I glance over at my phone where it rests on the nightstand. For the millionth time, I contemplate calling Dad at home, but I stop myself. That could end in disaster for him if anyone found out.
Trapped with only my fearful imaginings and the quiet to keep me company, I wander over to the window, parting the curtain to stare out into the darkness. Movement, something disturbing the brilliant blue surface of the water below me, draws my eye. I watch as a lone swimmer cuts through the water with long, powerful strokes, pausing only briefly at each end of the pool before starting back again.
I study the form absently until it stops in the deep end, shaking water from short, dark hair and laying muscular arms along the coping as he rests. That’s the very moment when the curling of something warm and inviting in my stomach alerts me to the identity of the swimmer. It’s Jasper. Despite the darkness, despite the distance, I know it’s him as surely as I know there’s carpet beneath my feet and cool glass against my palm.
Without giving it a single thought, I grab my room key and head for the elevator. Following the signage, I make my way to the exit, moving quietly across the cobble decking to perch on the end of a lounger that parallels the pool. Jasper is swimming again, head down, arms slicing ruthlessly through the sapphire liquid like he’s got something to prove to it.
Tirelessly, Jasper decimates lap after lap of the rectangle, never pausing in his rhythm until he stops again at the deep end. From my seat, I can hear his ragged breathing. I don’t announce my presence. I’m not done watching him.
Finally, after another minute, Jasper plants his palms flat on the edge of the pool and lifts himself effortlessly from the water. The muscles in his back and arms glide under his slick skin like monsters, writhing to break free. When he turns, his eyes come straight to mine. There is no surprise in them, like he knew I was here all along.
Strong and confident, he walks toward me. His legs are long and muscular, encased in dark shorts that plaster to their length as they eat up the distance. I drag my gaze upward, past the granite ridges of his stomach, past the rounded hills of his pecs, stopping only when I reach the black tangle of a tattoo that dominates the right side of his upper body.
When Jasper stops in front of me, I don’t bother to hide my stare. I’m too intrigued by the body art to even try. Underneath the water droplets that glisten on his skin, diamonds scattered over smooth bronze, is a series of mean, thorny-looking vines that twist and turn across his right shoulder and upper arm, extending inward onto part of his chest.
Finally, I raise my eyes to his. They’re dark and fathomless in the night, causing a shiver to tremble through me. I wrap my arms around my middle, feigning a chill.
I want to ask about the tattoo, but I know I won’t get any satisfaction so I don’t bother.
“Is the water cold?” I ask casually instead.
“Is that what you came down here to ask me?” he rebuts dubiously.
“I didn’t come down here to ask you anything.”
“Liar,” he whispers.
Jasper is standing so close that I can smell his skin. It doesn’t smell like soap or chlorine or sweat or cologne. It just smells . . . delicious. Natural. Like salt mixed with the barest hint of musk. It’s light, but somehow . . . feral. Nearly imperceptible, yet my body is honing in on it as though it’s the only thing I can smell at all. Anywhere. Ever. His scent, his closeness is robbing me of my ability to breathe, to think, to fight.
I grit my teeth and strengthen my resolve. It’s not right that I should be thinking this way, feeling this way. I can’t let this guy get under my skin. There’s too much at stake, too many other things to worry about. Plus something tells me getting involved with him—really involved with him—would be a disaster. At least for me it would.
I straighten my spine. “Fine, I did want to ask you something.”
Jasper crosses his arms over his chest, drawing my eye to the bulge of his bicep. God, he’s built like a dream! “Well?”
“Why—why did you kiss me?”
“I told you I wanted to get it out of the way.”
“I know what you said, but what did you mean by that?”
“We’re attracted to each other. I figured it would be best to just get that kiss over with so we’re not constantly distracted by thinking about it.”
I should be insulted. I should deny what he’s saying. But all I can think about is that he’s attracted to me, too, and that he’s been thinking about kissing me. And how wrong it is that I should care.
“Well,” I begin, hating that my voice sounds breathy. “In that case, thank you. I’ve got plenty to worry about without adding you to the mix.”