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Chapter 3
DELIA
I am so stupid.
The pool was right in front of me when I fell in it. I haven't done anything that dumb for years, and then Mr. Hot Pool Boy is nice to me and I lose my ever-lovin' mind.
But maybe it doesn't matter so much, because he jumped right in to "save" me, and now he's holding me like he doesn't want to let me go, and his eyes are the most beautiful pool blue, endlessly deeply blue, a blue I could fall into forever.
The feeling of his arms around my back is incredible--both exciting and safe, somehow--and my body wakes completely up, nipples coming to attention and heat rolling through my abdomen, wetness between my thighs.
There is, oddly, a pang in my chest as well. It's the sort of feeling I often get when experiencing something so beautiful it hurts.
I wish I could stay all summer.
I refocus on my goal. Which was...what, again? To relax and have fun, maybe get laid. I would definitely let Beck the Hot Pool Boy lay me.
But he's being all noble now, pulling away from me and escorting me to the pool steps, holding on to my elbow and solicitously telling me to be careful.
"What about your clothes?" I ask, as I step out onto the solid pool surround. I eye the soaking t-shirt clinging to his well-muscled chest. "That can't be comfortable."
"Oh," he says, face going pink under the tan, "I keep extra clothes in the truck. I've gotten wet cleaning pools before."
I guess that would happen from time to time.
"Been doing this a few years, you know," he adds, with a self-deprecating smile. "I had to learn to be prepared."
"Let me at least get you a towel and let you change in the bathroom," I plead.
"That would be very kind."
"Well, it's my fault you got wet in the first place." And it's your fault I'm wet for you, I think.
I shiver a little as I go into the house, pulling my towel around me. But I find the clean beach towels and get out two to take to Beck.
He's just coming back to the patio from his truck, holding a small gym bag. He's shed the wet shirt and his shoes, and for a second I can't breathe, looking at the glory of his body. I hold the towels out wordlessly to him, trying not to drool. He takes them from me with thanks, then follows me into the cabin to disappear into the hall bathroom.
I stand there and listen to the quiet noises of him drying off inside, before it occurs to me that I am being kinda creepy, leching on a guy who was just doing his job, and I walk back to my bedroom to pull a swim cover-up over my damp suit.
I mean, sure, doing his job in a gorgeous hot pool boy and rescuer of drenched stupid women sort of way. But I'm letting my libido, which has been MIA for months, control how I see him, and that's not quite fair.
He shouldn't be so damn handsome, though. Or so damn nice.
Sigh. I think I need a fling, and I want to climb this man like a tree. If only he'll let me.
When he comes out, he's dressed. Still, seeing him barefoot with damp hair is doing such good things to my ladyparts. "Can I take you to dinner?" I blurt out, and then, seeing his faint frown, try to explain. "As an apology for getting you wet."
"No need," he says, in a warm voice. "And no, you cannot take me to dinner."
Disappointment floods me. I could have sworn he was feeling the attraction too, but maybe I've run up against his scruples.
"I will take you to dinner," he adds. "I know that's being all caveman and unreconstructed chauvinist, but there it is. I want you to know I'm not in it for free food."
Disappointment fades away, and anticipation makes my breath come faster.
"I was interested the minute I laid eyes on you," Beck says, still in that warm, reassuring voice. "I don't do porny seduce-the-pool-boy shit, but you look like the kind of woman worth getting to know."
I raise my chin with some pride. "I am."
