Hell. Of course her fiancé hadn’t wanted the ring back. He was dead.
Poor guy. Poor Chelsea.
Xander stared at the screen, absently rubbing his knuckle across his jaw as he absorbed the info. Not good. Awful in fact. Reading this, he knew he should veer away. She was more than bruised. She’d been heartbroken. And he was never going to be the guy to give her what she was going to need now. He didn’t hang with emotionally needy women. Which was why he never stayed with any woman for long, because every woman he’d ever met got needy at some point. But some needs were more intense, more obvious, more immediate. And in every way that was Chelsea.
She’d been smashed up, body and heart. He guessed she was here to move on with her life. Doing the fight for independence. Good for her. But he’d no intention of helping her out with that. She might not think it yet, but ultimately she’d want a guy who could become a pivotal pillar in her rebuild. She’d said yes once, eventually she’d want to again—going for the picket fence, dog and the whole happy-ever-after.
Xander didn’t. It’d never happen for him. Hell, the cynic in him didn’t think it truly happened for anyone. He’d witnessed the burning hell that was his parent’s marriage. Then the frigid unhappiness of his aunt and uncle’s. Coupledom was best being a light temporary thing.
Upshot was, she wasn’t ready to play—not his kind of fast-but-fun game. Too freaking bad, because they’d be damn good at it. The fizz and snap between them was a kind of chemistry he’d never encountered before.
But learning this was good. It’d stop him from making a mistake that’d only end in a mess.
Damn.
Chapter Six
Xander worked extra long hours, meaning he worked 23 of 24, which was fine given he couldn’t sleep without dreaming of her. In the last four years his security systems company had grown more quickly than he’d hoped it might. He needed to stabilize—fulfil the contracts he had while yet pushing for more. He’d recruited new engineers, extra sales people. The fact he now had so many employees was something of a surprise for a guy who liked to do everything himself. But he could delegate—he’d been careful in recruiting and he was reaping the rewards now of having a team that was loyal and as determined as he. But at the end of the day no one cared about the company like he did—there was always more he could do.
Four days into that fierce and frustrating regime, he needed a break from computer screens and barking instructions into his phone. He left the office at lunchtime. He needed to refuel, refresh and give his staff a break from his presence. He’d work from home this afternoon. And to be this damn hot? He needed a swim.
He figured he’d be in the clear. She wouldn’t be there at this hour, not when the likelihood of other pool patrons was so high. It was obvious she wanted to be alone to try to swim. But up at the roof he stopped at the door. Because she stood by the edge of the water.
Freaking fate. Sarcastic serendipity. Seems he was paying for some past misdemeanour in the grand old scheme of things, because he was screwed to the rack here and stretched out something painful.
She’d not looked up. Not seen him. He didn’t move. Just watched. He’d never been a voyeur, preferring an all action approach. But he didn’t want to disturb her yet. Plus, he’d gotten hard just from the sight of her and he needed to sort that out. Except he remembered the soft, smooth warmth of her skin, the sexy little sigh as he’d touched her, the passion she’d unleashed when he’d kissed her.
Temptation screamed. Pure want clawed at him, urging him to move closer. How could he not go for that again? Mercurial thoughts whispered—demand cloaked in desire. Maybe what she needed was a quick fling? Some fun to clear the cobwebs? He could so do that for her.
But then she turned slightly so he saw her profile more clearly. Even from this distance he saw the anxiety etched into her frozen features. It killed his lustful edge. Other instincts rose fast and sharp. He stepped nearer the glass, narrowing his gaze to watch her every movement.
Except she wasn’t moving.
She was holding her breath and she wasn’t even in the water. Her hands were fisted at her sides as she stared into the depths. Xander’s lungs ached as he held his breath right along with her. It was a beautiful pool. Warm, clean, soothing. He couldn’t wait to dive right in there. He’d take her in with him if she wanted. But it was pretty clear she didn’t.
His head told him to back away and pretend he hadn’t seen but his body, not listening, pushed forward. He couldn’t walk away. What if she got into trouble? All his training insisted he stay. That he step right out.
Damn it, he couldn’t bloody well resist.
Chelsea turned at the sound of the door to the stairwell opening. Her vision locked on to the guy now walking towards her. No way. He didn’t look ready for a swim, not in those jeans and that damn ancient baby blue tee. She opted to go on the offensive—mainly to mask her own feelings from herself.
“Are you stalking me?” she asked.
He stopped walking, grinning at her from five paces away.
She felt the smile like a flame from the sun—scorching her nerves. How did he do that? “Every time I come to the pool now, you’re here,” she added, more defensively.
His brows lifted and he whipped off his tee-shirt. “Doesn’t that make you the one who’s stalking me?” He dropped the tee onto the nearest deck chair. “I told you I swim every day.”
In the middle of the day? In the middle of the week? She’d never have thought he’d be here at this hour. That was why she was here now. Plus she’d thought trying in broad daylight might help her unease.
He cocked his head to the side. “I’ve never seen you actually wet, though.”
Wet? She wasn’t thinking crude. She refused to think crude. Oh hell. She was thinking just how wet she was. Already. But maybe that wasn’t so bad. One second in his presence and her fear had fled. So had every intention of trying to get in the water.
“I’ll teach you how to swim if you want,” he said, his hands on his belt. “I’m a very good swimmer. I worked as a lifeguard for years.”
“I thought you were a doctor,” she said, startled.
“You’ve been thinking about me?” His smile broadened. Something flashed in his eyes. A glint of satisfaction?
Chelsea clamped her jaw shut.
“Why’d you think that?” he added.
“The other night.” She snapped. She so didn’t want him thinking she’d been trying to dig info on him. Even if she’d wanted to she wouldn’t have known where to start. Brad ‘loose-lips’ Doorman wasn’t a viable option. The whole building would know she’d asked about him. “You helped that old lady.”
“Because I’m a qualified lifeguard. They know I have more than the basic first aid skills.”
Oh, right. Lifeguard huh? Somehow that didn’t that surprise her—he had the ‘rescue hero guy’ routine down pat. “So why did the building guy call you ‘Doc’?”
“Because I have a PhD.”
Chelsea’s jaw dropped.
Hands still at his waist, he stepped closer. “What, you thought I was just a pretty face?”
No, she’d thought he was a doctor and that it had been most unfair of him to be so hot and so smart. PhD was another level up—grossly unfair. “What’s your PhD in?” she asked. Fingers crossed it was some fluffy subject, though as a student she knew there really weren’t any.
“Engineering. I own a security systems firm.”
Oh, of course he did. Built and brainy and successful. No wonder the guy came across so confident. He really was superman.
“But I can definitely help you swim,” he added.
“I know how to swim.”
“Really?” he murmured. “Swim a length for me then, butterfly.” He made ‘butterfly’ sound like an endearment.
But her skin prickled. “I don’t need to prove it to you.”
“No?” He shrugged. “Prove it to yourself.”
Her blood ran colder. Did he know something? He couldn’t know. No one here did. That was the whole point.
“I don’t like an audience,” she fudged.
“I’m not watching.”
“Yes you are.” She challenged him, deliberately changing the subject to something different—though just as dangerous. “You like to watch me.”
He looked at her. Assessing for a moment—like he’d assessed that older woman the other day, as if checking to see if she was coping okay. “All right,” he said. “I do. I like to look at you. I especially like looking at you in your swimsuit.”
She swallowed. She glanced down.
When she looked back up she found he’d moved right beside her—two inches inside her personal space. But she couldn’t step backwards, that’d see her in the pool.
“Before I kiss you again, I need to know your name. My name is Xander Lawson.”
“You’re—” not kissing me again. But the words wouldn’t come. Up this close he was overwhelmingly handsome. That brilliant easy smile, his blue eyes sparkling, his strength and sensuality palpable.