Playboy Prince

"I want to see you dripping wet."

She raises a brow, daring me to expand.

I don't have it in me. I'm too fucking tired. If she kisses me, I'm kissing back. I'm not doing the smart thing and stopping her.

I'm not stopping until I'm completely spent.

"You'll tell me what Preston said?" she asks.

"I promised." I take another sip of my martini. It's enough to make my head spin.

Briar gives me a long once-over, then she turns and dives into the pool.

She does it with grace. The practice of a girl who grew up with Southern California summers.

She was on the swim team when she was a kid. She quit in high school. She didn't want to get up early.

I played water polo and swam competitively until I hit college.

I finish my drink, set hers on the edge of the pool, dive in after her.

Cool water surrounds me. That familiar feeling. Safe and dangerous. Warm and cold. Enclosed and free.

I surface. Take a deep breath.

"You're still pretty good." She swims to the edge. Looks to my empty glass.

"You too."

"I know." She turns to me. "What happened?"

"Preston."

She motions go on.

"He really likes you, that's all."

"And that upsets you?"

Fuck, how can I explain it without betraying his secret? "He said he hopes we get married soon. So he can walk us down the aisle."

"Why soon?"

Shit. I'm too tired. I'm not bringing my A game. "'Cause he's moving to London. Remember?"

She doesn't buy it.

"'Cause Simon is gonna kill me this weekend, when he has to watch his high school crush make out with her date. So, we better get to the courthouse by Friday."

"He won't."

"You sure about that?"

"He might kill you, but it won't be for that."

"No?"

"No." She moves closer. "He plays fair."

"You sure about that?"

"He'll only kill you if you've earned it."

"I've definitely earned it."

"Twenty-seven years of torturing him? Yeah. You're screwed." She moves closer. Close enough, her fingers brush my chest. "Would you let him walk you down the aisle?"

"Are you proposing?"

"Hypothetically."

"Who else will do it?"

"Trish." She mentions our housekeeper.

"Both of them maybe." Trish was like a mom to me.

"I always thought… well, I never thought you'd get married, but if you did, I figured Simon would be the one."

"Simon would walk me down the aisle?"

"He is your older brother."

"Thank fuck I'm not getting married."

"Ever?"

"You know me."

"You appreciate your freedom, yeah." She smiles. "But then Preston was right too. You do things a hundred percent. One day, you'll meet someone, fall in love, marry her the next day."

"Maybe."

"How do you think it will go?"

"My wedding?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"It won't," I say. "I'd have to meet someone like you."

"With purple hair and a cliché tattoo?"

"The hair, I'm negotiable, but the cliché tattoo, absolutely."

"You two could get love conquers all together." She smiles softly. "Right here." She draws a line just above her bikini bottoms.

"Perfect."

"Then…"

"Someone who gets me."

"I get you?" she asks.

"You don't ask me to be someone else."

"Isn't that love?"

"Are you really asking me?"

"It's not like I know."

"Better than me."

Her eyes fix on mine. All that curiosity and need. She wants to know me. Every part of me.

It's terrifying.

And exhilarating.

I have to be careful. I can't give this away. "I thought you loved John."

"I did. But not the way I wanted to love my husband," she says. "Not enough to spend my life with him or give up my freedom for him."

"It's not just about getting laid."

"I didn't say it was."

Right. I'm defensive. Tired. Stupid.

She smells so fucking good. Like chlorine and Briar.

I bet she tastes like it too.

I bet she tastes divine.

"Is that why you're upset? Because you don't want to get married?" she asks.

It's a good excuse, but I can't sell it. "No."

"Then what was it he said?" She rests her back against the wall. Looks to the clear blue sky. "Was it about Bash?"

"What?" Why the fuck is she talking about Bash?

"He was asking me. Or maybe I was asking him. About how you handled it. About losing people. I guess he's in a contemplative mood, seeing his son get married."

That's a part of it, sure, but it's not enough.

I have to talk to him. Tell him to keep his mouth shut if he wants to keep his secret close.

"You never talk about him," she says. "Your brother."

"What's there to say?"

"I don't know. I haven't lost anyone. Not like that." Under the water, her hand finds mine. "Do you remember the last time we were here?"

Of course. "Remind me."

"It was August, I think. July maybe. Hotter than this. You were in a three-piece suit. I was in this cheap polyester blouse. It was thin, but it trapped all the heat."

"That sheer black one?"

"You remember?"

"I could see your bra."

"I was wearing a camisole under it."

"All right, I could see your camisole."

She smiles. "You dared me to jump into the pool. Then you took off your watch and your shoes, took your cell phone out of your slacks, and you did it. You dove into the pool in a, what, five-thousand-dollar suit?"