“A pity I don’t have your raucous sense of humor. But let me try.” She rubbed both of her filthy hands over his shirt. “There. I’m dying from laughter now.”

He glanced down at his shirt. He’d just washed the damn thing. “Now you’ve done it,” he said quietly.

The tone warned her not to inch back, not to bother with reason and excuses. But to run. She sprang to her feet, sending the dog into frantically joyful barks. She managed two sprinting yards before he snagged her around the waist and lifted her off her feet.

“You started it,” she managed between choked laughs.

“Uh-huh. So I’m obliged to finish it.”

“I’ll have your shirt cleaned. Whoops.” She watched the world revolve as he flipped her over into his arms. “Why, Mr. Fury, you’re so . . . masterful, so strong, so—what are you doing?” Amusement turned to panic as she caught a glimpse of his direction and realized his intention. “Michael, this isn’t funny now.”

“Just my raucous sense of humor again,” he told her as he strode toward the edge of the pool.

“Don’t. Now I mean it, Michael.” In self-defense, she locked her arms around his neck. “I’m covered with dirt, and it’s chilly, and I’ve just cleaned the pool.”

“Just look at the way it sparkles, too.” Controlling her frantic wiggling, he toed off his shoes. “Looks so pretty in the twilight, doesn’t it?”

“I will make you pay,” she vowed. “I swear I will make you pay if you dare—”

“Hold your breath,” he suggested and jumped in.

But she was shrieking when she hit the water, swallowed it, came up choking. “You fool. You idiot. You—” She swallowed more when he pushed her head under.

What he hadn’t counted on was that Laura Templeton had been captain of her swim team, had won a drawer full of medals, and had more than once successfully defended herself against a big brother’s bullying.

While he treaded water and roared with laughter, she nipped fluidly between his legs, grabbed hold where a man was most vulnerable, and squeezed. She could hear the muffled echo of his yelp, smiled grimly, and yanked downward.

Streaking away, she broke the surface and waited smugly for him to wheeze out breaths and flail toward the side.

“Now that,” she said, slicking back her dripping hair, “was funny.”

He had his breath back, mostly, and eyed her narrowly. “Want to fight dirty, sugar?”

“This is my element, Michael. You’re in over your head.”

“Think so?” He’d done more than a few water stunts in his day. He pushed off the side and pursued.

She was faster than he’d given her credit for, and slicker. He knew when he was being taunted—the way she nipped just out of reach in a dive for the bottom. The fluidity with which she changed direction and dodged.