Passionate Calanettis. Cara Colter

against impossible odds.

      And the odds were impossible. Everything about them was different. He was large, she was tiny. He was powerful, she was fragile. He was cynical, she was innocent. They were culturally a million miles apart. He’s seen colleagues fall for the seemingly exotic girls of foreign lands. It never worked.

      He tried to hold those thoughts as, finally, Isabella was at the bottom of the steps, up to her cute little belly button in water. It was a little dark mole under her belly button, not a piercing. He was not sure which was sexier.

      Isabella was still holding onto the handrail as if her life depended on it. He tried to remember why he had thought getting her in the water would be easier on him. It was not.

      “Let go of the handrail and walk over to me,” he said.

      “Not yet.” Her voice had a little quaver to it.

      And that changed everything. Because it reminded him this wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about recalculating impossible odds. It was about her, giving her a few tools to deal with the harsh realities of life. And he could not let her scanty little bathing suit distract him from that. That’s one of the things he was trained to do. Sift through information very quickly, ignore the distractions, focus on the mission.

      So he crossed the distance that remained between them and pried her hand, ever so gently, off the handrail. He placed himself right in front of her and held out his other hand. She hesitated and then placed her hand in his.

      Their hands joined as they faced each other, they were like two dance partners who had never danced together sizing each other up. It occurred to him this was going to be like no swimming lesson he had ever given before.

      “Don’t even look at the water,” he said softly. “Just look at me.”

      Her eyes fastened on his face as if she was drowning and he was the lifeline. Her gaze was as disconcerting as the bikini. Maybe more so. It made the mission waver a little more.

      “See?” he said, forcing himself to speak, keeping his voice soft, and taking a step back, “No danger. No crocodiles. No chance of falling over a ledge. No current to sweep you away.”

      No danger. Ha-ha. Her hand, small but strong in his, felt like one of the gravest dangers he had ever encountered. Had he really thought getting her in the water was going to be better than watching her on the deck?

      Now, added to his physical awareness of her hands in his, she was so close to him he could smell that spicy perfume that was hers and hers alone. It felt as if he was being swept away by the absolute trust in her eyes fastened on his, the way she was holding his hands. She took her first tiny step through the water toward him.

      He backed up. She took one more. He backed up two. And then they were doing a slow waltz through the water. He was careful to stay in the shallows, even though it wasn’t nearly deep enough to help him deal with the worst of the distractions. Was that tiny bathing suit top sliding sideways just a touch?

      Connor repeated his command to himself.

       Suck it up.

      “See?” he said softly. “It’s not so bad, is it? Just stay in the moment. Don’t think one thought about what could happen.”

      She actually closed her eyes. A tiny smile touched her lips. He ordered himself not to look at her lips and definitely not to think about what could happen. Connor felt the purity of the moment—water on his skin, her hair shining in the sun, her small hands in his, the rapturous look on her face—seducing him.

      Somehow, he’d had this utterly foolish idea that he was going to pretend she was a raw recruit and be able to keep professional distance from her as he taught her the basics of swimming. He was not sure how he had deluded himself. He had never had that much imagination. He’d always prided himself on being such a realist.

      “The water does feel amazing on my skin,” she breathed. Her eyes remained closed in wonder.

      Connor cleared his throat. “So now you’ve seen the water in this end of the swimming pool holds no danger to you,” he said, trying desperately to stick to the business at hand and not think one single thought about her skin. “So, let’s try the next step.”

      Her eyes flew open and that pulse in her throat picked up tempo. “What is the next step?”

      “I’d like you to learn the water will support you. Human beings are buoyant. They float.”

      She looked doubtful about that—the pulse in her throat went crazy.

      “Isabella, you will float.”

      “I’m scared.”

      “I know.”

      His life’s work had presented him with this situation, again and again. He’d had plenty of encounters with people, civilians, who found themselves in difficult situations. Families who, through no fault of their own, found themselves in war zones. Hostages, in the wrong place at the wrong time, who didn’t know the rule book, who had spent their entire lives blissfully oblivious to the fact there was a rule book.

      Connor had led people from burning buildings, evacuated the terrified, navigated the fear of others in a thousand different ways. He’d dealt with people who were scared. He did it all the time.

      He excelled at this: at infusing his abundance of confidence and calm into panicky people through his voice and his actions.

      It felt different this time, way too personal, as if that enemy called fear was hovering at the edges of his own awareness. But that was his fault, not hers, bikini notwithstanding. He took a deep breath, gathered himself, formed a plan.

      “I’m going to stand beside you,” he said quietly, “with my hands like this. You are going to lie down in the water, on your back, and let my hands support you.”

      “Oh, God,” she said in Italian. “I don’t think I can. Could we just walk around some more? I was getting the hang of that. Walking in water. I think it’s biblical.”

      “I think that may be walking on water.”

      “It’s good enough for me. For today.”

      “Swimming lessons, heavy emphasis on the swimming.”

      “My hair isn’t right. And the bathing suit won’t work. You already said that.”

      “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

      Together. He did not excel at figuring things out together. It had been his greatest weakness with the SEALs. He was not a good team player. He had a tendency to go maverick. The last time he had done it, against orders, Justin had followed him...

      “Are you all right?” Her hand, wet, warm, was on his cheek.

      He shook his head. How was it she could see what no one else ever saw? “Yeah. I’m fine.”

      She didn’t move her hand. He didn’t move it, either. He had to stop this craziness. He shook his head again, trying to be all business. But droplets of water flew off his hair and rained down on her face, emphasizing the compassion there.

      “Lie down in the water.” His voice had a snap to it, like a flag caught in the wind.

      Isabella’s hand dropped to her side, but Connor could feel the warmth of it on his face as if it still rested there.

      “No, I—” She twisted and looked at the stairs.

      “Trust me,” he said in that voice, firm, the voice of a man who was used to being in charge of everything, including the safety of others.

      She dragged her eyes back from the staircase and looked at him for a long moment. Her eyes, with the water reflecting in them, looked more green than gold.

      “Okay,” she whispered.

      “So just lean back,” he coaxed her.

      She