Geralt knew that Nina was doing something with her special magic when he felt the warm begin to flush back through him, bringing more pink color back to his face, which had been too chalk-white for a moment in the dark. The veins on his neck and forehead softened and became less prominent.

And then Nina kissed him, on the cheek, with warm lips despite the breeze off the ocean.

She smelled gorgeous. She always did, it clung to her, her soft skin, her thick hair. He was too tired to fight the urge. He leaned down to press his mouth against the corner of hers, tugging at her lower lip, kissing her in a way that was slow and supple and exhausted.

It was not the swim which had taken it out of him, but the emotion, the memory, the sympathy.