Four days into that fierce and frustrating regime, he needed a break from computer screens and barking instructions into his phone. He left the office at lunchtime. He needed to refuel, refresh and give his staff a break from his presence. He’d work from home this afternoon. And to be this damn hot? He needed a swim.
He figured he’d be in the clear. She wouldn’t be there at this hour, not when the likelihood of other pool patrons was so high. It was obvious she wanted to be alone to try to swim. But up at the roof he stopped at the door. Because she stood by the edge of the water.
Freaking fate. Sarcastic serendipity. Seems he was paying for some past misdemeanour in the grand old scheme of things, because he was screwed to the rack here and stretched out something painful.
She’d not looked up. Not seen him. He didn’t move. Just watched. He’d never been a voyeur, preferring an all action approach. But he didn’t want to disturb her yet. Plus, he’d gotten hard just from the sight of her and he needed to sort that out. Except he remembered the soft, smooth warmth of her skin, the sexy little sigh as he’d touched her, the passion she’d unleashed when he’d kissed her.
Temptation screamed. Pure want clawed at him, urging him to move closer. How could he not go for that again? Mercurial thoughts whispered—demand cloaked in desire. Maybe what she needed was a quick fling? Some fun to clear the cobwebs? He could so do that for her.
But then she turned slightly so he saw her profile more clearly. Even from this distance he saw the anxiety etched into her frozen features. It killed his lustful edge. Other instincts rose fast and sharp. He stepped nearer the glass, narrowing his gaze to watch her every movement.
Except she wasn’t moving.
She was holding her breath and she wasn’t even in the water. Her hands were fisted at her sides as she stared into the depths. Xander’s lungs ached as he held his breath right along with her. It was a beautiful pool. Warm, clean, soothing. He couldn’t wait to dive right in there. He’d take her in with him if she wanted. But it was pretty clear she didn’t.
His head told him to back away and pretend he hadn’t seen but his body, not listening, pushed forward. He couldn’t walk away. What if she got into trouble? All his training insisted he stay. That he step right out.
Damn it, he couldn’t bloody well resist.
Chelsea turned at the sound of the door to the stairwell opening. Her vision locked on to the guy now walking towards her. No way. He didn’t look ready for a swim, not in those jeans and that damn ancient baby blue tee. She opted to go on the offensive—mainly to mask her own feelings from herself.
“Are you stalking me?” she asked.
He stopped walking, grinning at her from five paces away.
She felt the smile like a flame from the sun—scorching her nerves. How did he do that? “Every time I come to the pool now, you’re here,” she added, more defensively.
His brows lifted and he whipped off his tee-shirt. “Doesn’t that make you the one who’s stalking me?” He dropped the tee onto the nearest deck chair. “I told you I swim every day.”
In the middle of the day? In the middle of the week? She’d never have thought he’d be here at this hour. That was why she was here now. Plus she’d thought trying in broad daylight might help her unease.
He cocked his head to the side. “I’ve never seen you actually wet, though.”
Wet? She wasn’t thinking crude. She refused to think crude. Oh hell. She was thinking just how wet she was. Already. But maybe that wasn’t so bad. One second in his presence and her fear had fled. So had every intention of trying to get in the water.
“I’ll teach you how to swim if you want,” he said, his hands on his belt. “I’m a very good swimmer. I worked as a lifeguard for years.”
“I thought you were a doctor,” she said, startled.
“You’ve been thinking about me?” His smile broadened. Something flashed in his eyes. A glint of satisfaction?
Chelsea clamped her jaw shut.
“Why’d you think that?” he added.
“The other night.” She snapped. She so didn’t want him thinking she’d been trying to dig info on him. Even if she’d wanted to she wouldn’t have known where to start. Brad ‘loose-lips’ Doorman wasn’t a viable option. The whole building would know she’d asked about him. “You helped that old lady.”
“Because I’m a qualified lifeguard. They know I have more than the basic first aid skills.”
Oh, right. Lifeguard huh? Somehow that didn’t that surprise her—he had the ‘rescue hero guy’ routine down pat. “So why did the building guy call you ‘Doc’?”
“Because I have a PhD.”
Chelsea’s jaw dropped.
Hands still at his waist, he stepped closer. “What, you thought I was just a pretty face?”
No, she’d thought he was a doctor and that it had been most unfair of him to be so hot and so smart. PhD was another level up—grossly unfair. “What’s your PhD in?” she asked. Fingers crossed it was some fluffy subject, though as a student she knew there really weren’t any.
“Engineering. I own a security systems firm.”
Oh, of course he did. Built and brainy and successful. No wonder the guy came across so confident. He really was superman.
“But I can definitely help you swim,” he added.
“I know how to swim.”
“Really?” he murmured. “Swim a length for me then, butterfly.” He made ‘butterfly’ sound like an endearment.
But her skin prickled. “I don’t need to prove it to you.”
“No?” He shrugged. “Prove it to yourself.”
Her blood ran colder. Did he know something? He couldn’t know. No one here did. That was the whole point.
“I don’t like an audience,” she fudged.
“I’m not watching.”
“Yes you are.” She challenged him, deliberately changing the subject to something different—though just as dangerous. “You like to watch me.”
He looked at her. Assessing for a moment—like he’d assessed that older woman the other day, as if checking to see if she was coping okay. “All right,” he said. “I do. I like to look at you. I especially like looking at you in your swimsuit.”
She swallowed. She glanced down.
When she looked back up she found he’d moved right beside her—two inches inside her personal space. But she couldn’t step backwards, that’d see her in the pool.
“Before I kiss you again, I need to know your name. My name is Xander Lawson.”
“You’re—” not kissing me again. But the words wouldn’t come. Up this close he was overwhelmingly handsome. That brilliant easy smile, his blue eyes sparkling, his strength and sensuality palpable.
Irresistible.
His smile deepened. “You’re shaking like a little kitty.” He ran his hands down her arms. “You’d better tell me your name.”
“Why?” Oh it was such a croak of a question. Mortifying.
“I can’t hold off kissing you much longer.”
She bit her lip—to stop her smile.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m going to have to tease it out of you?”
She said nothing. Couldn’t. Which was stupid, because it wasn’t that she was scared. In fact she wanted him to go ahead and try it. But she couldn’t manage to tell him that.
“Okay.” His smile broadened. “I won’t kiss you until you tell me. No matter how much you beg.”
That brought her voice back. “I won’t be begging.”
“No?” He smiled. “You like to set a challenge.”
“And you’re arrogant.”
“Only because I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling this between us. Chemistry. Lust. Whatever. It’s there and it’s not lessening any.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
He put a finger on her lips. “The question is, where do you want me to kiss you?”
She stared at him, unable to move, speak or even breathe as heat exploded withi
n her as his words played over and over in her head. And the idea of where? The guy was wicked—sheer sex on legs.
He captured her waist, his big hands heavy and firm just above her hips. “Where? Where? Where?” he murmured. Total tease.
She just kept staring—ridiculously mesmerized as he bent closer and closer. But he bypassed her face, leaning in close to her neck. She felt a hot, wet touch an inch below her ear. An all-out tremor shook her from tip to toe. Her fingers curled into fists at her side as she tried to contain her searing reaction.
“You lose,” she breathed, unable to resist half leaning into his caress. She wanted another.
“Uh, uh,” he denied. “That wasn’t a kiss. That was a lick.” He moved closer still and did it again.
His tongue scorched her skin—circling, tormenting. She angled her head, giving him greater access. And he used it. Teasing down the curve of her neck, to her collarbones and towards her shoulder. Her eyelids lowered, shielding her retinas from the brilliance of the blue sky, forcing her focus to narrow in on that one sense—touch.
She shivered as she felt the sharp nip of his teeth. He’d seemed to awaken some cord that ran from the nerves just below her skin right through to the tension coiling low in her belly. Spiking adrenalin higher. And desire.