I look around; all the other beginners are snorkeling now, paddling around the shallows, breathing easily through their tubes. Why can’t I do it? It’s not reasonable or even rational, this knee-jerk reaction. I can breathe through my snorkel. I’m not drowning. So what’s the problem?

“You need to relax,” Graeme calls from somewhere over my right shoulder.

“Easy for you to say.”

I replace my snorkel and dip my chin into the water experimentally. Maybe if I submerge by degrees…

A wave knocks into me and I’m thrown off balance. Seawater rushes over my head and down my snorkel and I struggle to my feet, coughing and spluttering, heart jackhammering against my ribs.

Graeme’s beside me in a heartbeat, mask pushed up on his forehead and his hand anchored firmly against the middle of my back. Water slicks his hair while droplets glitter on his cheeks.

Another wave slaps against my thighs, and I grab onto him to steady myself. My fingers curl around the cool flesh of his forearm. That buzzing energy surges to life between us. I snatch my hand back with a scowl.

Setting my jaw, I stuff my snorkel into my mouth and bite down hard. I taste salt.

“Wait a second,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. His grip is gentle but firm.

I rip off my mask and give him a yeah, what do you want expression with an extra helping of venom.

“You can’t force it.”

I can force anything. I haven’t met a problem yet that I couldn’t solve with single-minded determination and a whole hell of a lot of effort.

“Come with me,” says Graeme.

12

Against my better judgment, I follow Graeme to shore. I watch as he jogs over to talk to one of the naturalists. Several seconds later he returns, holding what looks like a bright yellow belt made of thick, padded foam.

“Come on,” he says.

“Where are we going?”

“To find our own patch of ocean.” Without a backward glance, he takes off down the beach at a brisk pace, fins tucked under one arm, belt hooked around his forearm.

Should I follow? He might not be the credit-stealing scoundrel I thought he was, but I’m still not sure I can trust him—we are competing for the same promotion, after all.

Then again, I do need to learn how to snorkel, and Graeme seems to have things figured out. If he has some idea how to get over this mental roadblock, it’s worth the risk, right?

“You know, if you try to drown me, there will be witnesses,” I shout as he jogs off.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he calls over his shoulder.