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‘We’re not at sea.’
‘The principle is the s
ame.’
‘Am I luring you to your death?’
His smile is sardonic. ‘You’re luring me to do something I’ve never done before.’
‘Ah.’ I nod. ‘But not really. Does it matter if it’s two nights or two weeks? Sex is still just sex.’
‘Yes,’ he agrees, but I feel a hint of indecision. Or perhaps I imagined it. A moment later he smiles at me brightly then lets me go, tossing a look over his shoulder as he torpedoes through the water, swimming towards the edge. I watch him for a few seconds and then duck dive beneath the surface, turning back and going the way I came.
I don’t chase anyone, ever, and I’ve definitely done enough chasing of Zach for the day.
When I surface, he’s nowhere to be seen, but a few moments later I feel his fingers curve around my ankles, roaming the length of my legs before he emerges beside me.
‘You changed direction,’ he accuses, drawing me with him through the water, towards the corner. There’s a step there. I feel it beneath my feet and press down on it.
‘I didn’t want to chase you,’ I say seriously, wondering if he understands how unprecedented this situation is for me. I came out on a limb today. I pushed myself way out of my comfort zone by asking him to make the next week and a half easier.
‘Well, now you know that if you don’t chase me I’ll chase you,’ he says simply. ‘I wanted to see you again too, Jessica. But I’ve had enough experience to know that repeat performances can lead to disappointment. It’s easy to get hurt, to build things up in your mind. And I didn’t want to hurt you.’
‘I’m not going to get hurt by you.’ Or any man, I tack on silently; the pledge I made not to find myself in Mum’s shoes is one I hold dear to my heart.
‘I know that.’ He moves closer, pushing me up another step, his body coming over mine. I sit there, underwater to my breasts, his body pressed to mine, and I feel desire warring with a drugging sense of relief. Because he did want me—the only thing that stopped him from reaching out was a desire to protect me, which is actually kind of sweet.
He kisses me and I wrap my legs around his waist beneath the water, holding him there, sensations exploding beneath my skin, an ache low in my abdomen as I feel desire stretch my nerves taut as if I haven’t been with him several times today already.
‘How can I want you again?’ I complain with a shake of my head.
He responds with a grin against my lips, moving his hand between my legs. ‘Because you’re perfect.’
His fingers move over my clit, slowly at first, until I’m moaning his name and begging for him, needing to feel him inside me.
‘No condom,’ he murmurs, but he slides a finger inside me and then another, until I’m writhing on the step of the pool, an orgasm tearing through me at this man’s touch. I stare up at the stars as I come, and I feel as though I’ve died and gone to heaven.
* * *
She arouses caveman instincts in me that I didn’t know existed. I lift her from the pool, carrying her wet, naked, beautiful body to the shelves and pulling out a large towel. I drape it over her and she smiles up at me, her eyelashes all clumpy from the water, her skin beaded in moisture.
I’ve lost all concept of the time, but we’ve been doing this for hours—since she arrived mid-afternoon—and I know I’m hungry as all hell. I’m going to guess she is too. I ease her feet to the floor in the lounge room, brushing my lips over her forehead. ‘I’m going to make some dinner.’
‘Make dinner?’ she teases with a wiggle of her brows.
‘Well,’ I acknowledge, ‘reheat something Mrs Amaro made.’
‘Perfect.’ She adjusts her towel, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cape, clutching it at the neck, her dark hair brushed over one shoulder, wet and glossy, so I can’t help but reach out and run my fingers over the ends. ‘I’ll be right back.’
I watch her walk through the hallway of my apartment, disappearing into the first bathroom she passes. A minute later the sound of running water fills the apartment and I move into the kitchen, lifting a container from the fridge. It’s labelled in Mrs Amaro’s precise handwriting, ‘Lasagne’.
Mrs Amaro has been very clear about the use of microwaves—strictly forbidden for her meals. I slide the meal onto a tray and place it in the oven accordingly, grabbing some lettuce from the fridge and tearing it into a bowl. I put on an NFL game in the background as I work, grabbing a beer with a grin I can’t shake.
Hot sex. American football. Great food. Ice-cold beer. What more could I want in life?
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘THIS IS DELICIOUS.’
