And now she heard his murmured encouragements next to her, coaxing her to make those last few strokes until her feet could touch bottom. Her hands pushed through the water those last few times, finding a strength she could have sworn she didn’t have.
At last her toes touched the lake bottom, and she surged up to a standing position, breathing in heavy, gasping pants. Kyle’s arms went around her, and her fingers dug into his back, desperate for him to stay close, not leave her. In, out; in, out. Air. Her arms and legs ached; her stomach ached; her shoulders ached; everything ached.
Kyle’s hand brushed back her damp hair, whispering something she didn’t hear. It didn’t matter. He cradled her close, and where her skin touched his she was no longer cold. Her bare breasts were crushed hard against his chest, so hard that they hurt, but it was her own hold forcing that locked-in position. The chill water kept lapping at her hips. Warmer night air brushed the tears from her tired eyes.
Finally, he whispered, “All right now?”
“All right,” she agreed, meaning it.
That soothing, sure voice disappeared. He held her away from him, his wet hands on her bare shoulders, and she stared up in shock at eyes suddenly turned absolutely furious. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“What?”
“Dammit, you could have gotten a cramp! Since when are you an Olympic swimmer, Erica? Going out that far-I could shake you!”
He was rigid with anger, a rage she’d never guessed at. His touch and tone had been gentle, so sure, so soothing in the water, without even a hint of any other emotion. She’d never been physically afraid of Kyle in their nine years of marriage, couldn’t even conceive of it, but she knew at that moment he was very close to doing just what he’d said-shaking her. Because he was terrified of what might have happened to her. Instincts, she thought happily. She’d never trust another rational thought as long as she lived.
“Answer me! And if you ever do a damn fool thing like that again-”
She raised herself up on tiptoe, fitting her lips to his. His mouth clamped down on hers so hard she would have fallen, except that her body was drawn up, tugged into intimate contact with his. On a dry, hot day, tinder ignited just that easily. Lake Superior…that single largest body of fresh water in the world… His hands rushed over her as if he could warm her shivering body in spite of all those gallons of ice water. He could. Without much effort.
She was shuddering with chill…yet she wasn’t, suddenly. Fire warmed her veins, a fierce, wild, primitive fire… She wrenched her mouth from his only for a moment. “You love me, Kyle. Don’t try to tell me you don’t,” she whispered.
“Dammit. You know I love you. And I swear if you ever do anything like that again-”
He would murder her. Fine. She savored the thought. For someone who’d been afraid of anger all her life, she suddenly relished his, understanding it was a measure of how much he loved her. More instincts, she thought fleetingly. She didn’t need words; she’d been listening to words for months, had torn herself apart with words. From now on, she would listen only to her different heart.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the shore, stopping only when they’d reached the pebble-strewn sand. “Wait here,” he barked. She couldn’t imagine where he thought she would go.
He stalked back from the campsite seconds later with a cotton blanket that he draped over her, rubbing her thoroughly until her flesh came alive again and took on heat. She couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. His hands, so fiercely rubbing her skin, were trembling. Chill water was still streaming down his body; he didn’t seem to notice.
His bold features were forbiddingly carved, but that wasn’t the message his eyes were sending her. His eyes were dark blue and full of torment, registering that she was safe, measuring the loss he had nearly suffered.
It was no small effort for her to extricate herself from the blanket he had so possessively swathed her in. She managed, taking him off-guard as he was about to begin scolding her again. All she had to do was brush her hands over the taut muscles of his shoulders, and the next thing she knew he had snatched her up tight against his chest, his head buried in her hair and the blanket lying forgotten in the sand.
“God, Erica, if anything had happened to you…”
“Hold me,” she whispered. “Keep on holding me…”
Kyle’s body was cool and damp; it was her turn to do the warming. She didn’t bother with a blanket. Although she had been freezing just short minutes before, she had never felt warmer than now, had never felt more capable of wrapping him up in the warmth that emanated from her soul. Her hands swept over his shoulder and his long, lean back. Her breasts, warm and full, absorbed his chill; her bare thighs pressed his. The friction of her lips rubbing against his was so frenzied that it could have started a fire.
Kyle slowed his pace. His whole body shuddered, but no longer from chill. Gently, his palms cradled her head, framing her face, his thumbs tracing the satiny texture of her cheeks as if he would memorize the shape and feel of her features. When he let his hands fall, it was only to wrap his arms around her again, this time with tenderness, and his lips pressed kiss after kiss in her hair.
She inhaled, feeling a love so strong it hurt, a love so strong she felt a crazy blur of tears in her eyes that blurred the landscape around her, doubled the stars, added silver to the sand, enriched the dark shadows with an ebony sheen.
“How I love you,” she whispered. “How I love you, Kyle. Only you. There was never anyone else.” The words spilled out in a desperate rush. “There was never Morgan. No matter what you think happened, no matter what he told you-”
“Erica. Don’t lie.” He wrenched her hands from him and stepped back, his face suddenly a dark, expressionless mask. “I never needed Morgan to tell me what happened. I knew. And the hell of it was that I understood.” Without another word, he turned his back on her and stalked up the sandy shore toward their camp.
Erica stared at Kyle’s retreating figure for all of a minute before chasing after him. Furiously, her hand closed on his upper arm, catching him off-balance and forcing him to face her. “What exactly is it that you think you know?” she demanded.
“Stop it.”
She shook her head wildly. “No way, Kyle. You’ve got to listen to me.”
He sighed, throwing back his head, resting his hands on his hips. “I understand,” he said bitterly. “I’ve understood from the first. I’m not judging you. Erica. I’ve been in your shoes.”
“You stop it. Stop talking in riddles, for God’s sake, Kyle. You’ve been trying to tell me something for months. Just tell me!”
“Look,” he said harshly. “There’s nothing to tell. I could see. History repeating itself.” He took a breath. “When I was a kid, we had only a cookstove for heat in the winter, Erica. People looked down on the McCrerys; walking to school in tennis shoes through the snow. My father just didn’t give a damn about anything from the time my mother died. No one could have accused me of lack of loyalty toward him; I loved the man. Really loved him, as a child. But as I grew older, the anger and resentment kept building, at things we could have had that we never did, at security that was never there… I declared my love and loyalty so loud and strong that I didn’t know what they’d really turned into, until it was too late.