Page 9 of Scarlett and the Big Bad Billionaire
“Scared?” she grinned.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t have a swimsuit with me.”
“Neither do I.” she said, as if I might not have noticed she was topless. “I bought a new one for this trip. Too bad no one’s gonna see it—it’s a little much for the Y pool back at home. I got a spray tan too—and did body-pump classesfive days a week… all for nothing.”
She pushed off from the side of the pool, floating backward with a despondent expression.
“It wasn’t for nothing. You look great,” I assured her, and it was true. The girl was smokin’.
I wasn’t sure if she heard me before going under. When she didn’t immediately resurface, I stood and walked to the edge of the pool. She was swimming beneath the water toward the deep end.
She hadn’t been lying—she actually was a good swimmer, and she could hold her breath a long time. Still, I was nervous. Even sober people could drown, and she was far from sober.
I was going to have to go in.
Great.
Keeping my shorts on, I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it onto a lounge chair. I dove beneath the surface of the clear pool and swam hard from one side to the other, reaching her as she was on her way to the top for a breath.
When I resurfaced, Red was treading water. The gentle current she was creating caused the water to lap at her upper chest. She looked amazing.
She also looked pissed.
“You’re a SEAL, aren’t you?”
CHAPTERTHREE
HONEYMOON SUITE
Gray
The question sounded so accusatory and so certain it caught me off guard.
I pretended ignorance. “You mean like a marine mammal? I guess I’m a pretty good swimmer if that’s what you’re saying.”
“Youknowwhat I mean. You’re an operator. You’re on the teams. Look at those tattoos… those… muscles.”
Now I had to smile. Her face was pure disdain, and her tone, which was meant to be threatening, seemed so incongruous coming from someone who stood barely five-three and sported turquoise toenails with shells painted on them.
“Oh…” I pretended to just get it. “You mean a Navy SEAL. Nah, just a good swimmer who likes to work out. Thanks, though.”
She smirked in disbelief.
“Would it be so terrible if I was? I mean, some people think SEALs are brave and heroic—and hot.”
“They are,” she said. “It’s just… my dad was a SEAL.”
“No kidding? That’s awesome.”
“No, it’s not.” She turned and swam away from me, going to hang from the side.
I followed, gripping the lip of the pool surround and floating beside her. “Did he die on a mission?” I asked softly.
“No. But he was broken when he left the program. His body was a mess—his head was even worse. He wasn’t able to handle coming back to mundane family life. He left us when I was eight and died a couple years later.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said honestly. “It can be a grueling job—so I hear. I mean, that’s what I read.”
Keeping up the pretense was starting to feel shitty, but what else could I do? The rescue mission in Syria had made international news. Revealing myself and my teammates while we were still so close to the location of the operation was not only forbidden it would be stupid.
