Just like you used to do.

She smiled straight ahead, too confused to turn, for fear of a repeat of the night at the museum. Now she needed to buy time.

“You remember my sailing secrets.” He chuckled so close his warm breath stirred her hair falling over her right eye. “Ready for that swim? I’ve found a warm spot.”

Curiosity got the best of her, and she glanced over her shoulder at him. “How did you do that?”

“Environmental sensors.” He showed her the gauge. “Seventy-three degrees. Warm enough for you?”

“Yes.”

He pushed a button and the sail dropped. She watched him flip switches and push more buttons, and as if by magic a swim platform with a shower lowered and a ladder extended down into the water.

“I’m deploying two rafts on tethers to set up a swim zone. The boat will drift, so don’t go past the last raft.”

She looked around and saw nothing but water and sky, the sun still huge but lower to the horizon and redder.

“Is it all right to just drift out here?”

“I turned on radar and AIS with alarm zones. It’s high-tech privacy.” He looked deep into her eyes. “If anyone comes along to disturb us, alarms will go off. I’ve preset a five-mile zone.”

They couldn’t have been any more isolated. The world focused down to just the two of them. Like in her hallucination. Drew and Athena with nothing between them.

Now here they were, Drew and Athena with years of unrequited feelings, distrust, and the ever-present pain about her betrayal—and now her confusion about the Clayworths and her dad—between them.

She gave a stab at being rational. “Are you ready to talk?”

“I’m ready for a swim.” He pulled off his shirt. His muscles were defined, strong, and heavier.

She looked away and pulled off her own tank top and shorts. She’d worn her black one-piece instead of her skimpy bikini, which left little to the imagination.

But his eyes roamed over her and she felt naked anyway. Like they’d been the last time they swam. Naked in the moonlight.

She needed to do something to break the tension wrapping warm bands of anticipation tighter and tighter around her. Sheer preservation forced her to perform a clumsy dive into Lake Michigan.

The cold water struck her overheated skin and shock jolted through her, followed by exhilaration.

All at once Drew surfaced beside her. “Race you to the last raft.”

He sounded like he had when they were kids, daring her, pushing her. Laughing, she responded, slicing through the waves in her best crawl. Sometimes, when they were younger, he’d let her win.

Not today.

Today she needed to win on her own, not be given the prize. She stretched out, gave it the last ounce of her strength, speed, and endurance.

They reached the raft simultaneously.

They clung to it together. Her pulse raced from her head to her toes as the waves pushed their bodies closer and pulled them apart.

“It’s been a long time since we swam together,” he said. “You beat me fair and square.”

Still breathless, she almost laughed but couldn’t quite make it happen.

“Want to race back?”

“No, you told me to relax, remember?” She pushed away, floating on her back, letting the waves buffer her gently. She tried to enjoy it, but nothing seemed important except Drew and the warm, tingling anticipation of being with him here, now, at last. Right or wrong. Tonight she would make love with Drew Clayworth.

He paddled along beside her, keeping guard, making sure she felt safe within his boundaries. He smiled, his eyes watchful.

She wanted to turn toward him, wrap her body around him here in the water, and pull his head down to open her mouth for his kiss.

“Watch your head,” he called out.

Startled, she felt the stern looming over her.

Shivering, goose bumps covering her arms, she climbed up onto the swim platform.

He came up right behind her. “Here, take a hot shower.”

He turned it on, and she stepped under the water, loving how it warmed her cold skin.

“Tilt your head back. You have seaweed tangled in your hair.” His voice sounded gentle.

The dichotomy of hot and cold made everything seem surreal as she did what he asked.

His long fingers gently massaging her hair felt so sensual she closed her eyes with pleasure.

I don’t want this to be just about sex. I want it to be about understanding.

She opened her eyes, stepped away, and turned to face him. “We need to talk, Drew. Now.”

For a second he simply stared at her. She didn’t know what she’d do if he reached for her. Throw herself into his arms the way she wanted, or push him into the lake the way she should.

Finally he nodded. “I have a robe in the owner’s cabin for you. Warm up. I’ll meet you in the cockpit.”

She hung her wet suit in the head and slipped on the soft blue terrycloth robe. It really did cover her more than her tank top and shorts.

Drew, dressed in black shirt and trunks, must have pushed another button, because a table had appeared in the room where there wasn’t one earlier. A bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket, and beside it were cold shrimp, cheeses, and fruit.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

She looked at him standing there, gorgeous and charming, and it all seemed too much.

“What are you doing? What are we doing? We don’t speak for fifteen years. Let me preface that.” She lifted her chin and gazed off into space, trying to find the right words in the utter chaos of her feelings.

Her gaze fell deliberately and as coldly as she could muster, considering she felt ready to explode, onto his face.

“You ignore me for years. Then through no choice of our own, we’re thrown back together and all of a sudden you’re everywhere I turn. Pandora’s Box. Finding Bertha’s dresses. Funding exhibits at the museum. Nearly making love in my office, and now this!”

He poured her a glass of champagne and handed it to her. “Here, have a drink.”

“I don’t want a drink,” she insisted but took the glass anyway to pace around the room.

“What do you want, Athena?” he asked softly.

She turned to face him, placed the glass carefully on the table and flung up her chin.

“I want to know how you could so easily walk away from me that Christmas weekend,” she blurted out.

There! I’ve finally said it.

Years of yearning, of regret pushed open every door.

She saw herself follow him out to the porch on that long-ago Christmas Eve, press a soft kiss on the nape of his neck because the way he was sitting, so dejected, compelled her to touch him in that way. She remembered kneeling in front of him, tilting his chin up to gaze into his eyes. Saw the moisture on his face, which couldn’t have been from the falling snow.

The memories made it hard to breathe, but she forced herself to look into his eyes again.

“Do you remember what I said to you and what you answered that Christmas Eve?” His voice sounded raw, like the words were ripped out of him.

“Of course I remember,” she whispered, tears aching in the back of her throat. “You said, ‘I’m alone,’ and I said, ‘No, Drew, you’re not alone. I’ll always, always be here for you.’ ”

He nodded. “And then I picked you up in my arms. Like this.”

I should stop him.

There was no snow, no icy-cold wind whipping her hair across her face, but the desire felt the same—no, stronger—as he swept her up into his arms, holding her high against his chest.

He walked to the cherry paneling, not the cold stone side of the Clayworth mansion as he had that night, and he lowered her to the floor, pressing her back against the wood.

Now, like then, he dragged his mouth across hers. Gently bit her lips, the side of her throat, while his hands roamed over her body, making her flesh come alive beneath his touch. Her breasts swelled under his palms, and a tingling flow of desire caused her to move instinctively against him.