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Perfect, he had the place to himself. Dylan tossed his towel on a chair. It would be much easier to swim laps in an empty pool. Positioning himself near the edge, he prepared to dive in.
“Late night swim?” a woman’s voice called out from behind him.
Turning, he watched the woman step out of the hot tub tucked in the corner. Wearing a fire engine red bikini that left nothing to the imagination, the woman seductively walked toward him. A month earlier and Dylan would’ve been turning on the charm. The woman was a beauty, with a body worthy of the cover of Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit edition, but not tonight. Tonight he only wanted one woman and she was forty-five minutes away.
“Just a few laps to unwind, Miss...”
“Vanessa Mitchell.”
Dylan immediately recognized the name. Her father was one of the top hedge fund managers on Wall Street. “Dylan—”
She didn’t give him a chance to finish. “I know who you are. We met last December at a charity event in Washington.” The woman stepped closer, placing a well-manicured hand on his forearm. “If you’re looking to unwind, you should join me in the hot tub. The water is the perfect temperature.”
Dylan looked down at the hand on his arm. Here was a beautiful woman coming onto him and he felt nothing. Not a single ounce of attraction or desire flowed through his body, unlike the last time he’d seen Callie. That night, his body had been on overload in the desire department, and she hadn’t even been trying.
You’ve got some serious issues, Talbot. “I’m just going to stick with some laps tonight,” Dylan replied in his most diplomatic voice. There was no need to offend the woman.
“I’ll be down here for a little while, if you change your mind. Or if you want to come up to my room later for a drink, I’m staying in suite 607.”
Without waiting for a reply, the woman sauntered back toward the hot tub. Dylan suspected she’d spent a lot of time perfecting that walk. She was a beautiful woman who knew exactly the kind of effect she had on men. Although tonight, her charms were wasted.
Diving into the water, Dylan kicked up toward the surface. On a lounge chair near the hot tub, he spotted Vanessa Mitchell watching him. Instead of seeing her there, he imagined Callie lying there in the very same bikini. The suit she’d worn to the beach had covered more than it had revealed. It was nothing like the one he envisioned her in now. Immediately, heat coursed through his veins. If it’d been Callie coming on to him the way Vanessa Mitchell had been, he would’ve skipped the invite to join her in the hot tub, and they would’ve already been up in her suite and her swim suit would’ve been on the floor.
Warren’s daughter, he forced himself to remember. Slicing through the water, he tried to push the vision of Callie in a fire engine red bikini from his mind.
It refused to leave.
Chapter 8
Fenway Park. A game between the Boston Red Sox and their longtime rival the New York Yankees. Baseball didn’t get any better than this. The loud hum of voices filled the ballpark. Vendors selling food shouted a little louder than usual as they walked up and down the concrete steps. And fans for both teams sat on the edge of their seats waiting for the players to take the field.
Callie had been to the stadium once before. She’d sat way up in the nosebleed section, about as far from the field as you could get and still be in the park.
Today, she had front row seats, right behind the batter’s box. “I can’t believe you were able to get seats like this,” she said, aware of the awe in her voice. Dylan probably thought she sounded like an idiot, but Callie couldn’t help it. Never had she imagined having seats like these for a Red Sox game.
“You didn’t even think I could get tickets,” he reminded her.
She nodded. “True. I still don’t...” Her voice trailed off when Dylan’s arm settled on the back of her seat and his hand settled on her shoulder, the heat from his skin seeping through her shirt. Her heart lurched, and for a moment, she stopped breathing.
Get a hold of yourself. He just needed a place to rest his arm. Once again, her traitorous heart didn’t want to accept the words her brain sent it. She really needed to get those two organs on the same page. Otherwise, she was headed for some serious trouble.
Racking her suddenly empty brain for something to say, Callie said the first thing she found. “I’ve only been here once before, with the Girl Scouts on a troop field trip.”
Dylan’s lips curved into a smile. “So you were a cookie pusher?”
Callie gasped as she tried not to smile. “There’s more to Girl Scouts than selling cookies, I’ll have you know.”
He nodded in agreement, a slight gleam in his eye. “True. You march in parades, too.”
Without thinking, she gently punched his thigh. “Shows how much you know, Mr. CEO! We learned and did all kinds of things.”
“If you say so.” Dylan trapped her hand against his thigh and interlocked their fingers.
With that single touch, the rest of the stadium disappeared. All she could see was their hands linked together resting on his jean-clad leg. All she could feel was the warm skin of his hand and muscular thigh. The ease she’d felt when they’d been bantering back and forth evaporated.
Remember who he is. The silent order brought Callie back to the stadium as the announcer asked everyone to stand for the National Anthem, which was actually being sung tonight by a couple of Girl Scouts.
“Looks like you cookie pushers sing, too.” Dylan laughed as the young girls on the field waited for the music to begin.
