Shelby slipped beneath the surface, and the water welcomed her, wrapping her in its cool embrace as though it had always belonged to her. She did not rise for air, not once, yet she moved with such serene assurance that none thought to question it.
Her body cut through the depths in long, fluid strokes, her limbs gliding as though every ripple had been rehearsed. She was not swimming so much as she was sliding, as if the water carried her of its own accord. It was a beautiful sight, and Ian never tired of it.
Light from above fractured across her form, painting her in bands of silver and shadow, her waist-length hair streaming behind her. She was elegance made motion, a quiet vision one might glimpse in a dream … the sort of beauty that seemed untouchable, almost unreal.
