“I was talking about your technique.”
He was? Oh, Lord. She’d been drooling over his body, and she’d thought he was doing the same. Who was she kidding? She was wearing a white swim cap and blue goggles—she probably looked ridiculous.
His eyes ran down her body. “Of course, that’s pretty nice too.”
Her face heated despite the droplets of cool water covering her skin.
He stretched his arms overhead, and her mouth instantly went dry. She reached for more Gatorade. Her nipples tightened when he thrust out of the water onto the deck, his back muscles rippling in perfect motion. Oh man, he had the best back—and ass. He pulled off his swim cap and ran a hand through his short brown hair.
She choked on fruity Gatorade when recognition finally clicked in.
“You okay?” he asked, kneeling on the tiles.
The man leaning over her in all his male glory was the guy she’d admired at Hairy’s Pub the other night. He might be wet, but she remembered him now. Right down to the Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum. And dammit, he looked as good wet as he did dry.
Her body went nuclear, alarms sounding, lights flashing. Alert, alert. Warning, warning.
He extended his hand. “Let me help you out.”
Before she could think, he’d gently pulled her up and out of the water with enough strength to set her thighs to quivering. His cold hands had the power to produce fire, she discovered, as heat shot up her arms even as goosebumps broke out across her body. She wanted to die of embarrassment, knowing how ugly those red bumps looked on cold white skin. Add her obvious nipplage, and she looked like a horny swimmer recently released from a female prison. She dashed for her towel before realizing it would look weird if she secured it around her chest.
This was so not the way she wanted to meet this guy! She was supposed to have on La Perla, makeup, and a hot outfit.
“You swim here often?” He approached her in nothing but those skin-tight black trunks. His defined thighs and definite bulge left nothing to the imagination. Oh my.
He towered over her, likely six three, if she had to bet. His mouth lifted on the right side, but he didn’t say anything. He put his hands on his trim waist, making her swallow thickly. “Well, do you?”
Water droplets ran down her face from her swim cap. His damn pheromones were fogging up her supposed anti-fog goggles. Must be a manufacturer’s defect.
“I’m planning to.”
“Good. We can race some more. I think both of us will like it.”
That isn’t all I’d like, Divorcée Woman purred.
Oh, shut up, she replied, and then shook her head. Was she really carrying on a conversation with her alter ego?
His wet, jet-black eyelashes framed expressive chocolate eyes. He slung his towel around his neck, making her already burning legs threaten to buckle beneath her. Was this a faint coming on? Perhaps she needed oxygen. Did the gym have a tank somewhere?
Oh, God, she had it bad. Best to bail now. Introduce herself when she was…put together. No guy would want her like this.
“I’m Tanner.” He extended his hand. “I’m new in town and a journalist…ah, I’m teaching at Emmits Merriam this quarter.” His smile twisted. “I’m still getting used to thinking of myself that way.”
He was a journalist?
Her heart twisted. She didn’t care how hot he was. After Rick-the-Dick, she’d made a solemn vow to never date another journalist.
Did she have the worst luck or what?
She eyed his hand, afraid of the sparks any contact between them might generate. She took it with hesitation. A strong current shot up her arm.
“Nice to meet you,” she muttered before she said something else. Like, “Would you show me your moves, Chippendale? I’ve got some money in my purse.”
Oh, I’m a total idiot. He’s a journalist, and this party ain’t gonna happen. Ever.
She dropped his hand when her nipples tightened again. “I need to go.” She hurried away from the pool, stopping when she skidded on the wet tiles.
The NO RUNNING sign mocked her as she ducked into the woman’s locker room.
Was she running? Oh yeah.
She wasn’t up for a do-over. No matter how hot he was.
Chapter 11
Tanner emerged from the gym with wet hair and headed for his SUV. He looked around the parking lot for a slim woman with delicious porcelain skin and wet hair, but he didn’t see anyone. She had been quite a surprise. He’d never imagined he’d come across a competitive swimmer like his lap mate in this podunk town. She glided through the water like a gazelle. And damn did she have good form. Both in and out of the water.
If he hadn’t seen a lock of red hair slicked against her ear, he might have guessed she was Meredith Hale, but he knew Meredith was a blond.