Part 16 (1/2)
”No drawers?” she whispered.
He shook his head. ”d.a.m.ned things are too restricting. That water better be b.l.o.o.d.y cold,” he growled.
She made a choked laugh. ”For both of our sakes.” She waved toward the stream. ”Let's swim.”
Bennett went first, wading into the stream. The water s.h.i.+vered and bit with tiny, icy teeth. Its chill raced up his legs, but only slightly tempered the heat of his arousal. He moved deeper into the stream so that it reached his hips, then turned to help London.
”Careful,” he warned, taking her hand. ”The shelf of the bank is steep.”
She stepped in, then yelped. ”So cold!”
”Cold enough?”
She pressed her lips together in a playful pout. ”Not quite. For you, either, I see.” She glanced down at him, at his erection bobbing in the water, and raised a brow.
”Come on, Naiad,” he rumbled, drawing her forward. ”Swim.”
With a show of obedience, she walked forward, deeper into the stream. Her mouth flattened into a hard line as the frigid water rose up to her calves, her knees, and then higher, but she made not another word of complaint. Her chemise billowed up in the current, drifting like a lily. As the fabric swirled, he glimpsed the dark honey of curling hair between her legs. The G.o.dd.a.m.ned cold water wasn't helping at all.
They both moved farther into the water, him leading, guiding her. The water rose to his chest. Suddenly, she gasped and slipped on the slick pebbles lining the stream bed. She plunged forward. He dove to catch her. Then they were pressed together, her arms wrapped around his neck, his clasping her waist. He felt every silky inch of her. His c.o.c.k surged against her soft, curved stomach. There wasn't enough cold water in all the world's oceans to bring down his fever.
She looked up at him through her lashes.
”You did that on purpose,” he said.
”If I did, then I'm just tormenting the both of us.”
”No pain. Pleasure's much better.” There's a mission, in case you've forgotten, randy idiot. There's a mission, in case you've forgotten, randy idiot. He made sure she had stable footing before reluctantly disentangling, holding only her hand. ”Ready?” He made sure she had stable footing before reluctantly disentangling, holding only her hand. ”Ready?”
At her nod, they both took deep breaths, then sank underneath the water. The stream ran gently, so it wasn't difficult to swim against its current, though navigating around the large rocks in the middle proved a small challenge. He took his time, keeping his eyes open so he could scan the stream bed for something, anything that might be a clue. Pebbles and rocks of every hue lined the bed of the stream, and gra.s.ses rippled in the current. Distraction also came in the form of London swimming, as lovely as a river spirit, her hair darker in the water in a rippling banner, chemise clinging to her lithe body. Undulating, she smiled at him.
Something in the center of his chest constricted, sharp. He wouldn't look away, reveled in it.
After a few minutes, they both rose up to the surface for more air.
”What are we looking for?” she asked.
”h.e.l.l if I know. Keep going.”
Back down again. Several times they did this. The initial burst of warmth he got from swimming leeched away in the frigid water. London, too, grew awkward in her movements.
”Wait for me on the bank,” he said when they surfaced. ”Your lips are blue.”
”I'm f-fine.”
”London,” he warned.
”I'm done with having a m-man tell me what to d-do.”
He could carry her out, force her to wait, but she was determined to test herself, see what she was capable of, and he had to give her that room. The problem with London was that she wasn't just beautiful and clever. She kept impressing him with her courage. At this rate, he'd be entirely infatuated by sundown. And in a week...well, he wouldn't dwell on the future. The Heirs were out there.
Without another word, he dipped back under the water. If she followed him, it would be her choice. When she truly endangered herself, though, he would make a unilateral decision to get her out of the water.
They each skimmed over the bottom of the stream, looking for anything, growing more desperate. This whole exercise could prove futile, a ruse to throw any who sought the Source off the path. It had happened before. He'd spent one extremely bitter winter in Lapland chasing the Heirs who, it eventually turned out, had been sent on a wild goose chase by a set of runes. All either of them received for their troubles were frozen beards and near cases of frostbite.
Bennett hated to think that London endangered herself for some will-o'-the-wisp.
There. A flash and gleam, small and brief, just at the edge of one of the largest rocks. He almost missed it. But he swam back, dove lower, and shoved away handfuls of pebbles. A burst of tadpoles wriggled away, disturbed from their hiding. Yes. The glint of metal, the edge of something, but what, he couldn't tell. Most of it was buried underneath the rock.
London appeared next to him. He pointed at the metal. They shared an excited smile, cold water forgotten. The thrill of discovery never went away, no matter how long he'd been with the Blades.
One final surfacing for air, and down to the stream floor. Bennett pushed at the rock, but it didn't move. He swam around to the other side and set his shoulder to the rock, pus.h.i.+ng it downstream. It jostled slightly, yet not enough. He shoved again, and again, digging his heels into the rocks and pebbles on the floor. A few cut his feet. He waved off her concern when threads of red stained the water. Silt clouded up. His lungs burned, but he didn't want to stop. Not when it felt so close. One more push...
The rock heaved forward, uncovering more of the metal. London darted forward and grabbed it, just before the rock rolled back into its original place.
London and Bennett shot up to the surface, gulping in air, then raced for the bank. Bennett reached the sh.o.r.e first, and pulled London out. He nearly fell over backward, thunderstruck, to see her.
Women in all states of undress were not uncommon to him. He ventured to guess that he'd seen more nude women than most men had seen clothed. He loved all the shapes women took-slim, lush, spare, abundant. In dishabille or fully bare. They all held their charms. And now, London. The wet chemise clung to her, entirely transparent, and he saw everything. b.r.e.a.s.t.s, belly, thighs. The perfect oval of her navel. Her woman's mound.
None of those other women ever stopped his heart as did London Edgeworth in her sopping chemise.
”Please don't look at me that way,” she gulped. ”Or I'll forget why we are here in the first place.”
”Good,” he growled. But he knew she was right.
Several small, brown birds scattered from the branches of nearby laurel trees, reminding him of his duty.
Together, they knelt in the gra.s.s, the warm sun drying their skin, as they examined their find.
A bronze mirror, round, with no handle. Instead, a hole at the top indicated where it would hang on a wall. A pattern of rays, like those from the sun, encircled the reflective surface. Bennett felt the faint hum of power he'd come to recognize when handling magical objects, through his fingertips and to the very ends of his hair.
”There's writing here,” London said, peering closely. ”In the same Samalian-Thracian dialect as the song. Which would date this as being at least two thousand years old. But,” she added, wonder tingeing her voice, ”there is not a bit of corrosion anywhere. Even if it had been at the bottom of the stream for a few years, it would be tarnished.”
Bennett and London's faces stared back at them from the perfectly reflective surface of the mirror.
”Sources and some magical objects are like that.” He studied the mirror. ”Time and the elements don't affect them. Can you translate it?”
”Yes.”
”We'll take it to the boat, and you'll translate it there.”
She glanced at the water with concern. ”Is it all right to remove it from the stream?”
”If we leave the mirror, the Heirs will find it. And I'd rather have it in our hands than theirs.”
Seeing the lesser of the two evils, London acquiesced.
He rose to his feet, and almost sank back down as London's eyes moved over his body. Her damp chemise still clung to her. ”We need to get back,” he said, more for himself than for her. She nodded, but with reluctance. d.a.m.n and h.e.l.l. The pa.s.sion in her was going to kill him, and he'd die happy.