Page 7 of Stolen Summer

“Next door,” he echoed, his gaze narrowing and roaming over my face again with a different scrutiny.

It made my chin firm as I watched him figure out which house, and I hated the change in his expression. My spine stiffened as it finally hit the edge of the pool, and I shoved hard at his chest, sending him backward through the water long enough for me to hoist my body onto the concrete.

I dashed for the first article of clothing I spotted, not realizing it was his shirt until I had it pulled over my head. Screw it. He owed me a shirt after scaring me half to death. I still wasn’t convinced I was out of danger.

“You’re Adam Quinn’s daughter?” he whispered.

The question stopped me in my tracks. My feet rooted for a second before I turned around and faced him. He easily lifted himself out of the pool, waiting for me to confirm my identity, water dripping off his body.

“How do you know who my father is?” I demanded, my temper getting the best of me. It was quick to ignite these days. Stress had a lot to do with it.

His head angled to the side. “I don’t. Not really. I read about his accident in the paper a few years ago.”

Something about his excuse rubbed me the wrong way, but the truth of it was that everyone in Fallen Oaks heard what happened to my father and that I’d been driving that night.

A fact that four years later still haunted me—still riddled me with guilt. I might not have done anything wrong, not broken any laws, but the person who hit us had never been found. They had never been held accountable for the lives they changed that night. Never been punished. And I so wanted them to pay.

His eyes went over my shoulder to where my house sat slightly lower in elevation than where we were. Shame warmed my skin. I could imagine what he was thinking. Of course, she would break into the beautiful mansion next door if she lived in a house like that.

It made my blood boil. I shouldn’t be embarrassed about where I lived. No one should. To be judged by the amount of money I had or didn’t have gave me the ick.

“Arie, right?” he asked, beads of water trailing over his rippling abs.

I crossed my arms over my chest, his white T-shirt soaking up the water from my skin and offering little coverage wet. It clung to all the wrong places. The hem hit just below my bare ass. “I’m at an unfair advantage seeing as you know my name, but I know nothing about you besides you’re a decent swimmer.”

The prick shot me a sharp smile. “I’m good at a lot of things.”

Annoyed that my few moments of peace had been ruined, I let sarcasm drip from my tone. “I’ll take your word for it.” I started to search for where I’d left my clothes, eager to leave before he made good on his threat and decided to call the cops on me.

“My name’s Cole.”

My eyes flew back to his face. “You’re Cole Riley?” I practically choked on his name.

He spread his arms out like he was God’s gift to women. “In the flesh.”

I intentionally let my gaze drag over him, keeping my expression uninterested, bored even, as if I’d seen plenty of guys who looked a hell of a lot better than Cole Riley. I hadn’t. Not really. One, I rarely dated. And two…he was about as perfect a specimen of a male as you could get. “Huh, I thought you’d be…taller. And less of a douchebag.”

His wet bare feet slapped on the concrete as he stepped toward me, a glint of arrogance in his dark eyes. The gold in them seemed to have dimmed with the setting sun. “But you’ve heard of me.”

I told my lips not to move. The last thing I wanted was to be amused by him, and yet my damn lips twitched. If memory served me right, there were three of them. Cole, Crew, and Brody. I couldn’t remember their ages, but Cole looked around the same age as me. They were all still in college, or they had been last year. “Why are you here?” I asked, getting a whiff of his scent again and wishing he didn’t smell so damn good. Hints of the pool chemicals mixed with the woodsy basil and sea salt.

I might have just found my Kryptonite scent, and nothing pleased me less.

“Because this is my house. I wasn’t lying.”

“You never show up before the Fourth of July.” My mouth moved before my brain had a chance to think about what I said.

A dark brow arched. “Keeping tabs on me, Quinn?”

I didn’t like the way he said my last name or my reaction to it. “A little difficult with my grueling schedule.”

Using both hands, he brushed the hair back off his face, giving me quite the display of biceps. They were both fully covered in ink. One with what looked like a tree with veiny branches wrapping around. The other had a mismatch of tattoos. I’d need a roadmap to tour all the art on his body, but the black feather on his left ribs caught my attention for too long. “Is that why I’ve never seen you around town before?” he asked.

I jerked my eyes off his body, narrowing them as if it was his fault I’d been distracted. “Why, because you remember every girl you meet?”

His gaze gleamed with male appreciation. “When they look like you.”

“I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t. Sorry about the pool. I had a long day, and I couldn’t resist, but it won’t happen again.” I wanted to draw clear, defined lines. We weren’t friendly neighbors. I wouldn’t be waving at him from my porch when I left for work or came home.

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