Because I invited him.
Idiot.
“Coming in a minute!” I call out loudly, making sure my voice carries through the door.
I turn off the shower and dry myself fast before pulling on a fitted tank top and tiny sleep shorts that leave most of my legs exposed. The kind of outfit meant to look accidental when it absolutely isn’t. And if Cain notices something tonight, I’d rather it not be the bruises.
By the time I head downstairs, the house has gone strangely quiet.
“Cain?” I call, stepping into the living room.
No answer.
Then I see his clothes scattered across my couch—shirt tossed over the armrest, jeans crumpled on the cushions, boots kicked off near the coffee table like he’s lived here for years.
The confidence on this man should honestly be studied.
The silence is broken by a splash from deeper inside the house.
Of course.
I follow the sound toward the indoor pool and push through the glass doors. Warm, humid air closes around me instantly, carrying the sharp, clean scent of chlorine. Light from the water shivers across the walls, painting everything in restless silver.
Cain is in the middle of the pool, moving lazily through the blue glow like he belongs there. When he notices me, he slows before making his way toward the shallow end until the rippling surface settles at his waist. He stops there, one hand dragging his dark, wet hair back from his forehead as his eyes lift to mine.
Fucking hell!
No man should be allowed to look like this.
I rest one shoulder against the doorframe, letting my eyes wander over every wet inch of him.
“So you really tookmake yourself at homeseriously.” A quiet laugh slips out.
“You brought a swim instructor into a house with an indoor pool. You really set me up for this.” Amusement glints in his eyes before that dangerous smile follows.
“Don’t give me credit for your shameless behavior.” I laugh softly.
He moves a little closer, water shifting around his waist. “Shameless?”
“Completely.”
“That hurts.” He places a hand over his chest like I’ve wounded him. “Here I was, thinking you’d be impressed.”
“I am impressed.” I take him in slowly before meeting his eyes again. “Mostly by the ego.”
“Come in the water, Sierra,” he says softly, extending a hand toward me.
“Is that an invitation or a command?” I challenge, tilting my head.
“Depends.” His mouth curves faintly. “Which one works better on you?”
I cross my arms, pretending to think about it. “Neither, usually.”
“Usually?”
He takes another step until he’s at the edge now, close enough that if I reached down, I could touch him.
“That sounds promising,” I say, dryly. “It sounds like you’re getting confident.”
