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Light dances on the water. It casts strange lines over Blake's face.
He's watching me, studying my reaction. It's softer than normal. Sweeter.
"No one else has access to the roof," he says.
"So this is your private pool?"
"More or less."
He drops his keys on a little patio table. The guy maintains a pool on the roof of a damn skyscraper for kicks.
"Do you ever use it?" I ask.
"When I need to think."
"And how often is that?"
He smiles. Actually smiles. My heart goes into overdrive. It's like I'm a schoolgirl with a crush. Blake is smiling at me. Smiling. At. Me.
We're going to get married, and I'm atwitter over a smile.
I'm totally fucked.
"Your point is taken," he says.
"So I was right? You admit it."
He laughs. That's twice in one hour. It's a record.
He nods. "You getting in?"
"After you."
He pulls his t-shirt over his head.
I try not to gawk, but I can't help it. His body is a work of art.
There's no way I rejected his sexual advance minutes ago. That's impossible.
He slides out of his jeans. My gaze is drawn to his muscular thighs. His narrow hips. The cotton boxers…
I hate those cotton boxers.
I want to draw him from every possible angle. I want to capture every nuance of his body with my pencil.
"You look warm," he says.
"I'm fine."
He moves towards me. Unbuttons my coat and slides it off my shoulders.
I shiver but not from the cold. It's from the proximity. From his touch.
I pull my sweater over my head, then I reach for his boxers.
Blake shakes his head. He drops to his knees and unzips my boots. I step out of them, one at a time.
He lifts my foot to peel off my sock then does the same with my other leg.
His fingertips trail over the seam of my jeans, up my leg, over my sex, down my other leg.
Then back up again. He's careful about undoing my button and zipper.
He pushes my jeans—and my panties—to my ankles.
I step out of them. It's not nearly as graceful as his striptease. But it's effective.
I'm standing here in my bra.
He's in his boxers.
We've been naked together plenty, but this feel more intimate. More revealing.
Like we're finally showing each other our hearts.
He rises slowly.
He's inches away. Close enough we could kiss. Touch. Make love.
Silly me, it's not making love with Blake. It's fucking. He fucks. He doesn't love.
I send the word through a shredder and stuff it some place where it can't get to me.
Love isn't a part of this equation.
I'm going to come to terms with that.
Somehow.
I step back, undo my bra, and let it drop to the ground. I turn away, but I can feel Blake's gaze.
It sends heat racing through my body.
I move towards the pool and dip a toe. The water is warm. Inviting.
Blake slides out of his boxers. I can't stop myself from gawking. He really is perfect. He belongs in a museum. He should be an entire wing of the Met. He should replace David at Galleria dell'Accademia in Florence.
"Are you waiting for something?" he asks.
I shake my head.
Here goes nothing.
I jump into the pool.
Damn. That's intense.
The hairs on my neck stand up. I dunk my head. Underwater, everything is a blurry mess of blue-white.
The water rocks back and forth. There's a splash above me. Blake. He's in the pool with me.
I surface. He's five feet away, water dripping off his perfect shoulders.
He moves closer. "Distracted?"
I nod. "Thanks for listening before. And for talking… I almost believed you were my supportive fiancé."
His fingertips brush my chin.
I look up at him for as long as I can stand it. He's still intense, but there's a softness in his eyes. A sweetness.
My lungs work extra hard to find their next breath.
There's too much going on around me.
This pool is an oasis of calm. The eye of the storm, I guess. But it feels more like the storm itself. It feels like there's something raging inside me.
"I do care about you," he says.
"Yeah, I know we're not—well, I'm not sure what we are, but we're not lovers."
"I'll do anything I can to support you."
"What more could I ask for in a husband?" My voice cracks. I dive back under the water. The chlorine stings my eyes.
I can just make out the edges of Blake's body. They're blurry but they're still perfect.
I push off the concrete and glide towards the deep end. When I come up for air, Blake is staring at me. Fixed on me.
He moves closer.
Closer.
His wet hair is slicked back. It suits him, really, but so far I've never seen anything that doesn't suit him.
"Kat." His voice is sweet.
"I'm fine, thanks. Just thinking how lucky I am marrying such a supportive guy as a ruse. Luckiest girl in the world, really."
He studies me, deciding if he believes me. He nods like he does.
"You've never been in love," I say.
"Never."
"Nothing?"
"Never anything more than lust."
"Yeah, of course." I squeeze water from my hair. "Me either. I want to, one day, but it's not really a priority. I have to think about school and a career." I press my lips together. "Do you think it's because of your parents? That what they had was love taking an ugly turn?"
"I don't bother dwelling on the why." He runs a hand through my hair. "I've never seen love go any other way. Look at Fiona and Trey. They're miserable."
"My parents were in love. They were happy."
"How do you know for sure?" he asks.
"I do. Love isn't something you know. It's something you feel." My heart speeds up. My breath follows suit. "And it feels amazing. Warm and comfortable and perfect."
"You said you've never been in love."
Oh, yeah. I did say that. And it's true.
My cheeks flush. Heat spreads down my chest, through my stomach.
His stare disarms me.
It makes me feel even more naked.
I try to recapture my train of thought. "I've never been in love. But I have loved people. My sister. My parents. My grade school best friend. That feels good too."
His eyes stay fixed on mine. There's something on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down.
I dive under the surface and do a somersault.
The water is warm. Comfortable. It's everywhere, all around me. This is what love feels like. You're swallowed whole, but you know you're safe. You know it's going to be okay.
Not that I'm familiar with the concept.
Not that I'm falling in love with someone.
Not anything like that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
We spend twenty minutes swimming around the pool. Clouds get darker, greyer. A drizzle turns into a downpour.
I ignore Blake's suggestion we leave. We're already in the pool. Rain isn't going to hurt us.
The sky flashes white. Lightning. Thunder booms a few seconds later. Okay, no more playing around. I don't need to be told that a pool on top of a steel tower is a bad place to hang out during a thunderstorm.
Blake helps me out of the pool. He sends me into the staircase naked and gathers our clothes alone. He's trying to protect me, but I'd rather share the risk of electrocution. I'd rather we work like an actual team.
The roof door pulls open and Blake steps inside.
He's in his boxers. He's holding the rest of his clothes to his chest.
He pulls my sweater over my head. It soaks up all the w
ater dripping off my chest and shoulders. I'm a little warmer. But it's not enough. I'm still cold.
I take the stairs one at a time. My hand stays on the cold metal railing until I need to push the door open.
Only it's locked.
Blake is the only one with a key to the roof, but the door still locks automatically.
It's fitting.
He positions himself behind me, his chest pressed against my back. He's wet. Smooth. Hard.
His body feels good against mine.
I want to lose these clothes.
To lose track of words entirely.
He slides his hand over my mine. His breath warms my neck. I suck a deep breath through my nose. I will my nerves to settle.
They don't.
Blake offers me my panties. "I don't want you caught on tape. Unless that's a fantasy of yours."
"No." I don't think it is. I blush as I pull on my underwear. "Thanks."
He unlocks the door and presses it open.
It's just as cold in here. Goosebumps spread over my arms. My nipples get hard. I hug my chest, but it doesn't do enough to warm me up.
"Are you hungry?" he asks.
"I could eat." I'd rather fill another one of my needs, but I could eat.
He takes my hand and leads me to a break area. It's as sleek and modern as the rest of the office.
There's a thick white table, a kitchenette with stainless steel appliances, and a rectangular black couch. It would look great as the background of a panel, especially with the cloudy window.
I imagine the shading. The way Blake would be in the shadows. A bit of an obvious metaphor—the unknowable guy stepping out into the light—but it works.
