Liam slowed, frowning. Damn him for a fool, he was imagining Mac down in the lake. Imagining her clean, fair skin streaked with fresh water rather than sweat; her movements unhurried and easy in solitude. Touching her small, firm breasts with her hands, stroking her thighs clean of mud…
You haven’t had a woman in months, he reminded himself. And that restraint had been due to his guardianship of Caroline—and the knowledge that soon he would seal her safety and future by asking her to marry him.
Not that he’d ever expect Caroline to satisfy his needs. She was a lady. She was everything a man could want in a wife, graceful and lovely and feminine. Meant to be cherished and protected.
But as for sharing her bed… Liam tried to imagine it, and as always his mind refused to cooperate. He’d known her since she was a child. Desire would surely come in time.
The entire uncomfortable line of thought was neatly severed by another mental image of Mac.
Damn her.
Fernando was nowhere to be seen when he reached camp. Liam went into the tent, tossed his shaving gear on the desk, and rummaged through his trunk of clean clothes. He tugged on a shirt and snagged another from the trunk, one of his older ones. It would do well enough for her. He found a pair of loose cotton trousers and shook them out. They’d go around her twice, and they were of a thinner material than her own. Wet through, they’d leave nothing to the imagination.
Damn it to hell. Why was he thinking of her this way?
He grabbed the shirt and trousers and walked the quarter mile to the lake at a furious pace. As he reached the end of the path he heard splashing and a husky voice raised in some tuneless melody.
She was singing. He stopped and cocked his head, incredulous. Her song was as unmelodious as her overly bold features were lacking in beauty, but there was an artlessness to it, a simple and startling joy, as if she found nothing in the world so wonderful as bathing in a jungle lake.
He couldn’t keep himself from stepping out from the path.
She stood waist-deep in the lake, her back to the shore. His first thought was that she had more curves than he had expected, her waist tiny and her hips not nearly as slim as a boy’s. He had little more time to contemplate that pleasant discovery before she gave a little hop and dove under the water. She emerged facing him, shaking thick dark hair from her forehead.
She remained oblivious just long enough to allow him an unobstructed view of her breasts. They were hardly large, but they were firm and well shaped, the nipples puckered into buds. Her shoulders and arms suggested a slender strength, and her neck was surprisingly graceful. Her belly was flat, and his gaze drifted lower as she began to wade toward the shore.
Until she saw him. Her eyes widened, and she backpedaled into deeper water, arms flailing. She plunged under the surface and reemerged only to the chin. She tossed her hair with a fierce snap.
“Damn you, O’Shea—I thought you were going to give me some privacy!”
He couldn’t help but grin. She looked like a half-drowned cat, dripping wet and hissing with rage.
“I seem to have mistimed my return,” he said, displaying the clothes he’d brought. “You did want these?”
Her glance took in the shirt and trousers and shifted to her own, rinsed clean of mud and draped over low branches to dry. “Just leave them there, on the bushes.”
Liam did as she asked, bowing low. “Can I get you anything else, Miss MacKenzie?”
The water rippled as she crossed her arms. “You could let me get out.”
“Why in such a hurry? You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
“I was.”
“It is beautiful here,” he said lazily. “I’m almost tempted to take a second swim myself.”
She bobbed lower in the water. “Don’t you dare.”
“What are you afraid of? I already promised you’d find me no threat to your honor.”
“And what about your honor, huh? Can’t you at least pretend to be a… a gentleman?”