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“I’m practically naked!”
“Hardly,” Logan says, a wicked look in his eyes as he gathers my most prized possession, wads it into a ball, and tosses it out of the pool. Red fabric heaps beside a lounger, and now I’m stuck, in here with him, with barely any clothes on.
“Give me your tee!” I say, swimming closer and starting to pry the wet material off his abs. “It’ll cover me well enough. Probably go down to my ankles with any luck.”
“Sure thing,” he says, reaching back in that ultra-sexy way to yank his shirt up and off in one fell swoop. Then he holds it out for me, and I reach for it. As soon as my fingers touch it, he jerks it away and tosses it out beside my dress. “Actually, why bother? It’s sopping wet. You don’t want to put it on anyway.”
My eyes are wide as saucers. I’m pretty sure my jaw is dropped so low my chin is skimming the surface of the water. “I did want it, you cow! Now look what you’ve done. You’re there, all nude and glorious and tan, and I haven’t got a stitch of clothing to put on. We’re basically in a porno!”
He grins. “Want my jeans?”
“Oh har har. Funny guy. Sure, give me those and let me put them on so I don’t moon everyone and give them a fright on my way out of the pool.”
At the depth we’re standing in, his chest is up out of the water; meanwhile, I’m up to my neck, basically treading water to stay alive. It’s getting a bit difficult as I’ve got the upper body strength of an infant. He sees me starting to struggle and reaches out for my hand, dragging me toward the shallow end. I let him, right up until my breasts are about to crest the water, and then I yank my hand back.
“That’s enough, you rascal. I know what you’re after. Trying to get a peek, are we?”
He shrugs as if he’s not even a little remorseful, and then he sweeps his wet hair off his face. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Good to know what you’re really like under all that charm and hair—a naughty little bugger. Now give me your trousers like you promised.”
He reaches down to undo the button on his jeans, and I go a bit lightheaded from watching him. Water sluices down his toned abs. They are, without a doubt, the best set of muscles I’ve ever seen. He’s so tall and lean, but built too, like every part of him is in tip-top shape, not a centimeter gone to waste. He’s got this fabulously sharp Adonis V that basically draws my eyes down to where I should not under any circumstances look, but well, sue me, because I do. I have no choice. My eyeballs are glued to him as he starts to take off his trousers and reveals a pair of navy Calvin Klein boxer briefs. I’d bet they pay him a million dollars to wear those and represent their brand. They’d be stupid not to.
In my head, I’m quite a perv, so obviously I try to get a good look at what he’s got going on down there, but everything below his waistline is under the water and it’s fairly dark out here. Oy, someone turn a spotlight on, will you?
Once my eyes go a bit cross from all the struggling, I finally blink and force my gaze up to his face. He’s looking right at me, like he’s been waiting ages for my eyes to get to his. He’s grinning. The bastard.
“Seen enough?”
“Quite,” I snap, snatching his jeans away from him and trying to struggle into them.
It’s not possible to do it at this depth. I’m not some aquatic acrobat who can balance and float and don clothing all at once. I huff and start for an even shallower section of the pool, but then cool air hits my chest and I duck under again, sending Logan a searing glare.
He shrugs, like he had absolutely nothing to do with my faux pas this time, but from the gleam in his gaze, I can tell he’s benefitted from it.
I learn my lesson and trudge forward a few more steps, this time with my back turned to him so my hair acts like a curtain against my skin. I shimmy into his jeans, and once I’ve got them pulled all the way up, I realize there’s still half a leg of material dragging on the pool bottom. I groan and lift each leg to roll up the denim so they fit nicely. Then I cinch the waistband in my hand and turn around.
“How do I look?”
“Like you’re wearing a pair of men’s jeans that are about ten sizes too big.”
“It’s not my fault you’ve got a fat arse.”
