They made love after eating the delicious afternoon tea Mrs. Denis had prepared for them, and afterward, Emma drifted off to sleep in Vanni’s arms, lulled by the sound of the waves and his strong, steady heartbeat in her ear. When she awoke, it was evening and the sun was beginning to set. She sat up, disoriented because she was alone. For some reason, a prickle of unease went through her as she stared out at the sea and didn’t see a sign of Vanni.

“Vanni?” she called, but there was no answer.

Then she caught sight of him. He was farther out to sea than she’d ever seen him swim, his head appearing small in the shimmering waves. He was going farther away still.

“Vanni!” she yelled, panicked for some reason at the sight. She shoved aside her beach cover-up, which had been draped over her while she slept, and stood naked, staring fixedly at the black spot in the sea that was Vanni’s head. For several seconds, she couldn’t breathe.

She exhaled with relief when she realized he’d changed directions and was headed back to shore. When he was just past the anchored raft, he stopped swimming, his head breaking the surface. Her naked skin prickled with awareness, and she knew he stared at her standing there, just inside the pavilion. He resumed swimming with gusto toward the beach. He stood when the water was waist-deep and began walking toward shore, his stride unbroken by the rolling waves. The roughening of her skin and that strange sense of tension mounted. He was naked, the evening sun casting a golden-reddish light onto his skin. Her gaze lowered over him, her breath catching.

He wasn’t only naked, he was fully aroused.

As he drew closer, she saw the glint of fire in his sea-colored eyes as they lowered over her naked body with a hot, possessive look. She just gaped at him in rising wonder. What had happened? Why did he look so fierce?

She didn’t have time to put the question to words, because he was taking her into his arms, pulling her against his body and sweeping down to cover her mouth with his. His heat resonated beneath the cool sheen of water, the degree of it shocking her since he’d just been submerged in the sea. He almost felt feverish. He lifted her, her feet coming off the beach, and set her down at the end of the lounger.

“Scoot back and open your thighs,” he said, hovering over her, his face rigid. She hastened back on the lounger, sensing his urgency. He straddled her and came toward her on his hands and knees, the primal vision he made sending a thrill of wariness and anticipation through her. She didn’t know what was happening, but the moment was taut with unspoken, thick emotion.

He stared at her pussy as he approached, a slight snarl shaping his lips. Without any preamble, he fisted the stalk of his cock and arrowed it into her slit. She was still moist from their previous love-making, but the abrupt entry still made her wince.

He fell down over her and flexed his hips, driving his cock deeper. She gave a shaky cry. “Let me in, Emma,” he commanded quietly, staring down at her with a scoring stare. She opened her legs wider. Her flesh melted around his hard length at the same moment that he grasped her wrists and pushed them above her head. He began to fuck her with long, hard strokes, holding her stare the whole time, his face tight, his eyes blazing. He was telling her something, screaming the truth, but his mouth remained closed the whole time.

She heard him in the quiet, though; heard his pain and his confusion.

She lifted her hips, driving her pussy along his thrusting cock, absorbing his unrest and anguish, breaking it like a wave that pounded on the beach.

“That’s right,” she whispered heatedly. “Fuck me.”

A convulsion of emotion broke across his face. A groan rattled his throat. He took her harder, lifting his face and wincing in an agony of pleasure. She felt his cock swell in her and jerk viciously. A shout erupted from what seemed like his deepest part. It escalated to a stark howl, the sound causing her neck and forearms to roughen and prickle. She felt him convulse inside her, then the warm rush of his semen as he ejaculated.

He removed his hands from her wrists, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her head, and sagged, panting raggedly for air.

The heaving of his chest and ribs slowly eased. He made a rough choking sound, and she reached for him, bringing him down against her.

The sound of his ragged breath eased under the rhythmic surf surrounding them. She furrowed her fingers into his thick, damp hair and stroked his back. Eventually, he came up off her and fell onto his back. He reached for her and she rested her cheek on his chest.

“I was married before.”

She went still at his unexpected words.

“I know,” she whispered against his chest.

“How did you know?” he asked, his fingertips feathering down her spine.

She told him about what Mort Forrester had told her, and also mentioned Niki. He didn’t say anything for a moment when she fell silent.

“She was a special girl, but I met her at a time in my life when I was ready to . . . to give it all another try. I was tired of being bitter. After Meredith died, it seemed like all the pain came roaring back, even worse than before,” he said starkly. “I used to swim past the spot where Adrian drowned at the Breakers. I’d swim far out in the lake. When I was here, I’d swim far out to sea. I never told anyone before.”

Her lungs ached, and she realized she was holding her breath.

“I didn’t think of it as wanting to die. It was a kind of compulsion. I just . . . wondered what would happen. I wondered if I went far enough, if I’d be taken, too. I should have been the one who went on that afternoon. Not Adrian.”

“No,” she said steadfastly. “Neither of you should have been taken. It was a horrible accident. And you were fortunate to live through it. Blessed. I’m blessed, because you’re here,” she said, kissing his skin. She exhaled shakily when she felt his fingers in her hair.

“You never told me what happened,” he said. “When you died.” His hand opened at her back, and he made a soothing motion. He must have felt her tremble. His hand stilled. “I’m not asking because I’m curious to find out for myself, Emma,” he said wryly. She lifted her head, hungry to see his face. He met her stare calmly. “I’m not suicidal.”

She studied him closely, then nodded, sighing in relief at what she saw in his eyes.

“There was a feeling like floating . . . no, flying,” she said. “I was weightless. Comfortable. In control. But mostly, there was just a feeling,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. “A knowledge, and I knew even better than I know my own name that all was well . . . and that . . . things were bigger and deeper and wider than I’d ever begun to imagine, so big that all my fears were like a drop in the ocean of it.”

“Do you think that’s what Adrian experienced?” he asked quietly. “Because when he was struggling, and I was trying so hard to keep him above the water . . .” He closed his eyes, and his pain was like a knife in her side. “He was very afraid.”

“Vanni.”

He opened his eyes slowly.

“When the time came, he wasn’t afraid. Please believe me.”

He stared at her face, rapt.

“I’m sure enough for both of us,” she said in a pressured whisper.

His rigid expression broke. He pulled her closer in his arms, and she slid farther up his body so that her head nestled in the hollow between his shoulder and neck. She touched her lips to his pulse and closed her eyes at the feeling swelling tight in her chest.

“When you swam out all those times, what made you turn back?” she asked him in a hushed voice after a moment.

His hand cupped the back of her head.

“I never knew,” he replied gruffly, a far-off look in his eyes. “Until now.”