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“Peter doesn’t always pick up calls he doesn’t recognize, so it’s best if I have my phone.”
Rafe turns me so that he can do my back. “I don’t allow any devices that can be tracked here, but you can try using one of my phones.”
I’m willing to take that concession. I think what else I can get him to agree to, but my thoughts scatter when he brushes my hair aside and rubs the sunblock into my neck. It feels good.
But it shouldn’t.
Done, he turns me to face him and squeezes more sunblock into his hand. Realizing he might do the front of me, I say, “I can get the rest.”
Ignoring me, he replies, “Lay down.”
In a normal situation, I wouldn’t let some guy I barely know touch me. But I’m not in a normal situation, and Rafe isn’t a normal guy. I should stand firm, but I also want to pick my battles.
And part of me likes having his hands on me.
I lay down.
He spreads the sunblock on my collar, then works his way down. Even though I’ve got small breasts, the bikini top manages to give me cleavage. His fingers are on the part of the breasts not covered by fabric.
“Breathe,” he says.
I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath till he said that. He’s fairly clinical in his application of the sunblock, so it doesn’t seem like he’s feeling me up. Same goes for the torso. Nevertheless, my breath catches when his fingers skim my belly near the top of the bikini bottom.
The legs, however, are a different story. There, he seems to change his touch into something more of a caress. When his hand moves beneath my thigh, I try very hard to breathe normally. I’m relieved and bummed when he’s done.
“I should do my face,” I say, grabbing the sunblock from him.
“Let’s go,” he directs when I’m done.
I step into the pool. The water, a touch cool but not too cold, is the perfect temperature for the weather. Rafe glides into deeper waters.
Turning around to find me sitting on the steps, he asks, “Do you know how to swim?”
“I’m not really a pool person,” I say.
I was taught swimming in high school PE, but I haven’t had a lot of practice. I don’t have easy access to a pool and the municipal ones can get crowded on summer days.
“Come here. It’s good to learn how to be stronger in the water.”
“Why? So I stand a chance if someone tries to drown me?” I retort, remembering Asian Peter Lorre’s comment about a watery grave.
“Sure. Now stop warming my stairs and come over here.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
I balk at that. “You didn’t say the magic word.”
“You want me to come get you?” he asks in a tone that insinuates such an option would not be in my best interest.
I scramble off the steps and wade over to him.
A small smile hovers over his lips. “Good girl.”
I bristle at that, but I don’t have a retort.Pick your battles, I remind myself.
“Show me how you float on your back,” he directs. “Floating comes in handy if you ever find yourself too tired to swim or tread water.”
