Free True Divide by Liora Blake

steps toward him across the heated water, probably a terrible idea to close the gap—because of the tequila and rum, and the freaking moonlight —but standing this far apart feels weird now. Jake watches my approach, curiosity in his eyes until his gaze drifts lower, then a sparkle and smirk follow. Looking down, I realize that my water aerobics jog just offered up my breasts to him in a lewd jiggle I hadn’t intended.
    Shoving my palms against his chest, I dip my head so he can’t see any of the flush that is heating my face and neck. “Honestly.”
    â€œChrist, I’m a man, honey. Those”—he waves his hand pointedly toward my breasts—“seem way bigger than I remember, and you just displayed them on a buoyant little platter for my amusement. I couldn’t help it.”
    He offers another grin and a goofy wiggle of his brows. I take a turn and decide to head back toward a safe zone because even a playful commentary about my breasts sounds too enticing coming from him. For an instant, I can imagine him saying something equally as teasing when he’s deep, working valiantly to make a woman lose her mind while also getting a laugh. As odd as it sounds, I think the combination might garner a lucky woman the best night of her life.
    Immediately after I start to wade away, the sound of Jake following ends with his hands tugging at my hips to stop me. He presses his chin to rest against the side of my head and drops his voice into a near whisper.
    â€œCome on, don’t run off. Stay close and I’ll be good. Promise.”
    I freeze in place. He’s careful to keep the length of his body away from the back of mine, hips clearly tipped away, only his hands on me until even those fall away. Once he’s dropped his touch completely, I let my shoulders relax and take a deep breath to find a shred of sanity before giving him my face again. If I don’t, he will see every speck of desire and confusion in my expression right now. All I have to do is take inventory of the reasons this is a bad idea.
    One: I’m not looking for anything or anyone right now. Not even a one-night stand.
    Two: Exes spell trouble. Even those who live far away from Crowell and likely won’t pop up again for another ten years.
    Three: Something about self-sufficiency. Or . . . I don’t know, because before I can remember the specifics, Jake’s hand returns, drawing my hair back over one shoulder, fingers dragging across my shoulder blade and lingering until I roll my neck over to one side. Whether I’ve done it to encourage him toward me or to send a silent message to back off, I don’t even know. Good luck to him on interpreting it.
    His fingers drop away and the splash of his hand hitting the water softly tells me exactly what I wanted to have happen. Wild guess here, but his hand leaving my skin was not it. I sink my body into the water to stave off the sudden chill on my skin.
    Then the entire mood changes, a shift in the energy between us that turns the surrounding air into something cloying and heavy. I’m sure it’s just all the obvious things colluding: liquor, no dinner, the intensity of being touched by him and wanting more, but instead of ending this night with more easygoing banter and a few innocent come-ons, it’s possible we’re about to get intense with each other. Or serious. Or somberly honest. And, frankly, I’d take decent sex with a regret-laden morning after over any of that.
    Jake slips around until we come face-to-face again.
    â€œTell me something, sweetheart.”
    I take a deep breath and consider telling him to stop calling me “sweetheart” or “honey” because he’s only trying to soften me up before the inevitable press of something too weighty comes out of his mouth and effectively ruins my buzz.
    Jake pushes a strand of hair behind my ear and lets his eyes search across mine. “Did you