Page 45 of Inarticulate

“Oh, no. I’m not getting in there with you.” He had no concept of what it took to be careful—not when it came to this connection between them, and definitely not where hypothermia was concerned. “You can’t be serious.”

The bulge pressing against the crotch of his boxer briefs announced that he, in fact, was dead serious. He padded barefoot to the far end of the pool and bent over, preparing to dive. Back and forth he swayed his arms, giving her a self-satisfied look that made her want to shake him and fuck him at the same time.

Then he was moving, gliding through the air, penetrating the fog and plunging deep. He swam underwater, effortlessly progressing until he reached the opposite end of the pool and broke the surface.

Liquid shone on his skin, the droplets falling from his hair and down the muscles of his back. He glanced over his shoulder and jerked his chin for her to come forward.

“Nope.” She couldn’t be eloquent at a time like this. Not that she ever was. But with a Greek god on display, his body ripe for her touch and her teeth, she couldn’t even form a string of syllables.

He dived to his left, swam toward her side of the pool, and gripped the edge in one hand. He worked her with that sneaky smirk, commanding all her nerves to heightened sensitivity before crooking a finger at her.

“No. I’ll watch.” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her hands inside the jacket to keep warm. “We only have an hour. I plan on using my time wisely.” For example, memorizing every inch of his profound body while it was at her visual mercy.

He frowned. “Not one,” he mouthed. His hand breached the water’s surface and he flashed his fingers once, twice, then held up three on their own.

“We’ve got thirteen hours?”

He didn’t answer in movement. Only the gleam in his eyes announced they had more than brief minutes at their disposal. They had an entire night. In the penthouse. In their own private pool.

“Nope. I’m still not getting in there.”

He splashed her, the wave of water penetrating her shoes and pants.

She squealed and jumped back. “It’s freezing out!”

He shot her a look that spoke of undeniable heat. A look so captivating it made her forget it was ten-thousand degrees below the desired temperature to be swimming. She eyed her surroundings in apprehension. The balcony was bathed in darkness, the pool lights were dim, but the penthouse was a backdrop of illumination. She wondered if the few neighboring skyscrapers would be a platform for their peepshow. The distant buildings could house a plethora of voyeurs.

She turned back to him, immediately pinned by the weight of his stare. There shouldn’t be any question that this was a bad idea. She was professional, mature, and independent. Yet all those attributes died under the weight of his grin.

He was unbelievable. Undeniable.

“You know you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?”

The curve of his lips increased.

“Smug bastard,” she murmured under her breath and toed off her shoes. There was no conclusion to this night that wouldn’t end in a runny nose and shattering chest cough. And still she continued to undress, albeit faster and with less seduction than Keenan had. She threw off her jacket, ditched her long-sleeve top, shucked her jeans, and yanked off her socks.

The tile was ice beneath her feet. The air around them cold enough to freeze Santa’s balls. She tiptoed to the pool stairs, dipped her foot into the water, and was surprised by the warmth heating her tiny toes.

Keenan approached her in the shallow end, his strokes effortless, his muscles taut. He stood to his full height, his chest exposed to the elements as she descended to the first step.

“We’re going to catch pneumonia when we get out.”

He laughed silently and lunged for her. His wet arms sailed around her waist to lift her off her feet. She squealed as he dragged her against his chest and into neck-high water.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” Her teeth chattered even though she wasn’t cold. It was his hold that made her shiver. His touch that confused her senses.

His mouth took over hers as they glided through the warmth. She circled his waist with her legs, his neck with her arms, entwining them as one. There was no need for air, only more of him. She held him tight, tighter than she’d ever held any man before, and tried to kiss the desire out of her system. Each stroke of tongues inspired more need, each clink of teeth made her fingers clench for more. There was no end in sight. No relief within her grasp.

He held her as if his life depended on it. One arm was around her waist, strong and protective. The other curled around her back, along her spine so his fingers mingled with her hair. The hard length of his erection nudged her pubic bone and she pulled back to clear her head. They couldn’t have sex here. Not in plain sight. Not when they were illuminated by the underwater lights.

“We need to stop.”

She nuzzled her cheek against his, letting the rough stubble scratch her skin. She kissed the side of his jaw, his earlobe, his neck. She wanted to kiss him everywhere, and would’ve if she wasn’t desperately clinging to the last vestiges of her control.

The first time they met was intriguing. The night of the bonfire was thrilling. When they slept together, he’d won over her body. But tonight she worried he was winning over her heart. Worse, she feared he’d see it if she looked into his eyes. There was no way her feelings weren’t written all over her face.

She released her arms from his neck, her legs from his waist, and leaned backward, swimming away. He stalked her with his eyes, watching her swim as if his focus was glued to her with an invisible string. He didn’t come after her, which made it worse. There was no rejection, only a slowly building determination.

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