Kyle Walker burst up through the surface of the river with a wicked grin plastered across his face. He lazily moved his arms to stay afloat and, since he was only a few feet away from her, she was able to get a good long look at his face. That wide square jaw of his and the salt and pepper bristle that she could remember the feel of against her skin the night they had—she checked her racing thoughts and used her foot to push away from the rock she was using as an anchor in order to put a few more feet between them.

"Where do you think you're going?" he said, and easily closed the distance between them again.

Had he actually gotten even more handsome over the last two months? Was that even possible for a middle aged man? She looked away from him, studied the top branches of the cedar tree, then the way her hand appeared pale and fishlike underneath the water, anything, really, that wasn't Kyle Walker's disconcerting brown eyes.

"Courtney Park, I'd give a nickel for your thoughts right now," he said gently, and touched her cheek with his hand. "Why don't you want to look at me Miss Park?"

There, she thought, right there. He sounded exactly like his son. It was too much for her.

"Why are you here?" she said, slapping his hand away from her. "Are you here to talk about Cam or not? What the hell do you people want from me?"

A wave of frustration and anger came crashing down through her, and she shot away toward the bank and her crumpled towel. Then, to her horror, she felt a sob building from deep inside, and tears welled into her eyes and began pouring down her face. Instead of climbing out of the river she dove down as deep as she could go, charting her way along the river bottom like a catfish, hoping that Kyle Walker would somehow be gone once the last gasp of oxygen burning in her lungs forced her back up into the world above.

When she finally succumbed to the necessity of air and returned to the surface, she saw that not only had Kyle Walker not moved an inch—though at least his smile was gone—but she was still crying, and uncontrollably at that, drops of crystal clear spring water mixing with her salty tears.

Shit.

She scrambled toward the shore in a panic now; she needed to get out of the water, grab her things, and run to her car as quickly as possible before Cam's father—or anyone else for that matter—could catch her blubbering away. She couldn't even say why she was ugly crying right now, not that that had ever stopped her before. Something, some combination of the kindness in Kyle Walker's eyes and the news of her pregnancy, with a dash of losing her mother so very recently thrown in for good measure. It didn't help that she knew she didn't deserve any sort of kindness from Cam's father, and she was pretty sure he knew that as well.

She was never one for making a graceful exit, so it didn't bother her at first that she couldn't quite figure out how to pull herself up from the water and onto the bank. She began to cry even harder from helpless mortification, however, when she slipped off a rock for the fourth time while trying to use it as a launching pad for her big escape.

"Courtney, hey, hey there girl," she heard Kyle speak slowly and quietly behind her, and then he wrapped his warm strong hands her around her forearms as though to restrain her. "Let me help you, you're going to hurt yourself."

She knew she should shake him off, but it was too late, a hush settled down over her, soothing her even as she felt an erotic thrill flicker through her. Her tears still poured down her face, but her sobs began to quiet and then stopped. Still he stood behind her, his hands holding her back, keeping her safe from herself.

She had half a second to wonder how his hands could be so warm in the chilly spring water when suddenly he wrapped her in his arms and pressed his cheek against hers.

"I forget how skittish you are," he murmured into her ear, "you always seem so calm and self-contained."

She closed her eyes and melted into him.

"I'm not," she whispered. "I'm a mess."

He pulled her even closer to his chest, and kissed her cheek.

"I know baby," he said, "I know you are."

She wanted to blurt out that he didn't know the half of it, but she couldn't even begin to imagine how she would manage to get her mouth open and form words, never mind sentences.

So instead she said nothing and simply absorbed the warmth that emanated from his arms and his body, the feel of his hard, broad chest and the soft tickling of hair there, the sensation of—

"Oh," she said, audible only to herself. His thick cock was hard against her back side, pressed so firmly along the small of her back she could feel the blood pulsing through it.

He turned her face around and firmly kissed her on her forehead. She felt like a little girl, being held and loved, and it was confusing the hell out of her.

She turned around in his arms to fully face him, and now she felt his cock pressed against her abdomen, still throbbing. Again, she felt she should say something, but instead she lay her head down on his chest as a small sigh escaped with the breath she had been holding in since feeling his hands on her.

They remained that way, his arms wrapped around her as they stood in the sparkling water close to the bank and under the overarching branches of the cedar tree. In the stillness of this moment she could hear his calm and steady breathing against the even beat of his heart; a slight wind had picked up, and the tall grass and shrubs along the shore made a sighing sound, as though in relief from the afternoon's stagnant heat.

The breeze also brought with it the distant sound of singing. She lifted her head in puzzlement but before she could investigate Kyle had placed his hand behind her head and pulled her mouth to his own. She lost herself in the feel of his warm mouth, the firmness of his tongue as it entwined with her own, the pressure of his rigid cock against her giving body.

Except now the singing sounded a lot closer, and she tore herself away from his lips to whip around in search of its source, terrified lest another group of former students were floating down the river to give her a heart attack.

Nothing and no one was coming down the river, however, as far as she could see.

"Where is that coming from?" she demanded, as though Kyle Walker had planted a chorus of singers somewhere in the vicinity to torment her.

"That?" he said, and cocked his head to listen. He appeared unperturbed at the sudden intrusion of disembodied voices singing—singing a hymn? Was it a church hymn?

He swam to the bend in the river and peered upstream, then shrugged and returned to her.

"It's a baptism," he said and moved to kiss her again, as though that explained everything.

"A baptism?" she said, placing a hand on his chest to stall him. "What do you mean a baptism? Like at church? With a baby?"

Now the singing was loud, as though coming from right around the bend, and when she peered around it she gasped: in the past half hour several dozen people had arrived at the main beach and waded out into the water, fully clothed in shorts, t-shirts, hats, even trousers. They stood in the water singing, some holding hands while others closed their eyes and swayed in place. There wasn't a baby in sight, but three older men were helping a woman to fall back into the water; one of them seemed to be shouting something, but she couldn't hear it over the singing.

Suddenly she felt Kyle's body up against her back again, and his arms snaked around her waist.

"Kyle!" she whispered urgently, and tried to squirm out of his grip. "What are you doing? They'll see us!"

"Not if we go back to where we were," he murmured into her ear, and he pulled her back to their spot near the bank, under the cedar tree.

She thrilled at how strong he felt, how confident in his own body and its power, but the presence of a church congregation 100 feet away definitely put a damper on things.

"We should go," she said, still trying to whisper, though she wasn't sure if he could hear her over the rising chorus of the hymn.

"In a minute," he said, speaking at full volume. She flinched and shushed him, but he only grinned. He was obviously enjoying her embarrassment, which of course reminded her immediately of his son. One more thing father and son had in common. All of a sudden she remembered the whole point of Kyle Walker's visit, and it had nothing to do with making out during a baptism.

"What about—" she began, but he clamped his hand over her mouth.

"Shh, you don't want them to hear you, do you?" he said, his eyebrows arching in mock concern.

"Kyle!" she hissed through his palm, but he only took his hand away and pressed his mouth against hers, silencing her once again. She felt his hands slide down her waist and around her backside, and he hoisted her up so that her legs wrapped around him. She felt the head of his cock now pushing against the fabric of her jogging shorts, straining to break through. He kissed her along her jawline and then down her neck, and she leaned her head back and moaned, unable to remember why she was supposed to be quiet in the first place.

It had something to do with that damn singing, she thought, then closed her eyes and shivered in anticipation as he tore down one shoulder of her sports bra, exposing a dark brown nipple to the air and sunlight.

The singing, what about the singing?

She felt his lips latch onto her nipple, and his tongue flick and tease it, sending an electric charge down her spine and between her legs.

Oh God, the singing, it was so damn loud. Why did she need to be quiet if it was so loud?

"Oh God," she cried out, feeling an orgasm building deep inside her as he continued to play with he breast, and the rough bristle of his cheek rubbed at the soft, white skin of her breast.

"Oh God don't stop," she pleaded, and he didn't stop, even as he yanked her shorts down and pushed her up against the bank, he didn't stop nuzzling and sucking on her breast, even as he pulled down his tight black boxer briefs and released his thick, full cock from its encasement, even then he didn't stop.

The singing didn't stop either, and as he pushed himself up into her—her legs wrapped around him in the water, her back pressed up against the slimy mud and rocks of the bank—as she felt his full width stretch her apart, taking her breath away, the singing rose even higher in volume and in reach, as though the lyrics themselves sought access to Heaven above.

Which was all for the best, because after only a few thrusts of his cock into her—his lips still clamped firmly around her nipple, his big, strong hands cupping her ass—she felt her orgasm claw its way out of her and suddenly she was shouting and crying out all kinds of words, words of ecstasy she had never said to anyone before, not to her fiancé, not to Cam, words that intertwined with the words being sung close by, so that they blended together into a single song of love and desire, and the ears of the angels above turned pink in surprise and pleasure.

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