I can’t believe you bought our place,” he says, water droplets clinging to his dark lashes.

“Our place,” I repeat, loving how that sounds. “No more worrying about trespassing. No more wondering if we’ll be able to come back.”

“We can come here whenever we want.”

“Maybe we can put out snake traps,” I say, scanning the shoreline. I’ve done a little research and learned that if there are any snakes around, our feet stomping and the splash in the water likely scared them off, so I’m more or less joking.

“I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know you will,” I say, and I love that he’ll do everything he can to take care of me, but of course, that goes both ways.

His gaze lifts to the canopy overhead. “You want to build out here?”

I knew he’d go there. My man loves architecture. “We just built a house,” I remind him. “And it’s closer to town.”

I love this land, but I really have no desire to live forty-five minutes from town.

“Hmm,” he shrugs, and I lean in and nip his earlobe, sucking off a water droplet.

“Sadly, it’s not buildable. We wouldn’t get the permits.”

“Gradient?” he asks.

“Among other things,” I answer. “But we can go camping out here. Maybe make it an anniversary tradition?”

“Anniversary,” he says slowly with a grin, then kisses me again, softer this time. When we break apart, he’s looking at me with that expression that still makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

“I love you, Mrs. MacMillan.”

“I love you too.”

We float there for a while, holding each other in the clear water, surrounded by the quiet beauty of our own little piece of paradise. The fall sun filters through the trees, warming our faces even as the water keeps us cool.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Rhodes asks eventually.

“What?”

“We’re going to have to install that rope swing I keep talking about.”

I laugh, remembering his stories about swinging into the water as a teenager. “Only if you promise not to break your neck showing off.”

“I make no such promises.”

Later, we spread our clothes on the warm rocks and lie naked in the sun, on a blanket I packed stretched across sun-warmed stone. Rhodes traces lazy patterns on my back while I rest my chin on my folded arms, watching water striders dance across the surface of our swimming hole.

“Best gift ever,” he murmurs against my shoulder.

“Better than the new climbing wall in the garage?”