There he is.

There’s no mistaking a body that could make Poseidon jealous.

Toned muscles ripple down his bare back and built legs as he propels himself through the water.

Is he naked?

Oh, hell, I think he is.

He’s all hard, lean perfection. He’s a human wall with the softest lips that turn me inside out effortlessly.

I’m instantly wet.

Yeah, this might not be the best time to talk. I’m at a scary disadvantage.

Also, if the heat radiating from my face is any indication, I’m redder than a lobster at this distance. How awful will I look if I confront him while he’s in his birthday suit?

My eyes drift to a black patch over his unbreakable butt.

Dark trunks hug his legs, something I didn’t notice at first, which means seeing him fully naked was a wishful hallucination.

Sigh.

Leaning against the window, I try not to enjoy the show, and fail miserably.

At some point, when I’m gnawing my bottom lip and turning into a boneless mess, it slides open from my body’s pressure.

Whoops.

So it’s a door. And I’m falling halfway through it, stumbling a few steps onto a small landing before I realize my mistake.

I exhale sharply.

There goes my excuse to avoid him.

Closing the door behind me like I totally didn’t just fall out of it, I march down the small flight of steps to the pool deck and sit on a lounge chair, watching as he swims like a dolphin.

He doesn’t catch me staring until he comes up for air, raking his thick sandy-brown hair back with his fingers.

My blush burns my cheeks.

“Eliza? Did you want to use the pool?” He swims up to the side where my toes skim the pool.

“Umm—no. I came to talk.”

His eyes gleam, soulful blue fire in the evening light, swirling with questions.

“Thanks for taking Destiny surfing yesterday. She hasn’t enjoyed herself on the beach in a long damn while and now she’s hooked. I hired a lifeguard—”

“You what?” I do a double take.

“Purely to keep an eye on her. Both of you, really, in case anything went wrong. I wasn’t sure if she’d panic,” he admits, his face falling with the worry only a father has for his little girl.

“Thank you,” I offer. “I’m sure I could’ve managed, but it would’ve been nice to know we had back-up.”

“If it happens again, you’ll know.” He pauses, stretching his arms out in the water. His muscle ripples, a powerful canvas of ridges. “You’re a talented woman, and not just with slinging coffee. You helped Destiny let her guard down, and I’m grateful. She hasn’t been swimming for years.”

I feel my willpower bleeding out of me.

Why does he have to be so nice right now?

“I do what I can.” Except pry the answers I need from you. But when he falls back in the water with a huge smile before standing again, my heart beats so hard in my chest I can’t bring myself to care.

“Swim with me.” He grabs my legs.

I kick lightly, but he’s so strong it doesn’t matter.

“No, I don’t have my swimsuit. I thought I’d find you in your office...”

“So you were looking for me? You don’t need your swimsuit here. It’s just us, it’s my pool, and I say sundresses are acceptable attire.” He gently pulls on my legs, inching me to the very edge.

“Cole, don’t. I came to talk. Seriously.”

Too late.

The next thing I know, I’m splashing down in the water with those massive arms holding me up.

Holy hell, I’m glad it cools me down.

He’s so close we’re touching skin to skin. If it weren’t for the water, I’m sure I’d be in flames.

“What did you want to talk about?” His voice is low thunder, calm and serious as ever.

I wanted to talk? Um.

My eyes fall on his lips.

It’s like a shot of espresso to the brain. They’re beautiful and cursed and they feel so amazing.

“Eliza?” he breathes, pushing forward until we’re face-to-face. “What the hell do we need to talk about?”

The way you kissed me, asshat. But I can’t get the words out.

Instead, my face falls forward as he drags me closer.

My lips land on his.

And my big brave plan dies with a whimper, tracing his bottom lip with my tongue.

I start to pull away and apologize, but he’s kissing me back, holding my bottom lip hostage with his teeth.

He pulls—aggressively—leaving no doubt what kind of conversation he wants to have.

Shit.

When his tongue swipes the seam of my lips and pushes into my mouth, I’m in no position to protest.

Lacing one arm around his neck, I put my other hand in his hair, pulling his face closer, closer, but still not close enough.

It’s maddening.

How easily he takes control without even trying.

But when I’m hugging a giant, feeling his big hands push my dress up, and folding my legs around his waist, I’m in no mood to moralize.

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