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“I’m sure it will dry just fine.”
“Oh, you’re an expert on fabrics and laundry now, are you?” I’m justified in being angry, but I cringe at the sound of my whiney, petulant voice. Jonas is unphased.
“I’m an expert at a lot of things,” he says. “And you’ve got to admit, on a hot day like this, being in the pool is better than being out.”
He’s right about the water being refreshing, and his unrestrained glee about me sharing in the pool fun has my icy response thawing just a little.
“Jonas, you can’t just go dragging me into the pool whenever you feel like it. What would have happened if I had my phone in my pocket, or a family heirloom watch, which isn’t waterproof on my wrist?”
“It would have been a very expensive prank,” Jonas says. “Lucky you left your phone on the counter, and your wrists are bare.”
This infuriating man has excellent powers of observation and smells too good, too. He holds my gaze with eyes so uniquely silver, I’m filled with the sensation of slipping into liquid metal. Heat slides from my belly to between my legs, the cool water not enough to quench the inferno of arousal that I feel at being up close and personal with such a sexy man. Flustered, I drop my gaze, finding my focus on Jonas’s rounded shoulders and pecs, my mouth falling open involuntarily at the manly perfection of his body. His fingers flex tighter at my waist and then suddenly, he’s lifting me until my butt is resting on the side of the pool. “I tell you what, Allie. You go get your bathing suit on, and if you like, you can start asking me all your cock questions. I’m more than happy to go first.”
Jimmy splashes his friend, but Jonas isn’t bothered by an avalanche of pool water. He simply shakes the droplets from his straight, blond hair like a dog emerging from a swim in a lake, and places his hands either side of my thighs, gripping the edge of the pool. “I think I’m going to enjoy answering your questions, Allie.”
“Jonas, man! Leave her alone,” Jimmy says.
I twist my head and find Oliver watching everything with an inscrutable look on his face. He holds out his hand to me and I take it, bringing my feet up and out of the pool and pushing into a standing position. My clothes cling to my body uncomfortably. Without saying a word, he leads me to an area at the side of the pool where there is a set of cupboards. Opening a door, he pulls out a fresh towel, secured in a spa-like roll, and shakes it out, gently wrapping it around my shoulders. “Why don’t you come upstairs and take off those wet clothes?” he says softly, nodding his head in gentle encouragement.
“Okay.” As I breathe in the scent of his expensive cologne, something about his energy makes me want to comply.
Nodding again, he raises his chin and glances at the pool area, then he takes my hand and leads me back into the house.
“Be careful you don’t slip,” Oliver says, “And don’t worry about Jonas.” He releases my hand so he can grab his suitcase.
“Oh, I’m not.” But inside, I’m already riled up at the feeling that these men think this assignment is just one big joke.
You think it’s stupid, too,I remind myself. But that doesn’t make the embarrassment go away that they’re thinking the same.
OLIVER
I watch Allie enter her room at the end of the hallway, her shoulders slightly curled in defeat, and I want to punch Jonas’s lights out. What the hell was he thinking? The poor girl seems overwhelmed, and the last thing she needs is to be wrenched by her ankles into the pool fully clothed.
I open the door next to her room and find it unoccupied. Carefully resting my suitcase on the ledge next to the wardrobe, I unzip it and pull out my swim shorts.
The room I’ve chosen has a beautiful ocean view and is well equipped with a desk so that I can work a little while I’m here. My office doesn't know what I’m doing this week, and I don’t intend on telling them. Sometimes, a man needs a break from his routine, and I’ve been feeling a little dry lately. When I heard about the article that Allie’s magazine was planning to write, I jumped at the opportunity to spend some time away from normality. And it’s going to help me make some big decisions, too.
I slowly unbutton my shirt, shaking my head. Allie seems like a great girl who doesn’t really fit with the role she has. I read a couple of her previous articles last night and her writing is fluid and amusing. I can’t imagine that writing about dicks and sex all the time is what she wants to do with her life, but maybe I’ll be proven wrong. Not that there’s anything wrong with those kinds of articles. Sex ed has an important function. It’s just that Allie doesn't seem excited about what we’re here to do. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s just about nerves and feeling overwhelmed at the number of men she has to interview.
But I have a feeling I’m not. Now I’m in my forties, I like to think I have picked up some instincts about people. The industry I’ve practically grown up in thrives on analyzing people and finding ways to make them want to buy things or believe in the messages we’re pushing.
It’s all about understanding human behavior and exploiting that understanding.
If I had to guess something about Allie, she’d rather be anywhere else than here, writing about anything else but dicks.
The thought she might not relish the task she’s been given makes me press my lips together. Sex talk, like sex, shouldn’t be something entered into unwillingly.
When I’m ready to head poolside, I listen out for the sound of Allie’s door opening, wanting to check she’s okay. As soon as I hear the click of the turning handle, I slowly ease my door open, not wanting to startle her.
Allie has twisted her hair into a sleek style, secured by a large clip, and is wearing a yellow two piece covered by a crochet beach cover up in a bright pink. Her sandals are lime green and her toenails are orange. The colors are garish and clash with each other but somehow, she looks like a designer put her outfit together for a runway show.
“Hey,” I say. “Feeling better?”
“I am but my poor clothes are dripping in the bathtub.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to make Jonas pay.” I add a sinister gravelly edge to my voice to make the threat humorous. “I think there’s going to be some behavior that you might need to forgive.” We begin to make our way down the stairs, and I don’t miss the way Allie’s eyes trail over my chest. Instead of gloating, I try not to show how happy I am.
“Put ten men together and there’s going to be something,” she says softly.
