“No.”

“They’ll be waiting for us.”

“They can bloody well wait.” He crossed to her, laid his hands on the glass on either side of her head. “Nervous, are you?”

“You’re deliberately making me nervous.”

“You should be nervous. Be a little afraid as well, of what the man you drew is able to do.”

“You won’t hurt me that way, and I’m not helpless. Not anymore.”

“You’ve never been. My choice? That’s what you’re asking?”

He took her mouth, hard and fast, trapping her against the door with his body, letting his hands mold hers. “That’s my choice. That’s been my choice since you came knocking on my door, eyes dream-struck. It’s not your dreams binding me. It’s you.”

His lips came back to hers, but this time she held on, this time she poured herself into the kiss. “I’ve wanted you since before I met you. I want—”

She broke off at the pounding on the door. “We’re rolling!” Doyle called.

“All right.” But he kissed her again. “We’ll be finishing what we’ve started here, fáidh.”

“Yes.” The laugh fluttered up from her heart. “We will. But now you have to open the doors.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It didn’t look like an inflatable boat. As Sasha’s imagination had formed a big yellow life raft with paddles, seeing an actual boat with motor, covered cabin, benches—and one that remained reasonably steady when she stepped on board—flooded her with relief.

Until she saw the diving equipment.

“Buck up.” Riley slapped her shoulder. “You’ll do fine. What about you, Irish, and the bit about sorcerers not being able to cross water?”

“It’s not can’t so much as would rather not.” He took a small vial from his pocket, downed the contents. “I’ll do fine as well. Who’ll be piloting this thing?”

Riley hesitated, then glanced over at Doyle as he checked over the equipment in the wheelhouse. “Can you handle it?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“I’ll give you the bearings. That way I can go over the equipment and basics with the novices.”

“Meaning me,” Sasha said. “Shouldn’t someone stay with the boat? I could stay with the boat.”

“That’s what anchors and buoys are for. You’ve dived?” Riley asked Bran.

“A few times, yes.”

“And you?”

Sawyer nodded. “More than a few.”

“I know this,” Annika put in before Riley asked.

“Okay, grab wetsuits, and I’ll get us going.” She walked to the wheelhouse.

Sasha might have been full of doubts, but she reassured herself. She was a good swimmer, a strong swimmer, so if worse came to worst . . .

She stripped down to her bathing suit—a simple black tank, and a far cry from Annika’s microscopic bikini—and busied herself slithering and tugging herself into a wetsuit while Doyle eased the boat out of its slip.

“It’s fun,” Sawyer told her as he zipped up his own. “A whole new experience.”

“It feels like I’ve been having whole new experiences daily since I got to Corfu.”