“Only when it comes to you, Ma Belle.”
I reached up and hooked a finger in his loosened tie.
“You could join me instead of supervising.”
His eyes darkened just slightly. “I’m not in swimwear.”
“You own half of Ohio,” I said lightly. “You don’t own swim trunks?”
His mouth twitched. “Of course, I own swim trunks.”
I tugged again. “Well, go get them.”
There was a brief pause. Then he sighed like I’d asked him to commit a minor crime. He disappeared inside.
I laughed to myself.
Two minutes later, he emerged in black swim trunks. And I had to swallow.
Because the man was unfair. Broad shoulders. Muscles that were evident but not defined. He had a powerful body, but not one conventionally beautiful, much like my own. His expression was composed, but his eyes were very aware of me.
He stepped down slowly into the water.
“It is cold,” he observed.
“It’s refreshing.”
He moved toward me with deliberate calm.
“Were you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes.”
He stopped just close enough that our legs brushed beneath the surface.
“And now?” he asked quietly.
“Now,” I said, “I’m enjoying this more.”
His hand slid to my waist beneath the water, steady and possessive in a way that didn’t feel controlling. Just certain.
“This swimsuit is tempting,” he said in a low rumble as he pressed a kiss just behind my ear.
“You love it?”
His thumb traced a slow arc against my skin.
“I do. I really fucking do.”
We stayed like that for a while. Talking nonsense. Arguing about whether lemon tarts should be sweet or tart. Splashing each other lightly like teenagers who had forgotten to be guarded adults.
The back door opened again. Geoffrey stepped out, impeccably dressed as always, holding a phone. “Sir.”
Raphael turned slightly but didn’t remove his hand from my waist.
“Yes.”
“Chandler has called twice.”
