“You’ve got it,” he shouts out while I concentrate on my movements. He’s right. It’s a lot like riding a bike. And I’m good at that with my strong arms and legs.
We continue to tread water for another five minutes until I grow a little short of breath. He resumes a horizontal position, but this time on his back.
“Baby, hold on to my legs and just kick. I’m going to give you a ride back to the shallow end.”
For a brief moment, I’m stunned and my heart skips a beat. Did he just call me baby? It probably just slipped out of his mouth and is what he calls a lot of chicks he knows. Very Hollywood, though this is a first. I let it go and grab his ankles. As I kick behind him, he hauls me across the pool with a powerful backstroke—me loving every minute—until we’re both standing in the three-foot deep shallow end at the edge of the pool. He rises from the water like a god. Water drips from every part of him and his sculpted muscles glisten in the sun.
“Turn around,” he commands. His voice is authoritative.
Again, I do as asked. In a heartbeat, I feel his hard body pressing against mine. He captures both my wrists in his hands and begins to circle my arms, one after the other.
“Keep your fingers together and cut the water with them.”
I follow his directions, but he reprimands me. “No, Zoey. Don’t slap the water. Slice it and keep the splashes small.”
“Okay,” I murmur, a little crestfallen that I’m not quite getting it. Finally, after about thirty muscle-exhausting rotations, I have it down. My arms are killing me.
“I’m a little tired,” I plead, craning my neck. “Maybe we can pick up where we’ve left off tomorrow.”
He looks at me sternly. “No. You’re not leaving this pool until you know how to swim. End of discussion.”
I hate when he says “end of discussion.” There’s no twisting the egomaniac’s arm. He wants what he wants and always gets his way.
We move on to the next part of the lesson. He makes me hold on to the edge of the pool along side him and mimic the way he’s kicking. It’s all in the ankles—a small flutter kick. Again, he tells me it’s not a splash party. I do well. So, we move on to the final part of the lesson. I’m going to combine breathing with stroking and kicking. Do what’s known as a crawl. He demonstrates first, swimming to the other end of the pool and back. I watch in awe as his powerful body cuts through the water with the elegance and speed of a dolphin. In no time, he’s back in the shallow end.
“Okay, your turn. You’re going to do one lap to the end of the pool.”
My gaze travels to the deep end. Suddenly, the pool seems a mile long. Fear creeps back into my veins. “I don’t think I can do it.”
He tilts my chin up with his thumb and holds it there. Another rush of tingles streams through my body from my head to my toes. I meet his intense gaze and my bottom lip quivers. He’s affecting me, making me all hot and bothered. I flounder for words.
“I’m scared. I’ve never swum before. What if I freak out and—”
Still pressing his thumb under my chin, he cuts me off and flicks his index finger across the tip of my nose. “You won’t. And besides, I’ll be swimming right next to you.”
That’s a comforting thought, but I remain frozen in fear and some other forbidden emotion I don’t want to acknowledge.
“Here. Wear these.” He takes the goggles on top of his head off and puts them on me. I don’t move a muscle while he adjusts them to fit my face. My eyes stayed fixed on him through the plastic lenses. Oh, God! He’s beautiful! So, so beautiful!
“Are you ready?”
I don’t respond. I’m too fixated on his face and his body. If God created man in his image, He must be insanely divine.
Brandon grows a little irritated. “You know, we don’t have all day.” Ugh! That dreaded bossy voice. “So let’s get to it. Kick off and start swimming.”
He moves out of my way. I shoot him one more doubtful look and I do it. It doesn’t come easily and I know I look nothing like an Olympian, but for the first time in my life, I’m actually swimming. Propelling myself across the pool with my arms and legs. Slowly but surely. On my first breath, I see Brandon on his back, stroking idly beside me. He winks at me, and I manage a tepid smile back at him. But halfway down the length of the pool, he picks up his pace, and before I know it, he’s way ahead of me. Panic grips me. I’m all by myself in the middle of the pool. The memory of my mother drowning fills my head. Her arms reaching out for me. Of me, watching, hopeless and helpless, until she disappears beneath the sea. I will it away. Swim, Zoey! You can do it! Do it for her!
On my next breath, a natural rhythm kicks in. Effort becomes effortless. Brandon’s voice resounds in my ear when I come up for air. “Come on, Zo. You can do it. You’re almost there.” I manage to glimpse his impassioned face before my head slides back under the water. The end is in sight. Maybe a dozen strokes away.
Finally, my hand touches down on the rim of the pool. My head shoots out of the water, and looming above me is Brandon, all wet and beautiful. He grabs my hand and hoists me out of the water, something I have not an ounce of body strength to manage. After lifting the goggles on top of my head, he swiftly wraps a large fluffy towel around my dripping wet body and then draws me into his arms. Breathing heavily, I don’t resist and rest my head against his damp manly chest. My thudding heart drowns out his. He holds me tightly. While my breathing calms down, my heartbeat speeds up. My nipples harden at the touch of his sculpted pecs, sending a blast of arousal to the triangle between my inner thighs. He presses me closer and I feel his hard length rub against me right through the thick towel. Finally, I break my head away from his chest and gaze up at his breathtaking face. His dark hair is slicked back, his eyes two sparkling amethyst gems. My eyes don’t blink and my mouth doesn’t move. My heartbeat hastens from a trot to a gallop.
Grinning smugly, he breaks the heated silence and rakes his hand through my soaked strands of hair. “You did it!”
“I had a great teacher,” I say softly with a smile.
“There’s a lot I could teach you, baby.”
Oh my God. He called me baby again. But this time his lush lips stay parted. He bows his head, and I swear he’s making a beeline for my mouth. Every feature on my face freezes in anticipation. He’s getting closer. I can practically taste him. Oh so close. And then…
“What may I ask is going on here?”
Brandon jerks away, body and all. My towel falls to the ground.
It’s her.
Hurricane Katrina.
Brandon
“I’m just giving Zoey a swimming lesson. After last night, I thought she could use one.”
With glacial eyes, Katrina gives Zoey the once over. “Some people should never put on a bathing suit.”
Zoey is cringing; I can tell by the way she scrunches her face and clenches her fists. Before I can come to her defense, she excuses herself.
“Thank you, Brandon, for the lesson. I really appreciate it. I’m going to get changed and go to Starbucks.”
Her tone is totally professional, and she avoids eye contact with Katrina.
Dressed in some designer white workout outfit, Katrina keeps her disdainful gaze on my assistant. I’m waiting for some kind of apology. A small smile slithers across her face and a glimmer of hope fills me.
“While you’re there, get me a low-fat soy latte. And don’t forget the Sweet ’n Low.”
My Mean ’n Low fiancée needs more than a package of fake sweetener. What was I thinking? There’s no hope. Zoey’s big brown eyes flare, but she maintains her cool. I want to say something, but she doesn’t give me a chance.
“Sure.” Zoey hurls the word at Katrina and takes off. My eyes stay on her backside as she heads toward the guesthouse. Her ample ass is shaped like a heart and I more than like it. I want to coddle and squeeze it. And that’s just for starters.