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Jude owed me two cases of wine. And I was never doing another property management favor for him. Ever.
“Shit!” Only thigh deep and the water was freezing. The thing had drifted a few inches to the other side of the drain. Dead or alive... what was worse?
A combination of heebie-jeebies and goosebumps pebbled my skin. I opened and closed the tongs a few times, testing the grip. The click-clack sounded reassuring. Thank God I didn’t have to touch the thing with my bare hands. It was bad enough to be in the same pool with it. Another wave of creepiness washed over me, and I shuddered.
Fuck my life.
I’m a real estate agent. I sell houses. Maybe not a ton of houses, and maybe not the most expensive ones in the Hill Country. But that was changing. After Vacation Dream Homes aired, my career would ascend to the next level. I’d be beating new clients off with a stick. So Jude could take his property management tasks and shove them where the sun didn’t shine.
But until my career catapulted into the stratosphere, there was a drowned varmint to remove from this fancy-ass swimming pool. I sucked in a deep breath and dove under. The cold water squeezed the air from my lungs, and I came up sputtering.
Cold. Oh, so cold.
Breathless, I dog-paddled to the middle of the pool and looked down past my generous boobs and bare feet. The thing swayed in the current. I increased my estimate to ninety-nine percent sure it was dead. Teeth chattering, I held my breath and dove.
Eyes open, I saw the blurry mass at the bottom and clamped it with the tongs. It was squishy. Oh, Lord, save me, so squishy. I screwed my eyes closed for a second until the revulsion passed. Then I kicked toward the surface.
Make it three cases of wine. One red. One white. One pink.
I broke the water’s surface, my disgusting, furry prize held aloft. Water ran off the rat’s limp body and down my arm. Thank the Lord for chlorine. In the shallow end of the pool, I shoved the body into the plastic bag with little fanfare.
I bet that TV real estate lady Barbara Corcoran never had to do this kind of stuff.
My wet hair hung in long skeins over my face, water sluicing off in every direction as I started up the stairs. My bagged trophy dangled from one hand. I tossed back my hair to clear my vision and my heart stopped.
Man!
I reacted on instinct, chucking the bag at his head. It pegged him mid-chest like a water balloon and splatted to the ground at his feet. I covered my boobs and fell back into the water with a splash and a scream. My heart racing, I considered my shitty choices as I sank beneath the icy water.
The logical but humiliating answer to the question of the man’s identity was simple—the renter arrived early. Forget the cases of wine and the bar tab. No way would I tell Jude or anyone about this disaster. I could imagine the gossips around town laughing.Remember the client who saw Cami naked? Years of humiliation.
Lungs starved for air, I swam to the side and resurfaced. Keeping my boobs below the edge of the pool, I crossed my arms on the side and rested my chin on top. Of course, the client had to be attractive. Thick chocolate brown hair with just a bare hint of gray at the temples framed a handsome face with a strong jawline. And from my place down in the pool, he looked tall—at least six foot something. Why couldn’t it have been a woman? I had a fifty-fifty chance.
He struggled to keep from laughing as he poked the dead rat with his expensive designer loafer. The total package reminded me of a TV soap opera heartthrob. Polished and sexy. The perfect hint of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes to make you think he knew things.
Yeah, those kinds of things.
“Is that how all Texans say hello? Or only in Elmer?” The smirk in his voice and the twist to his lips had my face heating with embarrassment and the rest of me turning to hot melted butter. He had laugh lines. Damn, I loved those.
“You’re early.” I felt defensive, and my words sounded like an accusation.
“You’re naked.” He didn’t even glance at his big gaudy watch or look guilty. No, his eyes were glued on me. “Should I leave you to your swim?”
“I’m not swimming... well, I am, but the net was missing, and there was a dead thing. And—“ I sounded like an idiot. I bit my lips to stop the flow of word vomit. In all my forty-two years, there hadn’t been a life experience to prepare me for this, so I was floundering.
“I see.” He toed the wet rat carcass back into the bag. The soaking wet shirt clung rather alluringly to his well-defined pecs.
“At Beautiful Hills, we’re a full-service company.” And now I sounded like a hooker. Please, someone shoot me and put me out of my misery. One attractive man close to my age in a near-transparent white shirt, and I lose my common sense. The already charged air seemed to crackle, my ill-advised words adding to the tension.
He raised one eyebrow. Something dark and delicious flared in the depths of his eyes, and it made my freezing-cold nipples tingle. I sank deeper into the water, hoping it would cool my libido before I did something inadvisable.
It had been longer than I’d like to think about since I last got laid, but I was a grown woman and had self-control.
A chorus of angels interrupted my thoughts, singing hallelujah in my head, when I noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I kindly asked them to shut up so I could think.
“How full service?” He dragged his thumb over his lower lip, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his mouth.
Oh, holy hell, that was an invitation to sin. And he had lips made for it. They were sculpted and full without being fleshy. Lips made for long, slow, deep kisses. I imagined him devouring my mouth as I grabbed fistfuls of his hair. If I was blushing before, now I glowed like a neon sign thanks to the vivid image.
