From behind he explored her, making her gasp so that she arched closer—but couldn’t retreat from his touch. He opened her, pressed a finger in. Two fingers.

He was ravaging her mouth, pressing her back into the ladder, working her with his fingers when he heard the intrusion.

Already knowing what had happened, he lifted his head, muttered, “Damn it,” and tried to figure out how best to handle the situation.

“Jackson?”

He groaned, his face against Alani’s neck. An interruption was not welcome.

Still mired in need, Alani whispered, “What is it?” Writhing against him, she touched her lips to his jaw, his ear.

He felt her tighten around his fingers and said, “Sorry, darlin’.”

“For what? What’s wrong?”

No easy way to tell her. “Your brother is here.”

“My brother…what?” Frantic, splashing, she tried to look around, but Jackson had her pretty much pinned in place. “Where?”

And then, from somewhere midway down the hill between the house and dock, Trace called out, “Jackson?”

“Ohmigod.” Face coloring hotly, eyes flared, Alani froze. “Not again.”

“He has the rottenest damn timing.” Jackson shifted his fingers inside her, and she went berserk.

“Off!” She shoved at him, splashing more, nearly making him lose hold of the ladder. “Get off of me. Now. Hurry.”

“Shh.” He couldn’t help but groan as he eased his fingers away from her. “Calm down. I’ll handle it.”

“Jackson?” Trace sounded closer.

Alani squeaked.

He kissed her forehead. “Just stay put.”

Shrill, she asked, “How did he get in? I thought your place was secure!”

“From Trace?” He snorted. “Get real. If he wants in, he gets in. But as it happens, he also has the codes for entry, just as I do for his place and Dare’s.” Moving Alani to the side of the ladder, Jackson took two deep breaths and pulled himself up to the edge of the dock. He glanced down, saw Alani staring at his junk up close and personal, now at eye level with her, and wanted to groan again.

Seeing him, Trace paused, but not for long. “Why didn’t you answer?” His footfalls rocked the dock.

“Go back up to the house, Trace.”

Taking in Jackson’s face, Trace stopped, then cursed.

“Yeah, I know.”

Expression tight with annoyance, Trace said, “Where’s Alani?”

“She’s here.” Breathing on my dick. “Go back up to the house. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Trace noticed Alani’s bathing suit on the dock, and a feral sound came from his throat. He dropped his head, paced a circle, then stopped and pointed at Jackson. “Three minutes, got me? Three f**king minutes.”

“Yeah, sure.” What—did Trace think they’d try to finish up first? Didn’t he know Alani any better than that? She was damn near ready to drown herself already. The mood had fled her the moment her brother came calling.

When Trace marched away, Jackson dropped back down in the water to submerge his head. He surfaced in time to see Alani half up the ladder, peeking over the edge of the dock.

What a body—understated in the curve department, but so sexy the water should have been steaming around her.

Better still, her adorable, soft bottom was right there, in front of him. He hesitated, but what the hell? He rose up and kissed her cheek, making her squawk and fall back onto him.

He went under again, this time with Alani on his head, thrashing so hard she damn near drowned him.

Catching her to him, Jackson held her still and surfaced, gasping for air. She sputtered in his face, so he waited for her to catch her breath, too.

“All right?”

“No.” She pushed hair out of her face. “I don’t believe this.”

“You’re telling me.” Burying the moment to get down to business, Jackson moved her to the ladder once more. “But Trace is here for a reason, so we gotta get a move on.”

She stared at him. “You think something is wrong?”

“I know it is.” Trace had had that killing look about him, and only part of that had been due to finding his sister making whoopee in the lake. “Up and out.”

Tucking in her chin, Alani said, “Ha! Not on your life.” She gestured for him to precede her. “Be my guest.”

“You want the peep show, huh?”

“More than I want you to have it.”

“Spoilsport.” Hauling himself out, Jackson tried not to think of what she saw, or what he could have seen if she’d gone ahead of him. He turned and offered her a hand. “Get a move on.”

“Get my towel first.”

Now that her modesty had returned in force, it was an ordeal getting her out of the lake. He held the towel for her as she stepped back into her bottoms, but she didn’t bother with the top, choosing instead to wrap tightly in the towel.

When they started up, Trace stepped out to the patio to watch. Jackson knew him well enough that he read the signs of feral rage. Most of the time, Trace was the most urbane, sophisticated man you’d ever meet.

When necessary, he bore the innate cunning and deadly reflexes of a wild animal.

This was one of those times.

At the door, in front of Trace, Jackson gave Alani a quick kiss. “I’ll entertain your brother while you go get dried off.”