navigated the fear of others in a thousand different ways. He’d dealt with people who were scared. He did it all the time.
He excelled at this: at infusing his abundance of confidence and calm into panicky people through his voice and his actions.
It felt different this time, way too personal, as if that enemy called fear was hovering at the edges of his own awareness. But that was his fault, not hers, bikini notwithstanding. He took a deep breath, gathered himself, formed a plan.
“I’m going to stand beside you,” he said quietly, “with my hands like this. You are going to lie down in the water, on your back, and let my hands support you.”
“Oh, God,” she said in Italian. “I don’t think I can. Could we just walk around some more? I was getting the hang of that. Walking in water. I think it’s biblical.”
“I think that may be walking on water.”
“It’s good enough for me. For today.”
“Swimming lessons, heavy emphasis on the swimming.”
“My hair isn’t right. And the bathing suit won’t work. You already said that.”
“We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Together. He did not excel at figuring things out together. It had been his greatest weakness with the SEALs. He was not a good team player. He had a tendency to go maverick. The last time he had done it, against orders, Justin had followed him...
“Are you all right?” Her hand, wet, warm, was on his cheek.
He shook his head. How was it she could see what no one else ever saw? “Yeah. I’m fine.”
She didn’t move her hand. He didn’t move it, either. He had to stop this craziness. He shook his head again, trying to be all business. But droplets of water flew off his hair and rained down on her face, emphasizing the compassion there.
“Lie down in the water.” His voice had a snap to it, like a flag caught in the wind.
Isabella’s hand dropped to her side, but Connor could feel the warmth of it on his face as if it still rested there.
“No, I—” She twisted and looked at the stairs.
“Trust me,” he said in that voice, firm, the voice of a man who was used to being in charge of everything, including the safety of others.
She dragged her eyes back from the staircase and looked at him for a long moment. Her eyes, with the water reflecting in them, looked more green than gold.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“So just lean back,” he coaxed her.
She leaned back an inch.
“Maybe a little more.”
She leaned back another inch, so stiff-spined she looked like a tree bending over. He sighed and moved into her swiftly, before she could guess what he was going to do. Maybe he didn’t even know what he was going to do himself until he had done it.
He scooped Isabella up and held her against his chest.
“Oh,” she sighed with surprise. She would have weighed about as much as a feather under normal circumstances. With the water taking most of her weight, it was like holding a puff of air.
Except that her skin was warm and sensual, like silk. She blinked up at him and then twined her arms around his neck.
What part of the Swimming 101 manual was this in? he demanded of himself. He pried her fingers from around his neck and put her away from his chest, supporting her body on his hands, at right angles from his own.
“Okay,” he said. His voice was faintly hoarse, not completely his talking-a-hostage-away-from-the-bad-guy voice. “Just relax. That’s it. Now straighten out your legs. I’ve got you.”
Tentatively, she did as he asked, her forehead wrinkled with anxiety as she gave herself over to the water. Her hair floated out in the water around her face, like dark silk ribbons. The small of her back was resting securely on his hands. Her skin was warmer than the water, and he felt a primal awareness of her that he did not want to feel.
At all.
“You’re a bit tense,” he told her. He heard the tension in his own voice and took a deep, steadying breath. “Relax. I won’t bite.”
“Yes,” she said. “So you’ve said.”
“Focus on your breathing. Put your hands on your tummy—no, you don’t need them, I’ve got you—and breathe until you feel your tummy rising instead of your chest.”
Shoot. Did he have to mention her chest just as his voice was returning to normal?
“This is quite amazing,” she said after a moment.
“Amazing,” he agreed. His jaw was starting to hurt from clenching his teeth so tightly. “So, just try moving your legs a bit. Kick.”
She did a little kick.
“Very good,” he encouraged her. “Harder, both of them.”
She kicked tentatively. And then harder. The splash hit him in the face, which seemed to motivate more strenuous kicking on her part. She giggled.
That giggle helped him turn a page. Connor pretended to be worried about getting wet, ducking the worst of the splash while never letting her go. She giggled some more.
“Now straighten your legs out. Think of a pair of scissors opening and closing and kick like that. That’s perfect. That’s why it’s called a scissor kick. Now, instead of just standing here, I’m going to let the kick propel you. I’ll move with you, though. You see how it works? Your legs are amazingly strong.”
What he meant was that everyone’s legs were amazingly strong, that this particular movement used the gluteus maximus, the largest muscle in the human body, but he didn’t clarify, since she looked so pleased. And there was no denying her legs were amazing!
He supported her and guided her until she had kicked around the pool in a large circle.
“Now,” he said, “my hands are still here, but I’m moving them away from you, so you can see it’s the water supporting you, not me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She glared up at him.
“Don’t be nervous. The water’s only three feet deep here. You can stand up at any time. Just relax. I’m going to—”
“No! Don’t let go of me. I’m not ready.”
He’d heard it again and again, looking into the eyes of a terrified civilian who was being asked to do something that required more of them than had ever been required before.
“Yes, you are,” he said, “you are ready.”
