The Australian (Crime Royalty Romance Book 2) by Lesley Young

when he pulled me right off the edge. My body—suffocating in fast-rising water—stiffened. My hands clutched his head, and, for an awkward moment, I bent over, but he managed to slide me down. My breasts muffled his face momentarily, but I couldn’t focus on that, as the water reached my neck. I heard myself whimper.
    “Charlie! Look at me.”
    I did as he asked, but he was too close to focus on properly.
    “Breathe.”
    I was nearly hyperventilating.
    I tried to steady myself.
    “See. I’ve got you.”
    He did, I realized. Or, rather, I had him.
    I was clinging to him like I assumed Titanic survivors had clung to refuge.
    “Quit thrashing about or we’ll both go under.”
    Instantly, I quit moving. I would not be so silly as to jeopardize my only salvation.
    “There,” he said gruffly. “You’re floating.”
    I briefly let go of the commotion in my brain and felt my own weightlessness as he pushed me away gently while maintaining a strong grip.
    “I am!” I whispered shakily. “I have never got this far before!”
    “Ace. Right, now think about how safe you are. How pleasant the water feels, and how it supports your body.”
    I thought about his words. And then, after a moment, I felt the levity, which is what I think he wanted.
    It hit me then, that I did feel safe. He made me feel that way. There was no other explanation. We shared a smile. “Now I’m going to help you rest your head back, not all the way, just dip it back, and I’ll hold you.”
    I would have protested, but I ranked professionalism above personal safety. Plus, I was anxious to comply so I could get out of the water as soon as humanly possible. I nodded.
    I let go of his neck and, feeling rather uncoordinated and helpless, attempted to lie back in the water. Both his arms were holding me, and I could tell this took some effort of his legs to keep up both suspended. For a second my mind drew a silly comparison to being christened.
    “Go on, Charlie. You can do it.”
    Staring into his eyes, I felt the cool water soak the back of my hot head, my heart fluttering wildly, and panicked. I threw myself back at his body, clinging on for dear life, my wet hair wrapped around my face.
    “Good-oh,” he whispered in my ear.
    I struggled to get oxygen to my brain.
    One of his hands slid up my back, the other worked the water to keep us afloat.
    Oh. I gasped for air.
    Wait. This was not likely an approved swim instructor embrace.
    And then . . . I felt it .
    A large tire iron (that is how my brain computed it initially) pressing into my right leg. It took a full second to identify it, and even then, I did a most disconcerting thing: I pulled back and glanced into his eyes.
    As I have explained, I am no expert at reading emotion, but perhaps there was some instinctual capability within me after all. I could have been mistaken, but I believe Mr. Knight was sexually attracted to me in that moment.
    As was I to him!
    My nether region clenched, with a deep hunger I did not know it was capable of feeling, and I couldn’t swallow from pangs of what could only be described as a debasing ache, no, debasing longing, radiating from the same area. Blood rushed to my vagina, causing swelling in my clitoris, labia . . . everywhere! In fact, tingling, throbbing and fullness were evident throughout my entire pelvic area—all of which was shocking, considering my circumstances. There I was in a pool of angry water, and yet, my eyelids were heavy, my breathing shallow, my whole body pliant!
    Anxiety finally surged forth, reason prevailed, and I pushed away from Mr. Knight. Only then did I realize doing so had left me completely alone in the water.
    Which was worse? No time. Staring at him, petrified, I realized I was treading water. At the same time, Mr. Knight’s eyes had narrowed and I had the distinct impression (or fear) he intended to reach for me.
    All of this—my own successful swimming efforts, and his possible inclination—gave me just the