For the next thirty seconds she kicked for all she was worth but, because she failed to relax, all her vigorous flopping didn’t propel her upward sufficiently to break the surface. Athletes with low-enough body fat tended to sink naturally, and these women were no exception.

As Sherri’s swim buddy, his job was to make sure she didn’t drown. He kept his gaze fastened on her every movement, carefully gauging how well, or how poorly, she was doing. At the moment, she was burning a crap-ton of oxygen flailing around like that. She would run out of air sooner rather than later.

He gave her thirty more seconds. Her movements were jerky now, definitely panicked. With a sigh, he jumped into the pool beside her. He planted his feet on the bottom and parked his shoulder beneath her tush. With easy strength, he shoved her up to the surface.

He let her breathe for a few seconds and then slipped out from underneath her, letting her sink again. Once more, she commenced flopping ineffectively.

Shaking his head, he surfaced behind her, grabbed her by the armpits, and hauled her over to the edge of the pool. She continued to struggle most of the way. If he had to guess, she was out of her mind with terror.

He heaved her onto the deck and hoisted himself out of the pool beside her. “You can relax now. You’re not going to die.” He added direly, “Yet.”

She lay there, gasping for air, her respiration taking way too long to return to normal for an athlete of her caliber. Well, well, well. Miss Sherri Tate, Perfectionist Incarnate, was terrified of water. Or at least of dying in it. That was going to be a hell of a problem for her if she planned to become a SEAL.

“You can quit right now,” he murmured persuasively. “I’ll cut you loose and never throw you back in the pool. Just ring out, and it’ll all go away.”

“No. No bell,” she panted.

“You know you want to.”

That made her open her eyes. Glare up at him. “I’m. Not. Quitting.”

“Won’t matter if you can’t swim. You’ll get washed out for failing the evolution. We’re Sea, Air, Land operators, not Air Land operators.”

“Again,” she gritted out from behind clenched teeth.

He had to give her credit for guts. She’d been scared to death and half-drowned a minute ago, but she was demanding to try again.

“You have to relax and keep your upper body still,” he lectured. “Pretend you’re a mermaid, and let your legs do all the work.”

She stared up at him balefully as she lay on her side. She might look like a drowned rat, but she was still a hot drowned rat. “Ready to die?” he asked.

“You’re hilarious.”

“You have to pass this evolution to pass BUD/S.”