Malcolm's arms came around her without warning, strong and steady, lifting her from the slick tile floor as though she weighed nothing.
Steam did not rise to greet them.
The water lay still and clear, untouched, cold.
He lowered himself first against the curved porcelain back, settling in with quiet control, then drew her down with him.
The moment her skin met the surface, Iyisha gasped.
The cold struck her thighs first, sharp and biting, climbing up her hips and across her stomach like a shock that stole the air from her lungs. Her fingers tightened instinctively against his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin as her body jerked against the sudden temperature.
"Malcolm—" she breathed, half protest, half shock.
