Page 120 of One Wealthy Wedding

“No, I don’t think I will,” I say. I glance at the clock. Thirty seconds. “Theo, I’m going to collapse when I’m done. Can you hold me up?”

“Of course,” he says, all business.

Thirty seconds passes in drawn-out drips.

“Thank fuck,” I gasp at the end, and Theo’s there, pulling me into his chest and backstroking toward the shallow end. He pauses at the six-foot marker. Over my head but not over his.

I shift in his arms until I’m facing him. He doesn’t let go, just readjusts and lets me twine my leg with his. The tattoo is beautiful. I’ve been dying to see it like this, up close, in the light of day, and I’m not disappointed. There’s depth to the art, even though it’s just black shaded shapes. They twine like smoke, over and under each other, shadows caressing his right pectoral and his round shoulder, tasting his neck.

He kicks in the water, and I clench my hands around his arms. “Stop squirming. I’ve got you,” he says. I relax and float, closing my eyes and tipping my face up to the weak spring sun.

“What was all that?” he asks. His voice rumbles through me.

“It was on the list.”

“You’re supposed to be doing the list with me.”

“There’s nothing in the rules that says I can’t do things on my own.”

“I don’t want you doing dangerous shit without me there.”

My eyes fly open and meet his green gaze. He’s serious.

“This wasn’t dangerous.”

“Maybe not. But you shouldn’t swim alone. Not when you’re learning.”

“Don’t be silly.” I poke at his chest. “I wasn’t in danger.”

“Humor me,” he says darkly.

“You were scared.” I search his face. “Did you actually think I was going to drown?”

His jaw clenches. “It crossed my mind.”

“So you jumped in to save me? Aw, Theo. You really care about your fake wife.” His hand clenches on my waist. He looks pissed at my teasing, and I don’t know why.

“And why wouldn’t I care about you? We’re friends.”

No one else has, my eyes say.

His lips press flat. “People are allowed to care about you, you know. Just because we didn’t speak for years doesn’t mean I want you to drown.”

My heart does a funny little skip at his words, and the way he’s looking at me, like he sees through all my walls and into my center. Even annoyed, he’s incredibly handsome. Thick lashes and arched brows and those cut cheekbones. I want to lose myself in the strength and heat of him and the way he makes me feel like he’ll never falter. I want to savor this, just for a minute. I run my fingers over the tattoo, following it from his neck, down his chest, to his taut stomach. He lets me explore until I get to his armpit.

“None of that, or I’ll let you drown.” He captures my hand and presses it flat to his stomach. Slick ridges of muscle meet my fingers. I want to explore more. I want to let my hand drift down and feel every inch of where he’s firm and I’m not. My fingers dip to the slab of muscle at his side.

“None of that, or we’ll both drown,” he says, his voice low. My nails scrape his stomach muscles, and they jump under his skin.

“You’ve never done this in the water before?” I tip my head up to his, imagining that yes, he’s done this a hundred times. He’s deflowered virgins in this pool, like some salt-slicked god.

“No.” He brushes a thumb under my jaw. “Well, once I had the best kiss of my life in the water.”

“The best? Who was she?” I hate the way jealousy makes my words sharp. He must be referring to that girl he left me for. Even though he was never mine to begin with.

“Really, Cat?” He’s speaking the words over my lips. “Really?”

“Oh,” I whisper.

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