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I turn my gaze downward and rush to the sink. Scrubbing the inside of my coffee mug, I try not to look back up again. There’s nothing wrong with just looking. I’m sure Caleb looks at women all the time.
With a man like Dean walking around, it’s nearly impossible not to sneak a glance. It’s not like I’m going to do anything scandalous. I’m just admiring him.
When I lift my gaze again, I let my eyes rake over his body. Sculpted abs, rounded shoulders, and a thin tuft of hair below his navel that I can barely see from here. He’s taking long, heavy breaths, sucking them in and out in a steady rhythm. His arms are winding around him as if he’s warming himself up.
I assumed he was swimming to relax or cool off, but he seems like he’s gearing up for a workout. I watch as he dives headfirst into the pool, disappearing below the surface.
Glancing back down at the cup in my hand, I notice it’s clear of soapy bubbles, so I set it on the drying rack before looking back out at the water and waiting for Dean’s head to pop back up.
Maybe I’ll go out there and offer him some coffee when he’s done with his swim. Or what if he’s hungry? I could make him breakfast. I have to make some for me and Abby anyway.
The water in the pool starts to settle from the waves of his jump, so I squint my eyes to find where he might have resurfaced. I glance around the yard, wondering if maybe I missed him getting out entirely. He’s nowhere to be seen.
The water is flat and quiet now.
Another five seconds go by.
Another ten.
Another fifteen.
“Oh my god,” I mutter as I shut off the running water and bolt for the door leading to the backyard. My hands are still soaked as I sprint across the grass. I half expect to find blood or a floating body.
When I reach the pool, I see his form at the bottom of the deep end, huddled against the floor.
Terror and adrenaline boil inside me like water in a kettle about to explode.
“Dean!” I scream, hoping he’ll suddenly respond, but he doesn’t move.
I don’t think. I just act.
Without another thought, I dive headfirst into the water. Immediately, I swim to the bottom and reach for him. As I wind my hands around his bare waist to drag him to the top, he gapes at me with a shocked expression on his face.
He’s just sitting at the bottom of the pool, legs crossed and arms moving slowly to hold him there. I don’t take any time to question it. I just bounce my feet off the floor, hauling us both to the surface.
As soon as our heads pop out together, I shriek. “Are you okay?”
“What are you doing?” he stammers breathlessly. I’m still holding him as if he’s drowning. My breasts are pressed to his back, and my hands are holding his firm pecs as I kick us both toward the edge. My fingertips graze the stud piercing through one of his nipples.
“What am I doing?” I ask in a panic. “I’m saving your life.”
“I wasn’t drowning,” he mutters indignantly. As we reach the edge, I finally let him go, and we both hold on to the pool deck and stare at each other, each working to catch our breath.
“Dean, I watched you dive into that pool five minutes ago!”
He lets out a huff as he hoists himself out of the pool. Then he leans over and reaches a hand toward me. When I slide my palm against his, I’m taken aback by how quickly and easily he drags me out of the water and onto the deck.
I’m also instantly aware that I’m still in my pajamas, which are thin and soaking wet. And I don’t have a bra on. His gaze flashes downward at the sight of my cold, perky nipples through the translucent fabric. Quickly, I cross my arms across my chest.
“I’m sorry for scaring you, but I wasn’t drowning,” he says. Water drips from his stern brow, down the straight slope of his nose, and over his full, pink lips.
“What were you doing then?” I ask, trying to make sense of it all.
He lets out an exasperated sigh, staring upward as he confesses, “I just like to practice holding my breath.”
My head tilts. “Holding your breath?”
“I have strong lungs.”
