She released her grip on his hand and bolted ahead.
A distant part of her mind wondered where the low lights that had illuminated her waytothe beach had gone. Were they here but turned off? Or was she on a different path without lights? Another distant part of her mind acknowledged Mick was yelling something behind her.
Yeah, yeah, whatever. She’d beat him back to the reception. And then, as they drip-dried under cover, she’d apologize for the romance-book misunderstanding. Maybe. Unless he really had used the termyanks.
“Zeta?” Something swiped at her wrist. Mick’s fingers? “Zeta, the—”
Her foot plunged into water. A lot of water. Past her ankle. Halfway up her calf.
“What the—” She recoiled, pinwheeling her arms to the side as her momentum tried to send her face-first into… What?
Mick’s fingers snagged hers again, stopping her tumble, and he stopped at her side. “The creek.”
She squinted up through the rain at his shadowy shape. Where the hell had all the light gone? “The what? You mean the tiny trickle of water I skipped over walking to the beach?”
“That one.”
“You’re kidding?”
She peered into the darkness, trying to make out how much water surged past them through what had been a calm, gentle trickle of water flowing over a rocky indent in the path barely fifteen minutes ago.
“Storm water run-off creeks,” Mick shouted. “Never trust them.”
She shook her head. “How do we get back to—”
He scooped her up in his arms. Just like that.
One second her feet were on the wet ground, the next they were dangling in the air as he hoisted her up into his arms.
“What the?” she yelped.
“Hold on,” he yelled, taking a couple of steps back.
“Wait, wait,wait!” she squeaked, squeezing her eyes shut.
And then he ran forward and jumped.
6
His foot landed in water, and his heel slid forward. Fast. Gravity grabbed his body, hard, and he fell. Backward. He landed on his arse. In the creek. Still holding Zeta in his arms, like some kind of uncoordinated, good-intentioned but utterly idiotic romance-novel-hero wannabe. His tailbone protested the abrupt and brutal landing. So did the rest of his bones and muscles.
“I’ve done this poorly,” he muttered, the rapid creek barreling into them, over them.
Writhing out of his arms and onto her feet, Zeta snorted. “You think?”
She grabbed under his armpit and helped him up, letting out a low grunt as the rushing water tried to knock her off-balance.
They looked at each other, the rain pelting down.
Say something, idiot!
“I ruined your dress,” he said. “And your hair.”
And yet, God help him, she still looked so fucking sexy he could barely breathe. Her hair clung around her cheeks and throat and shoulders in a wet, tangled mass of wavy strands. Her dress stuck to her body like a green muddy second skin, highlighting curves and dips and plains, the junction of firm thighs and swell of full breasts and cold nipples and… Fuck a fucking duck, he was getting a hard-on.
He cleared his throat.
She studied him, rain streaming down her face. “Iruined the moment. Back on the beach.”