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She didn’t care. She needed to swim, needed to feel the water moving past her, over her tired skin, caressing her aching muscles. She needed to float, to let her tension ebb out into the water. Then, maybe, she’d know what to do about Megan and Jake. And the crowd of reporters outside the front of the hotel.
The thought sent a shiver through her, even in the poolside warmth. But they couldn’t get in here, could they? No one would find her here. She was safe. Even without Dylan.
She spared an apologetic thought for her bodyguard as she dipped a toe in the water, finding it warm and welcoming. He must be going crazy, looking for her. She supposed she shouldn’t stay too long, or he might actually follow through on his threat to call in back up and come searching for her, all guns blazing.
No, just a quick dip, then she’d head back up and apologise. He’d forgive her, she was sure.
She slid into the water, letting it envelop her, and the memory of Dylan’s body pressed up against hers flashed through her mind. She’d starred with some of the buffest actors Hollywood had to offer – including, most recently, Liam Hunter for heaven’s sake – and she’d still never felt anything like the strength hiding under Dylan’s skin. The power, barely contained, ready to act in an instant.
How would it feel to have all that strength and power focussed on her? Not just on keeping her safe, but on making her… what? Happy? She laughed at herself for the very thought, and the sound echoed off the tiles.
Dylan wasn’t the sort of man who concentrated on happy, she could tell that even on a mere day’s acquaintance. Safe, definitely. Secure and tidied away into a box marked ‘troublesome starlet’ for certain. But he didn’t have the slightest interest in her happiness.
If he had, she wouldn’t have had to run away from him now, would she?
***
He’d known, before he made it halfway down the first flight of steps, that he’d made a mistake.
Bethany wasn’t some teenager on a high, running away giggling. She wasn’t even an overweight, middle-aged ambassador puffing his way down the stairs. And once Dylan saw that the stairwell was clear, he knew in an instant he’d been played. Bethany couldn’t outrun him, and she knew it, which meant she had to have hidden then doubled back.
Swearing, he pivoted mid-step and ran back up the stairs, hoping he’d be quick enough to still have the element of surprise. But as he pushed his way back through the double doors to the plush carpeted hallway of the Chatsfield proper, he heard the ting of the elevator and watched the lights move down the floor numbers.
Damn it.
Still, at least he knew where she was going now. As he watched, the lights ticked down towards the basement, and Dylan did a mental check of the hotel map he’d memorised for just such an occasion.
There was only one thing in the basement that would be of interest to Bethany Lord, he decided. The swimming pool.
With a nod, he jogged back towards the stairs. If he was fast, he might even intercept her on the way.
Except, apparently he wasn’t the only one to have figured out Bethany’s water-baby plans.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ Dylan asked, in his most threatening and unhelpful voice. He saved it especially for paparazzi, these days.
The photographer, caught in the act of pulling aside the ‘closed’ sign on the pool door, spun round, his camera behind his back. He had weak blue eyes and a stupid hat that made Dylan nickname him Trilby, instantly. ‘Oh, no, I’m fine. I was just… checking when the pool opens.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Dylan said, glaring at the sign. ‘At five. And I’m sure you’re aware that the pool is for residents only? Perhaps if you’d like to give me your room number I can arrange a five am wake up call for you?’
‘Ah, no. Thank you. That won’t be necessary.’ Trilby started to sidle away, then stopped. ‘Actually, I thought I heard splashing from inside. You might want to check on that?’ While he waited around to catch a photo of Bethany Lord skinny dipping, no doubt. Not a chance.
‘I’m sure you were mistaken.’ Dylan moved to stand between the photographer and the pool. ‘Now, if there’s nothing else I can help you with?’
Trilby peered at him, and Dylan cursed the protective instinct that had made him shift into the spotlight by the door.
‘You’re not hotel staff, are you?’ Trilby’s watery blue eyes lit up until they looked slightly less like melted ice cubes. ‘You’re Bethany Lord’s bodyguard. I saw you come in with her earlier.’
Through years of practice, Dylan managed to keep his face blank even while he ran through every swear word he knew in his head.
‘If that were indeed the case, then I would have every reason to be in this hotel. Whereas, as we have I think established, you do not.’ He grabbed the man’s arm. ‘Which makes it time for you to leave.’
‘I was right, wasn’t I, though?’ Trilby rabbited on, as Dylan marched him down the corridor. ‘She’s in there right now, isn’t she? I remembered an interview where she said she always goes for a swim when she’s stressed. And really, today has to have been pretty stressful for her. So I played a hunch, and I was right, wasn’t I?’
Thank God they were nearly at the stairs to the lobby. ‘Miss Lord is currently in her room, resting. She asked me to check what time the pool opened in the morning.’
‘And you couldn’t ring down to reception and ask?’ Trilby said, sounding sceptical.
Dylan dragged him up the stairs. ‘No more than you could, apparently.’ With relish, he released the photographer to the waiting security guard in the lobby. ‘Found him wandering around downstairs. Might want to tighten ranks, given the mob outside the front door.’ He didn’t like telling other people how to do their jobs, but if their inability was impacting on his client… well, what other option did he have?
The security guard gave a sharp nod, and grabbed Trilby’s arm hard enough to make the photographer wince. Dylan took a strange satisfaction in that. And then he turned back to the stairs down to the pool.
Next up, it was time to deal with Little Miss Mermaid.
Chapter Five
Pushing off from the side of the pool, Bethany cut through the water, head down and limbs outstretched. Life felt so simple, so straightforward, when she was swimming. All that mattered was keeping moving forward; the kick and the stretch, the twist and the turn as the water moved around her. Funny; she’d thought being famous would mean getting her own way all the time. But just like at home, water was still the only thing that went out of its way to accommodate her.
She twisted as she reached the end of the pool, turning to take another lap without stopping. She swam until her head finally felt clear, then flipped onto her back in the middle of the pool and just let herself float, eyes closed, arms drifting out from her sides.
It felt so damn peaceful. Why couldn’t she find this kind of relaxation on land? She’d tried everything any friends, acquaintances, magazines and late night TV had suggested. Meditation, yoga, special diets, mindfulness, Tai Chi, everything. Nothing ever felt as good as just floating.
So. She’d finally found her calm place. Now it was time for some strategic thinking about Megan and Jake.
But just thinking their names was enough to make her muscles tense up again, and her legs started to sink. With a small kick to keep herself afloat, Bethany opened her eyes to see how far she’d drifted.
And saw Dylan Blaise staring down at her from the far end of the pool.
At once, years of swim practice and training went out of the window as she flailed in the water, desperately gulping in air before her head slipped under the surface.
‘Damn!’ was the last thing she heard, before her ears filled with water and everything became muffled.
Oops. A muted splash ran through the pool, the water pulling and pushing around her as it adjusted to another body in it. She was fine, of course, but obviously Dylan didn’t realise that. And it was his own fault for scaring her anyway. He deserved to get a little wet.
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Of course, she conceded as she surfaced, shaking water and hair from her eyes, he’d probably argue that she deserved scaring after she ran out on him.
Maybe they could just agree they could both have acted better?
She blinked the last droplets from her eyelids, and saw Dylan’s furious face getting closer with every stroke of his powerful, still-shirted, arms.
Maybe not.
Treading water, she gave him a little wave, and his front crawl slowed, until he stopped around a metre away and mirrored her. Had he managed to take his shoes off at least? Treading water in shoes was not easy.
‘You’re okay?’ he asked, apparently needing more confirmation than just the visuals.
‘I’m fine.’ Bethany couldn’t help but stare at the way his wet shirt clung to the muscles of his shoulders and the top of chest, the only parts of him visible above the water. Thank God her own body was covered all the way up to her neck. She really didn’t want to have this conversation with her see-through underwear on display.
Of course, she didn’t really want to have it treading water, either, but it was hard to come up with a solution to that which didn’t involve displaying the aforementioned underwear.
Dylan stared at her, barely out of breath as he kept himself afloat fully clothed, then shook his head. ‘I knew you were a bolter.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Because that didn’t sound like a compliment.
‘They told me you would be an easy job. That you were sweet and thoughtful and great to work with,’ he explained. ‘But I knew the moment I met you that you’d try and run.’
‘I wasn’t exactly running,’ Bethany pointed out, pride a little stung that he’d read her so easily. What sort of an actress was she if she couldn’t even hide her intentions from the muscle? ‘More like, well, floating.’
