I’m already unbuttoning my shirt and easing it from my body. A swim. That’s what I need. An all-out lung-burning swim and then I’ll collapse into bed, grateful for the rest.
But as I near I hear the water sloshing and the definite sound of someone swimming.
I check my watch. One in the morning. Who on...?
I break free of the trees and the question no longer exists. My entire head is empty.
There’s a woman. In the water. Naked.
Make that a siren, graceful and serene as she glides with ease through the water, and I’m held hostage. I can’t move, I can’t speak. I blink, though. Blink to make sure what I’m seeing is real. Blink to try to clear my mind and tell myself that this is wrong, that I should turn away, announce my presence, anything but watch. Hooked. Mute. Hard.
I swallow.
Cazzo.
CHAPTER TWO
WHAT A GREAT DECISION! I feel so free and relaxed—liberated, even—as I move through the water. The persistent fog in my brain lifts enough to make me realise just how busy I’ve been for so long, how I’ve distracted myself with work to avoid the bad—to avoid dwelling on Mum’s death, my break-up and the things I can’t control.
I used to love swimming. It was a daily ritual—a few lengths of the leisure centre when I was younger and at the gym when I was older. But in recent years running has taken over. It’s quick, effective and suits my heavy work schedule. For the next seven days, work is parked, though, and I get to do this.
And it’s all the more thrilling for being naked.
The rush against my skin, my nipples, between my legs... Skinny-dipping isn’t something I’ve done before and now I’m wondering why.
Er...maybe because you don’t frequent nudist camps?
I laugh inside, not wanting to stop. But I know I have to. Yes, the house is asleep. Yes, the grounds are empty. But the longer I’m here the more risk I run. And I need to be up bright and early for day one of wedding fun.
I slow my stroke, preparing to get out at the end of this length, but something snags my attention, some movement off in the darkness. My kick falters as my heart lurches into my throat. What the...?
I squint in the direction of the sound, but I can see nothing. It’s all blackness and shadow beyond the pool lights.
I must have imagined it. But...
Adrenaline pulses through my system, the hairs at my nape prickling against the water. I don’t feel like I’ve imagined it.
Time to leave. I hurry to the edge and push myself up. The water rushes over my sensitised skin as the goose bumps spread and I clamber up.
‘Holy mother of crap!’ The words rush out of me as I both straighten and fold in on myself at once.
There’s a man emerging from the shadowed path.
A half-naked man staring straight at me.
And, I mean, straight at me. His dark eyes glint as the light from the pool dances over his chest...his very toned and very rigid six—no, make that eight-pack. Oh my. I lift my gaze higher, to his face, to his shadowed jaw, chiselled cheekbones, straight nose. And those eyes... Those eyes...
I swallow. I have an arm over my breasts and one over my very naked nether region. What the actual crap do I do?
Heat flushes my cheeks, the burn offsetting any hint of the cold air as it teases the water droplets forming over my entire length. For one delirious second, I think I’ve conjured him up like some sex-starved fantasy because, fuck me, is he hot!
Like, Italian god, golden-skinned, dark-haired hot.
‘I’m sorry.’ The god suddenly comes alive, his English heavily accented and definitely dream-worthy. His eyes dart around the pool edge as his pec muscles ripple and he clutches what looks to be his shirt to his own nether region that is very much clothed. ‘Don’t you have a towel?’
‘No,’ I squeak. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I start sidestepping to the right, to where my robe and cami set await on the cabana bed, and he mirrors my movement in just as awkward a fashion. I’m torn between laughing and dying of shame.
No one has seen me naked since Bobby, and even then I don’t remember a fire in his gaze as scorching as that of Mr Italian Stranger.
Even if he does look as alarmed as I do.
‘I’m sorry, this is so awkward,’ I mumble. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Mind?’ He frowns at me and then his brows swiftly lift, eyes widening with understanding, and I swear that even in the low light I see his cheeks flush before he spins to look the other way. His rear is almost as appealing as his front: broad shoulders, tapered waist, a great, pert behind encased in beige chinos. Yum.
‘Apologies.’
His gruff voice has me snapping my eyes back up and remembering what I’m supposed to be doing. But the warmth in his tone, the rasp in the blurted apology, has me smiling and totally at ease.
I take up my robe and pull it on, struggling as the fabric clings to my wet skin, but eventually I have it tied around me. I know it doesn’t cover half as much as the additional cami and shorts would, but I’d struggle even more to get them over my wet skin, and there’s no way I can pull them on quickly enough to get this encounter over and done with.
‘You can look.’
He turns, his fingers raking through his thick, dark hair, his eyes on the floor, and then they lift and trail upwards...from my feet to my calves to my semi-concealed thighs and further still. Boy, do my nipples prickle as his eyes graze over them before finally connecting with mine. I sweep a
