Page 67 of For Wrath and Redemption
I breathe slowly and shrug. My boxer briefs won’t hide an erection.
“I said it’s been a while since I’ve swum.” I push up from the chair and cross the pool deck until she’s within arm’s reach. “Why would I pack a swimsuit if I never go near a pool?”
She shakes her head, then slaps a bottle of sunscreen on my chest.
“Put this on. You don’t want to burn.”
“You want to do it for me?”
She tilts her head up and smiles sweetly, my smirk reflected in her mirrored sunglasses. I know what she’ll say before she says it. I still wait for her answer.
“You’re a big boy. Do it yourself.”
I laugh and do as she says. She’s right. I don’t want to burn. There’s nothing sexy about a rock star who looks like a lobster. When I’m finished, I toss the sunscreen onto one of the chairs and walk to Claire. She’s laid a towel out on a lounge chair, along with a couple bottles of water and an e-reader. No laptop.
“Together?” I nod toward the pool. “One, two, three, jump?”
She laughs, making my chest tighten. “That’s juvenile.”
“One...” I say slowly, walking toward her.
She shakes her head. “Don’t you dare.”
I don’t miss the laugh in her voice. I don’t miss how she’s failing to hide her smile.
“...Two...”
A giggle bubbles out of her, and she throws her hands up between us. I don’t stop prowling toward her.
“I swear to God, Jonah Hendrix, I will murder you.”
My smile stretches wide. I like when she’s sassy and playful. I’ll take any threat she throws at me if she says them in that tone, with that smile.
When she tries to back away from me, I snatch her by the waist and lift her bridal-style into my arms as she shrieks.
“Three, jump!”
Her arms tighten around me, and she buries her face in my neck just as we hit the water. She doesn’t let go as we submerge and sink to the bottom. She holds on as I kick us back to the surface. She stays wrapped around me, even as we break through the water and gasp for breath.
“Asshole,” she pants out. “You’re such a dick.”
She finally releases me and swims to the other side of the pool, but I can’t take my eyes off her. The water sluicing down her cheeks and chin. Glistening on her neck. I’m hard in an instant.
“Shit, I lost my sunglasses.”
Her voice is only half-irritated, but I dive to the bottom and get her sunglasses for her anyway.
“Here,” I say, tossing them to her.
She barely catches them but slips them back on her face and then purses her lips at me.
“You’re not going to drown. You’re a good swimmer. You lured me up here on false pretenses.”
Slowly, I swim toward her. “Are you mad at me again?”
“I’m always mad at you.”
I don’t know why that makes me happy, but it does. It might have something to do with her teasing tone of voice or the tiny smirk playing at her lips. If she’s mad at me, she’s still feeling something. She’s thinking of me. Anger is better than apathy.
