I was too busy staring at Roman’s arms, at the muscles in his back and legs, at the way he slid gracefully through the water like he’d been born to swim.
He reached the far side and paused. Before he kicked off, he noticed me standing there on the edge, watching.
A smile bloomed across his lips. It shouldn’t have sent my heart into a tailspin.
But it did.
He swam over toward me lazily, floating on his back, then treaded water a few feet away.
“You came down.”
“Roza didn’t give me much choice.”
“She can be dramatic sometimes.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
Another, smaller smile. “Are you enjoying your stay so far?”
“I’m not sure how I feel right now, if I’m honest. I’m still trying to process.”
“Come swim with me. That’ll help you think.”
I hesitated, looked away.
Getting in there, with him, definitely wouldn’t help me think.
I could barely keep it together as it was, looking down at his bare arms, his wet hair, his frosty eyes.
Get in the pool, he’ll like that.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
He pointed toward the far corner. A screen was set up, blocking off a portion of the room. “I brought something for you and I thought you might like privacy.”
“You got me a bathing suit?”
He looked at me like, of course he did, because of course he did, then began to swim again. That perfect, smooth, measured stroke, muscular arms slicing through the water, legs kicking in an even rhythm.
I wandered over toward the screen. It was old and covered in a stitched mountain motif. I wondered how much it cost.
I wondered if I could sit on a bench and watch him swim.
But I stepped behind and found a single stool with a bikini set on top.
Deep, ruby red. I picked it up, held it against my chest.
Small, but not overly revealing.
The bottoms were standard—not too cheeky and high waisted.
I hadn’t worn a two-piece in years, not since the incident, but the bottoms looked like they’d reach up over my scar.
He could’ve gotten me something ridiculous. Instead, this was surprisingly tasteful.
Smart man.
Otherwise, I never would’ve considered it.
I stripped off my clothes, put on the top. It fit me shockingly well. I wished I had a mirror, but had to trust that I was put together enough to be presentable. I got the bottoms on then paused. I tugged them up and made sure they’d cover my scar with plenty of room. It’d been so long since I wore anything that wasn’t a very conservative one-piece. Winter was constantly berating me for it, kept saying that I had an amazing body and should show it off more.
She could be right, but the thought of people seeing my scar—it made my hands shake with anxiety.
I heard him still swimming out there, that steady tide like a metronome.
What was I thinking? I didn’t know why I wanted to get in a pool with him. Maybe it would feel good to swim. Maybe he was right and it might help clear my head.
Or maybe I wanted him to see me in nothing but a little red bikini.
I stepped out from behind the screen, my cheeks probably the same shade as the bathing suit top. He reached the near wall again and stopped.
And stared.
My cheeks were an eight, at least.
He looked at me like I was a revelation. I wanted to get back behind the screen and throw my clothes back on.
I wanted to wrap my arms around my chest and cover my breasts, or down to cover the scar across my belly, but I knew at least that was covered by the bottoms.
I couldn’t stay there and let him look at me. It was too much, too overwhelming. His gaze was a spotlight and I was a criminal caught breaking into a bank. He wanted to ravish me, to peel beneath my exterior and tunnel in as deep as he could, and there was a wild, reckless part that invited it.
That wanted him to break me.
I jumped into the pool.
It wasn’t graceful, but I went right under and got my hair wet. Might as well get it over with.
When I came back up, he was still watching.
“I’m surprised. I didn’t expect you to get in.”
“I’m a very spontaneous person.” Which wasn’t true at all.
“I bet you are.” He drifted over toward me. The pool was warm, comfortable. I tread water with ease. “Are you a strong swimmer?”
“I’m okay. Not great.”
He circled to my left like a hungry shark. I let him go all the way around, trying to keep him in view the whole time.
“My father taught me. He said swimming could make a man strong. When I was little, he took me and my brother down to a lake behind our summer house and made us swim to the far side and back every morning at sunrise. He’d row a kayak alongside and shout encouragement and warnings, and when it was over, we’d lay on the beach and let the sun dry us until it was time to eat.”