Page 58 of Scouting the Single Dad

The water glides over my stomach; nerves skitter under my skin like minnows. I’m not even cold—I’m just that keyed up.

Say something, Layla.

“I’m glad you’re relaxing. When’s the last time you did that?”

It takes him several seconds to think. “Usually only when I’m home.”

My head bobs up and down. “I like being home too.”

His thumb presses on my pulse point; I hold myself steady against the tiled wall of the pool, feet suspended in the water, kicking lightly below. Getting tired.

I wonder if he’d mind . . .

“I’m losing the battle with gravity,” I say, breathless for no good reason other than my raging hormones. “Don’t let me drown. It would be embarrassing.”

My hands grip his shoulders. His hands slide to my waist without hurry, like he’s done this a thousand times with care and never once with me. “I’ve got you.”

He certainly does.

I shiver.

“Layla,” he says, and I love my name in his mouth. Intoxicating. Low. Deep.

“Hmm?”

“Tell me what you want.”

What I want? Is this a trap or an invitation?

My senses halt, nerves on high alert. Skin prickling. “What do you mean? Be more specific.”

“What do you want from me?”

The question gives me pause. I pull back so I can look him in the eye, the pool lights and porch lights casting a glow across his face. “Nothing.”

His brows pull together, the barest crease.

“From you,” I clarify, and hear my own heartbeat in my ears. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Relief loosens something in his shoulders, and I can see the wheels turning in his head as he formulates his own reply.

His nostrils flare. His gaze drops to my mouth. “Well, I want things from you.”

Oh . . .

Oh Jesus.

“Like what?” I lick my lips, hands sliding around his neck as he moves us, pressing my back against the cool tile wall. Pressing his body into mine. Wide chest. Palms bracket my hips as the water slides between us and nowhere at all. Nose slides along my jaw.

“That kiss I gave you at Fall Fest was the first kiss I’ve had in a really long time.”

His voice is low against my ear, the vibration zapping my insides with pleasure when his thighs slide between mine, pulling my legs around him; the new anchor drags a sound from my throat I’ve never heard leave my body before.

“Are you implying that you want to kiss me again?”

He chuckles.

Kisses my neck, losing his battle with data and science and his rules.