Lev’s gaze glints with mirth. “Neither did I.”
“You needed to lighten up. All you’ve done today is scowl and basically wear a suit. At leastI”—I gesture to myself—“look like I’m on a vacation.”
I feel his appraisal like a physical touch, brushing along my breasts and down my stomach, settling low in my pelvis. I swallow hard, throat suddenly dry, as I struggle to recall why I’m resisting. As his predatory expression turns downright feral.
Lev’s fingers work down the row of buttons, opening his shirt far faster than I could have. He balls up the black fabric and tosses it where he was sitting earlier. “Better?”
And worse.
Water continues to drip from his hair, pooling in the shallow hollow of his collarbone, sluicing down his defined chest and over his ridged abdomen. His assortment of scars is all visible, the healed tissue a shade paler than his natural skin tone. The one nearest to his shoulder is pink, the savage slice I bandaged years ago still the longest.
I scan the scars as though they’re not a map I have memorized, trying to recall the questions I resolved to ask during this trip to clarify what our future will look like. I should wait to voice those, right? He told me to pack for two weeks. Thirteen days is a lot of awkward silence to sit through.
“You should put on some sunscreen,” I advise. “Unless you want to look like a lobster later.”
I expect him to act dismissive, the way he does when I suggest he drink less or smoke never, but Lev nods, wading over to the edge.
“Bring it to me?”
“It won’t stay on when you’re already wet.”
Lev waits expectantly, arms resting on the blue porcelain tiles that border the pool.
I sigh before retrieving the sunscreen from the shade, approaching slowly. I set the bottle down about three feet from where Lev is standing, very aware why he’s trying to coax me closer. He’ll easily be able to reach the sunscreen once he hauls himself out of the water, which is what he’ll need to do to apply it anyway.
He grins, noticing my caution. “You’re braver than that, baby.”
The husky endearment makes me shiver despite the heat. Lev has never called me that before. I wouldn’t have guessed the word was even part of his English vocabulary.
I pick up the bottle of sunscreen again, moving it all the way to the edge.
I’m anticipating it, but his speed manages to catch me off guard anyway. So does suddenly being surrounded by water, the temperature cooler than I was expecting since I spent the past hour watching sunlight reflect off the surface.
I surface with a gasp, grabbing my hat and flinging it on the patio before it can float too far away. Once both hands are free, I send a wave of water Lev’s way. “Youasshole.”
He’s laughing, an infrequent sound that has me fighting a smile. But I do battle it, flicking black tears off my cheeks. My messed-up makeup probably has me resembling a melted wax doll. I splash more water on my face, hoping it’ll clear the remaining residue.
“Be brave, baby,” I mock in my best attempt at a Russian accent. “See if calling me that ever works again,mudak.”
Lev’s eyebrows lift, his expression almost impressed. I’m positive it’s because I swore in Russian, not that he’s intimidated by the threat. “You started it.”
I have no retort to that. Because, yes, I did.
I roll my eyes, then twist so I’m floating on my back. I’m in the water now, might as well enjoy it. Closer to the surface, I can feel the sun’s warmth soaking my damp skin. It’s like lying on the lounger, except even more relaxing, not that I’ll tell Lev that.
The tranquility is interrupted by a wet slap. I follow the sound to where Lev’s pants now lie on the tiles. Lev’s pantsandboxers, rather, since I can see the elastic band. Black, of course.
He picks up the sunscreen and holds it toward me. “I can’t reach.”
Déjà vu as I recall the many times I said that to him. I’d buy dresses that were difficult to fasten for that exact reason, wanting the excuse of asking him to assist. Reveling in the sensual way he’d slide the zipper down, fingers grazing my spine, until the anticipation became unbearable.
I flip around and swim over. His eyes lower to watch droplets slide into my cleavage when I stand. Tension hums between us, thickening the humid air even more, as I squirt coconut-scented liquid onto my palm.
“Whose house is this?” I should have asked when we arrived. I was preoccupied, admiring the old-world paintings on the ochre walls, along with the arched doorways, and the exposed beams, and the fresco accents.
“An associate’s.”
I rub my hands together, then press them against Lev’s shoulders, leaving matching prints, before smearing the white lotion across his skin.
