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I knew why: because it didn’t have to mean anything. If he was in control—or at least it felt that way—I wouldn’t have to take responsibility for what happened next.
Mitchell’s bedroom was huge, with a massive king bed, bedroom set, and full living room set next to the glass wall that overlooked the pool, now lit with underwater lights. Outside, it was fully dusk now, the darkness brought on prematurely by the impending bad weather.
There were no blinds that I could see, so I asked Anita to turn the lights off, and tucked against the wall away from the window, I stepped out of my soaked coveralls. In only my bra and underwear now, I looked around for somewhere to lay them that wouldn’t damage all the nice furniture. Part of me wanted to throw the coveralls on something—anything—to see what Mitchell would do. Raylan was so precious with his things. But that was ludicrous. Anyone would get upset about their things being ruined by carelessness, wouldn’t they? I got snippy with Cher when she left hamburger wrappers in Flo when she took her out, and Cher lost her mind when people didn’t clean the communal tools at work properly. None of it was malicious.
I folded up the wet coveralls for now. I’d put them by the front door downstairs, so when I left in an hour I wouldn’t have to come back up here. But as I headed for the closet on the far side of the room, I paused, seeing motion down below on the pool deck.
Mitchell was down there, pacing back and forth in a fresh shirt and jeans. The jeans were—I squinted—unbuttoned.
A rush of heat hit me.
Then he looked up.
I sucked in a breath, realizing I’d come right up to the glass. I was standing there in my bra and underwear. I took a step back, but my legs hit a piece of furniture—an end table.
But Mitchell looked away then, running his hands through his shaggy hair and picking up the bottle of whiskey from the pool deck with the other.
He can’t see you.
I should have gotten dressed then—I really should have. But instead, my eyes on the broad stretch of his chest; on the swath of darkness where his jeans should have been buttoned. Was he… naked, under them?
What if I was naked too?
As if my hands belonged to someone else, I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra, letting it drop to the floor.
This wasn’t risky. He didn’t even know I was getting naked. But the thrill of being topless now, watching him—admiring him—sent that heat in my stomach surging. Was I a creep? I guess I was, but I didn’t care.
Down below, Mitchell took a swig from the bottle, then lowered it back onto the deck. Then he hooked his hand behind his head and pulled his t-shirt off in one smooth movement, tossing it in a soft crumple of gray on the pool deck.
I groaned, pressing my hands to the glass.
His chest was pure ridged muscle. Thick pectorals and broad shoulders and arms that looked like they’d be able to swing me over his shoulder. They flexed as he moved, and I couldn’t help it, I brought both hands to my breasts, arousal swirling down low. I pinched my nipples between my fingers, tugging them into sharp points, my lips parted as I watched him.
Mitchell’s hands moved to his already open jeans. When he hooked his thumbs in them and they fell to the ground, I let out a small sound.
He wasn’t naked—he wore a pair of short black briefs that clung to his bulge.
Disappointment clung to me, but still, my clit pulsed between my legs. Before I knew what I was doing, my hand had slipped past the waistband of my underwear.
This was safe. He didn’t have to know.
I was just slipping my fingers into my wetness, pleasure riding through me in waves, when he looked up once more.
I froze, holding my breath.
Then Mitchell Harrington’s mouth moved. The pool deck suddenly flooded with light, bright enough that I knew it caught my skin.
I stumbled backward, but my legs hit the table once more, and there was nowhere I could go, not now. I clutched my hands to my breasts, panicking.
Still, my eyes were on his, so I saw what he did next.
He winked at me.
Then he dove into the water.
For a moment I didn’t move, my heart beating so hard it was the only thing I could feel.
He’d done that on purpose. He’d seen me in the shadows and… seen everything. Heat roared through me, a mix of rage and desire. Had I wanted him to see? Was I furious or glad?
