Sterling, Athena and I don’t live on the estate grounds with my grandmother and parents. My flat is in the city near the hospital. But there is one additional reason I enjoy coming to brunch at Bumblebridge. I look out the window, towards the rear of the house, and glimpse creamy Italian marble and sparkling aquamarine water.
As my grandmother walks past me towards the door to her private office, I tell her, “I’m going to swim a few laps to clear my head before heading to the hospital.”
She pats my arm.
“Whatever may help, darling.”
Tic-toc
* * *
The swimming pool is my happy place—my meditation altar and my yoga mat. I love the rhythm of the breaststroke, the coordination of the front crawl, the weightless, worriless repetition of each smooth, gliding movement.
Fifty good laps in the rectangular oasis later, I take off my goggles and float on my back into the middle, breathing slow and steady. My arms are out, eyes closed, muscles relaxed and my face tilted like a flower towards the warm summer sun.
After a few moments, I swim over to the ladder and climb out, pulling off my swim cap and shaking out my wavy auburn hair. Just as I’m about to slip on a robe and head into the house to dress, a familiar sound comes from behind.
Kersploosh
I turn and gaze down into the pool—where a fat little frog floats on his belly on top of the water. I kneel down to grab him, but the little bugger kicks away.
And I just can’t leave him, not when I know he’ll be bloated and drowned by morning. The small ones love to jump in, but they can never manage to find their way back out.
I move down the steps into the waist-deep water—and I’m able to scoop him into my hands. “Gotcha!”
Until he jumps right back out again.
Kersploosh
“Hey!” I trot after him. “Come back here, I’m trying to help you!”
After a few minutes of thrashing and splashing, I capture the little ingrate and tell him in no uncertain terms, “You can’t swim in here. It’s not good for you. Can you please not be stubborn about this?”
“I hope you’re not expecting him to answer,” a smooth, deep voice says from behind me.
I whirl around and come face-to-face with the man I’ve tried very hard not to think about for the past two years. For a moment, all the breath rushes from my lungs, because kissing Tommy Sullivan was the most reckless, thrilling thing I’ve ever done. A spontaneous, insane lapse in judgement.
And now he’s here, looking even more handsome than he did then.
Broad-shouldered and tall, with careless hair, and full lips that I already know are strong yet soft—and very, very skilled.
And I’m standing in a pool . . . holding a frog.
Life is odd sometimes.
“Of course not. The frog larynx isn’t sophisticated enough for speech. But I believe any living being can understand your intentions if you lay it out for them.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up, like he’s amused. Then he crouches down and gestures for me to hand the creature over. He holds him in his large hands and looks him sternly in the eyes.
“Stay out of the pool or I’ll stick a firecracker up your arse and blow you into pieces, mate.”
Then he tosses him on the grass.
“A bit violent, don’t you think?” I ask.
“But effective.”
As quick as I can, I get out of the pool and slip on my robe. The terry-cloth barrier makes me feel more confident, a shield against the grazing brown eyes watching my every move.
“I remember you,” I inform him.
“Happy to hear it, I like to make an impression.” He grins. “And I remember you—a woman who’s good with her hands and her tongue is not one I’d soon forget.”
Tommy Sullivan is over six feet tall, and every inch of him is wicked. It emanates from him—in the slouch of his stance, the curl of his lip, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He’s the kind of man who could make a girl forget herself, without even trying.
“What in the world are you doing here?”
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder towards the main house.
“I just met with the Dowager Countess about the security position.”
On occasion, when Father goes to trial against a particularly nasty adversary, temporary personal security is hired for the family as a precaution.
“Aren’t you still on the Prince’s team?”
He shakes his head. “After the fire at The Goat my partner, Logan, and I hung out our own shingle.” He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, like he’s tasting something there. “What about you, Apple Blossom? Are you still at Highgrove working to become a physician?”
“A surgeon,” I correct. “Yes, I am.”
“That’s adorable.”
“Adorable?” I don’t like his tone—it’s condescending. Cocky. I cross my arms and step towards him. “You think studying to become one of the best cardiovascular surgeons in the country is ‘adorable’?”