Her pulse jumped and she couldn’t help thinking, oh no, here we go again. “He never mentioned it, no.”
“He won’t be back until late tomorrow morning.”
Why was he doing this to her?
“Probably going to be a nice night for a swim.”
She had been at the pool swimming laps every night, half hoping, half dreading that she might look over and find him lying in his chair—she would never think of it as anything but his from now on—but he never was. And as much as she wanted him—and boy, did she want him— it was still a bad idea.
Seven
Rowena had debated going to the pool all evening. On one hand, she didn’t want to tempt herself. On the other hand, she did her laps every night. If Colin did show up, she could still tell him no.
When Betty arrived at nine to watch Dylan, Rowena headed down to the pool, telling herself that no matter what happened, no matter what he said, she would put her foot down this time. She would insist they keep their relationship platonic. But when she got there, he wasn’t in the chair.
Despite her internal pep talk, her heart sank. Clearly he’d had time to think about it, and he, too, decided it was better for everyone if they didn’t—
She gasped as a pair of hands settled on her waist.
He leaned so close she could feel his breath on the shell of her ear. “You didn’t throw me into the pool this time.”
She probably should have. “Colin—”
“No one saw me leave.”
“So it’s okay as long as we don’t get caught?”
“Can you give me another reason why we shouldn’t? Just one.”
She opened her mouth to recite an entire laundry list of reasons. And drew a complete blank.
“Can’t do it, can you?”
She hated that he was right.
“And it’s just going to be this one last time,” she said, turning to him. “I don’t care if my father goes on a month-long African safari. When we walk away from this pool tonight, it’s over.”
“Well, then, let’s not waste another minute,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the pool house. She unlocked the door and let them in, but instead of turning on the lights, she made her way through the dark kitchen for the emergency candles and matches. Lamplight could draw attention, but no one would see the dim glow of candles, and there was the added bonus of it being romantic.
She lit a candle and set it on the coffee table, then opened the cedar chest, where they kept sheets and blankets for the fold-out couch. She grabbed one of the thickest and softest in the pile and spread it out on the floor.
“Doesn’t the couch fold out?” Colin asked.
“Yes, but it’s miserably uncomfortable.”
“Done this before, have we?” he said, sounding amused.
She looked over at him and grinned. “My friends used to call it the love shack.”
In the candlelight, dressed all in black, Colin looked sexy and edgy and maybe even a little dangerous.
He kicked off his shoes and walked over to where she stood, unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes raking over her. “What’s under the cover-up tonight?”
That was going to take a little explaining. “Okay, you have to promise not to be smug.”
His brows rose.
“Plan number one was to come down here, tell you we couldn’t do this, then go back home. And if that didn’t pan out, I came up with plan number two.”
“Which is…?”
“Save as much time as possible getting to the good part.” She grabbed the hem of the garment and pulled it over her head. The sound he made, the look of red-hot desire in his eyes when he realized what she was—or more to the point, wasn’t—wearing underneath warmed her blood.
He mumbled a curse. “I guess that answers my next question.”
“What’s that?”
“Exactly how far you were expecting this to go.”
“All the way.”
His eyes raked over her. “You have an amazing body.”
“It’s a bit curvier than it was before I had Dylan,” she said.
“Your curves are what I like,” he said, reaching up to trace the underside of one breast, then the other. “I prefer women to actually look like women, not adolescent boys.”
Well, that was good, she supposed. Because if adolescent boys were his thing, that would be a problem.
He pulled his shirt off and tossed it onto the couch. Talk about an amazing body. She touched him, sliding her hands up his wide chest and across his strong shoulders. She’d completely forgotten about his scars until her fingers brushed his back and she felt the uneven texture where he’d healed. It was warm and deceptively soft.