Page 38 of Sleeping with Her Enemy (49th Floor 2)

“Ahh!” she laughingly shrieked as she pulled up beside him and tried to slow to a stop. But she had too much momentum going.

“Fall away from the board!” he yelled, just before she hit the water. She had assured him she could swim and had eschewed the life jacket he offered.

Clearly, she should have worn one. Adrenaline spiked through him, and he hit the water, too. With Kat—the only other person he ever paddleboarded with—he knew she could swim because he’d suffered through years of lessons with her.

“Amy!” he shouted when she didn’t surface right away, panic clawing at him.

“That was awesome!”

Okay, so he’d overreacted. She’d just swum a few lengths underwater, and there she was bobbing in the lake, grinning. He assessed her stroke as she swam back to him and the boards. Yep, she was a capable swimmer. Good to know for next time.

Next time. Was he assuming they would do this again? He filed that question away and steadied her board as she threw her arms over it. He did the same with his, and they bobbed in the water for a few moments.

“That was maybe more fun than the actual paddleboarding!” She closed her eyes and tilted her head up to the sky. “I can’t believe I’ve never been in this lake before!” Before he could answer, she pressed her hand against her forehead. “Hey! I lost my sunglasses!”

“Oh, crap,” he said, looking around, though he knew it was fruitless. “I’ll replace them.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “They were ugly anyway.”

“They weren’t ugly.”

She cocked her head at him. “Mason hated them.”

“Well, it’s a well-established fact by now that Mason is an idiot, is it not?”

She grinned. “I have a thing for crazy sunglasses. The weirder, the better. Mason said it was juvenile.”

An image of her wearing her strawberry perfume and those red glasses—and, let’s be honest, not much else—popped into his head unbidden. “A giant, fucking idiot,” he said, half expecting her object or at least to roll her eyes at him.

Instead she just shot him another grin. “Okay, if you fall off the proverbial horse…” Nodding, he held her board while she climbed back up. With the sun glinting off her wet skin, she looked like a sea goddess. It was getting harder—in more ways than one—to be around her. Maybe they should give the casual fling one more try.

“You know,” she said, as she tested her balance and stuck her oar into the water. “This is the most fun I’ve had since…forever.” She shot him a beatific smile. “You were right. I didn’t even realize how badly I needed friends that had nothing to do with couplehood.”

“Mmm.” Well, he’d made that particular bed, hadn’t he? Suppressing a groan, he hoisted himself back up on his board. “What do you say we turn back and get some lunch?”

“Yes! I’m starving.” She licked her lips.

He was well and truly fucked.

“That was way harder than it looks,” Amy said as they set out for home after burgers at the Island Café.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of core work required to keep yourself upright in the water,” he answered, handing her one of the mini blueberry tarts he’d snagged to go.

“I can see how it would be almost…meditative once you got good at it. If you went by yourself, I mean.” She shot him a glance. “Not that the company today wasn’t top-notch.”

“Come by anytime and borrow my board. I’ll stay out of your hair.”

She did a funny fist-pump as they turned onto his street. “I love it! A little more than a week ago, I only knew about your”—she whipped out the air quotes—“‘public-facing house.’ Now I’ve totally penetrated the inner sanctum!” She took a bite of the tart. “Oh my God, this is so good.”

Two things happened then. First, Amy moaned. They were good tarts, but Jesus. He wanted to tell her to do whatever was the audio equivalent of keeping it in her pants, but he feared that would puncture the pleasant détente they seemed to have achieved.

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