She shot Max a thumbs-up, sat on the edge of the boat and fell over backward into the water. Following, he let the ocean swallow him with familiarity.
Lukewarm water. Sunshine streaming through. The roaring of the breathing, a Darth Vader, rushing-in-and-out sound.
Floating into sight, Darcy swept her arms by her sides in a siren welcome. Damn but she was gorgeous, a natural beauty that had nothing to do with makeup or artifice. A novelty for a man who lived with deception.
Max let the air out of his BC vest—buoyancy compensator—and began his descent. Sinking along with him, Darcy pinched her nose through the flexible mask to equalize the pressure.
Down.
Down.
Down with Darcy into the clear water toward the blanket of luminescent greens and rainbow streaks of color below, leaving the world above until it was only the two of them.
Maybe he was overcomplicating things. Likely her silence meant she was ready to cut ties. For the best, damn it.
He would just enjoy this afternoon on his turf with Darcy. He'd learned young to make the most of every moment before the next move. Ignore the rest.
Seventy feet down, Darcy slowed. A cautious diver.
Good. Only pros should dive below a hundred feet where nitrogen narcosis, rapture of the deep, kicked in fast. He didn't need a doped-up Darcy on his resistance-weak hands.
Darcy paused to stare at yellow coral fingering out of denser pink bunches, giving a wide berth to the red coral that held skin-burning poison in its spines.
Max pointed toward the looming aircraft. Darcy nodded. He clasped her hand and tugged her with him, kicking, propelling them through the maze of corals painting a Technicolor path ahead of them.
Technicolor?
Where the hell had that freaking poetic notion come from? From seeing the same damn stretch of water he'd covered countless times the past week in a new light.
Through Darcy's unjaded perceptions.
The depths became about more than a workplace full of hidden secrets. Her eyes smiled through the mask at a blue starfish. When had he forgotten about blue starfish? Long before Eva.
Darcy swam in the midst of a streaming school of spotted grouper, then alongside with a manta ray until the four-foot batlike creature finally glided away. Dozens of times he'd kicked through these same waters right past this same wreckage and never once had he thought to stop and explore. Not until now. With Darcy.
He'd narrowed his focus for so long while Darcy flung open doors, inviting him into her world. And damned if he could stop himself from joining her, even if only for one day.
Darcy sprawled on the sandbar, diving gear on the beach, their boat bobbing in the distance. Max beside her.
She was in serious trouble.
The late-afternoon sun cooked her as surely as the time with Max had fried her brain. Something had happened between them underwater, some surreal connection. He'd watched her with such intensity, his eyes all but searing her through his mask until she'd felt linked to him.
She'd been attracted to his body, to his intelligence, even to the boy who watched old sitcoms and played with dolphins to combat loneliness.
Today she'd met the real man in his world. All the elements of Max Keagan pulled together into a total package that touched her. Here, alone on their patch of sand away from the mainland, the boundaries stayed down and she couldn't scavenge the will to resurrect them.
She was weary with fighting the pull between them. Maybe the time had come to take an even bigger risk.
Time to talk. Really talk. "How long has it been?"
Max turned his head along the sand toward her. "What?"
Darcy forced herself to ask the question that would hurt both of them but needed to be voiced. "Since you lost her?"
He didn't look away, blue-green eyes deepening to the color of a storm-tossed sea. "Two and a half years."
"Time doesn't always help."
"No, it doesn't." His chest pumped a half pace faster. The ocean crashed up the shoreline, tipping their toes. Waves drowned out the world and eroded the sand beneath them so walls didn't have a chance of being resurrected. "She was pregnant."
Shock stung Darcy like the spines of poisonous red coral. The sun gleamed off Max's bronzed skin, but his body seemed frozen in ice.
Darcy rolled to her side and let her hand fall on his chest. "I'm so sorry."
He didn't move or touch her back, other than the forceful slug of his heart under her hand. "I went a little crazy that first year after Eva and the baby..." He swallowed. "I did some things I'm not proud of before I found focus."
"To lose someone you love is horrible, but to lose your child, the promise of a family at the same time— you had a right to go more than a little crazy." What would it be like to be loved so fully, passionately by this intense man?
Max jerked upright, her hand falling away. "The baby wasn't planned, but I wanted it. Eva hadn't decided whether or not to take on me and my j—'' he paused, frowned "—my lifestyle permanently."
His lifestyle? What was wrong with marrying a professor? Eva lost serious points in Darcy's book if the woman hadn't been able to see beyond the beach bum facade to the serious man beneath.
"Hell, maybe she was right." He hooked his elbows on his knees and stared out at the sun sinking into the horizon. "Who knew what kind of father I would have been? Failing at a relationship is one thing. Failing a kid...I had to get it right. A child deserves more than a father who communicates with grunts." Max shot Darcy a wry smile. "Maybe I have more in common with my old man than I thought."
Guilt pinched her over her teasing and she sat up, swinging around onto her knees to face him. "I might razz you about your...short answers, but you pack more into a few words than most people do in a two-hour monologue."
"That's a nice thought." He hooked a finger in her dog tags as if subconsciously drawn to them. "But you're reading more into me than is there, Darcy."
"I disagree." She clenched her fists to keep from reaching for him. "I think maybe there's a lot more to you than even you know."
His knuckles grazed her cheek, dusting sand away. "The eternal optimist."
A smile played with his mouth, and in that moment of closeness, she knew. They'd definitely crossed a line. He was going to kiss her. Their problems still lurked between them, but for some reason they'd both decided to forge ahead.
Her stomach clenched. She wasn't going to launch an advance. But she was done retreating.
Max studied the lips he intended to kiss senseless in less than five seconds. "You're a nice woman, Darcy."
"Nice?" Her smile played with those full and tempting lips. "Sheesh, if you call me cute too, I'll have to deck you."
He laughed. And it felt good. Darcy's optimism made him feel good after a helluva long time of feeling so damned bad.
She didn't move toward him, not even a waver. He'd given her plenty of cause to be wary. He'd bruised her pride. But damn it he'd been in hell himself, caught between protecting her from more coincidences while keeping her safe from him. Right now he couldn't think of a single reason why he needed to do the latter anymore.
Droplets of water from her hair rolled down her neck. Lucky water. He leaned to drink the bead from her skin. Perfect. Satisfying yet addictive.
Max glanced up to gauge her reaction for any sign she wanted to deck him after all.
Her smoky eyes stared back, her lips parted, inviting. Damned if he didn't intend to take her up on the invitation.
Max kissed her finally, fully dipping into the warm heat of her mouth and tasting undiluted Darcy. She locked her arms around him, her hands roving along his bare back with frantic urgency. They tumbled to the sand side by side, and he surrendered to the mind-drugging draw of kissing Darcy.
All the enthusiasm she poured into life flowed over him, encompassed him as if he'd plunged back into the water. Like he was deep in the grips of nitrogen narcosis, his mind swirled with the intoxication of having her in his arms.
Sand beneath them, sun over them, wind stirring up the salty sea air, Max palmed her head and her waist, bringing her flush against him. He traced the high-cut hip of her suit. Darcy moaned, arched closer with an encouraging wriggle.
He tucked his hand inside, cupped the silky softness of her taut bottom. Pulled her closer. Closer again. Nowhere near close enough to ease the throbbing ache as he rocked against her hips.
Max tore his mouth from hers. He had to taste more of her. All of her, in case there wasn't another time. He trailed hungry kisses down her neck, lower to the plunging neckline of her suit. Found the generous curve of her breasts.
Found a tight peak straining against Lycra.
He slipped her shoulder strap to the side and eased the creamy mound free. Tan lines. Max groaned, just before he laved that needy peak. Her fingers clutched his hair, tighter, drew him closer, begged for more. And he intended to give her all she could handle. His fingers trailed forward inside her suit, skimming the seam until he reached...
Her. Hot, wet Darcy. And so damned tight.
Her sigh whispered through his hair just as her mile-long leg hooked over his hip, opening her to his touch. She urged his face back up to hers. The woman certainly knew her mind, and he wasn't arguing in the least since they wanted the same thing.
Her total and complete release.
He stroked, teased...coaxed her closer. Her gasps filled his mouth. Faster. Filled him as he wanted to fill her but couldn't afford to lose that much control even as her breathy moan signaled her own spiraling loss of control. He could give her this much, damn it.
Wanted to see her unravel.
Would see her unravel soon—
Darcy arched against him, her nails jabbing into his back with a half-second warning before her moan split the air. Again, she bowed against him. Her leg locked tighter. Intense. Complete.
Incredible.
She sagged in his arms, her leg around him slackening, her heated huffs of breath blowing over his chest. "Oh...my...gosh. I think I've forgotten how to breathe."
Max let a chuckle rumble free. He should have known sex with Darcy would be fun as well as intense.
"More," she demanded.
He wanted to comply, but how much farther could it go anyway, out in the open on a sandbar?
Hell. He knew exactly how far he wanted it to go, out in the open. Darcy soaking up the sun and radiating it right back into him. Him inside her.
She wanted it, too. No question. Her breathy moans and needy arch against him plastering damp Lycra to his chest answered him louder than any words.
The man he'd been two and a half years ago might have taken her up on the offer. But she deserved a better man than that. Now wasn't the time or place for more.
Her hand snaked to the waist of his dive shorts. "Come on, Max. Your turn."
He covered her hand with his. "Later."
"Now." She skimmed her hand lower until her hand found him.
Now sounded good. But not safe.
Her hand curved.
Damn it. "Not now, Darcy." He vise-gripped her wrist. "Later, when you're thinking more clearly. When we're back at the island and can talk this through."
She stared at him with stunned eyes. "You really aren't going to finish?"
His throbbing libido shouted in protest. Never had he been so hot, hard and turned on and they hadn't even had sex.
And they couldn't, not here. Not now, regardless of how much he wanted it. And, man, did he ever want to lose himself in Darcy.
Finally he brushed a thumb over her damp lips. "No."
She bit his thumb.
Not gently. And not sexually. Her eyes sparked as she opened her mouth and swiped his hand away. "I am such an idiot. Silly ol' me thought we had some kind of special connection."
She shoved to her feet and tugged her swimsuit back in place.
Ah, hell, he'd screwed up again. "Darcy, I'm not saying never. I'm just questioning the timing."