He’d tracked them in the water, which was not difficult; he knew where the Blake cottage was of course, and the bond between them was so fresh and strong, it was like a cyclone, sucking him in. He limited his spying to the water, when they were swimming, and where he could most easily hide himself. If he needed to, he could get away in a fraction of a second. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, just as surely as he knew he would. So, here he was, posing as a ray, or more often, a sea turtle, perfectly reflecting his subterfuge and masking all mental and emotional signals so no one was alerted to his real presence. At least he could laugh at himself, a decorated prince stooping to voyeurism, not that they were having sex in the water, thank goodness. Such evidence of their closeness would have been difficult for him to see. But their bond, so vital and vibrant, was sweetly romantic, so intensely intimate. And it was not something they were intentionally sharing with him. That was what made him a voyeur.
