She’s already moving, getting a head start, while I’m half asleep.
I’m up in a flash, dragging on yesterday’s pants, camera in hand. Nobody out-produces Cole Hartwell before coffee. Nobody.
***
I check the production office: lights off, door unlocked, her handwriting screaming from the whiteboard.Structure = Safety.Underlined. Twice.
No Ivy in sight.
No luck in the ballroom.Huh, it still has a mango foam scent.The giantSeal The Dealbanner stares at me accusingly, as if I’m the reason this place is a circus. Newsflash: I’m the guy who saved the livestream while everyone else had their thumbs up their asses.
It’s five a.m. when I step into the lobby. All I hear is my own pulse.
Where the hell is she?
I hit the beach. The ocean is a black monster, roaring and restless, the sky split by one stingy seam of gold bleeding into purple at the edges. The sand is cold and empty in both directions.
Nothing.
No Ivy.
It hits me: chlorine.
Under the apple scent from the hallway yesterday, I was filing it away. Apparently, my brain’s been running a full surveillance op on this woman.
Pool.
I’m moving before I can talk myself out of it.
The outdoor pool glows pale blue along the deck’s edge, steam rising off the water in lazy curls. Beyond the railing, the ocean disappears into the dark.
And there she is.
Goggles on. Hair twisted up. Swimming laps as if she’s got a point to prove. Wearing a red one-piece that clings to her, outlining everything that kept me up all night. My skin heats.
Ivy doesn’t hear me open the gate.
The pool lights catch her underwater and—
Jesus.
Her body slices through the water like it’s in her way. Each movement is fluid and controlled, her hips swinging with a rhythm that wrecks me. And her thighs(damn, those thighs)power her forward with every kick. I swallow a groan. And keep watching.
My brain assaults me with the memory of her legs around mine, the way they fit as if they’d been tailor-made by Godherself. How they tormented me while I stared at the ceiling, counting sea lions(good effort, Larry).
My cock throbs.
She flips at the wall, her strong legs pushing off.
Full. System. Meltdown.
I need to get my hands on her.Everywhere.I imagine slipping into the water. Getting in her way long enough to slow her down. Raking my fingers up the backs of those thighs. Taking my time, so I can feel her tremble under my palms.
To hook my fingers under the edge of her suit. Slip inside and feel that button of swollen flesh. Until Ivy says my name like it’s the only word she knows.
She flips again. And my body gives in.
To hell with restraint. Fuck consequences. I want to see if the woman who controls every room she walks into knows how to lose control too.
