“I like the cold.”
“I know, you said.”
She smiled. “See? You’re already learning things
about me.”
“I know you’re a good swimmer. An astonishing
kisser. You make your own wine, which is the coolest
thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, moving closer. His eyes
watched her mouth, seizing upon the lushness of her
bottom lip. She had seen it before, in men: that determined
gaze as they moved in for something they wanted.
“Did you like my wine?” she asked, immobilizing
him.
“I did. I usually prefer bourbon, but it was very
good. Sweet.” She had served it with dinner earlier, a rich
red that paired perfectly with the pasta.
His hands pushed the water around, creating little
eddies. She could see what was coming next, it was so
strong she could almost pluck the idea from the air around
his head.
“Not as sweet as you, though,” he said.
“I use a secret ingredient in my wine,” she said,
floating on her back. “Did you know that a form of lotus
flower grows here? You wouldn’t believe it to look at this
little lake, that something so exotic could live here. Some
people call them water lilies, but they’re not exactly the
same thing.”
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