Dropping the bag of candy into her lap, I turn her to face me. “I’d never lay a hand on you, not in anger. Not ever. I swear it.”
She takes one of my hands, lacing our fingers together. “Of all the things I’m scared of in this world, you aren’t one of them.”
“Know what I’m scared of?”
“Crazed fans.”
I tilt my head to one side. “Be serious.”
“No fans.”
“Are you in my brain, right now, because that’s pretty spot on,” I tease. However, she’s correct. No fans would be the end of my career. It would be the end of me. What would I do if I didn’t perform on stage?
She smiles at me, beautiful and sweet, just like the first time we met. “I hope I’m in other important places, too.”
And just like the first time we met, I feel a connection with her.
Chapter Thirteen
Jackson
The next day dawns bright and unusually warm. I drink coffee as I’m standing on the deck, looking out at the ocean.
Bliss joins me. “How long will it take for the bridge to be repaired?” she asks.
I set down my cup and wrap my arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “In a hurry?”
She leans against me. “Nope.”
Dipping my head, I whisper in her ear, “What shall we do to pass the time?”
“Not what you’re thinking.” She whirls around, tipping up her chin. “I want you to teach me how to swim.”
I raise a brow. “Do you have a bathing suit?”
Her hands go the hem of her shirt, slowly edging it up her body, giving me an inch-by-inch tantalizing view of her skin, of her stomach, the bottom of her breasts, then a wicked gleam enters her eyes, and she tugs it up and over her head.
“I have the bottoms to one.”
I swallow, unable to properly form coherent sentences.
She’s topless, beautiful skin bare to me. All curvy, her breasts heavy with dark nipples. Turning, she wiggles her ass at me. “Do you like them?”
The bottoms she has on are barely there, tied on each side, with ruffles in the back. My heart pounds. My cock grows hard, and I can barely think.
But I can rely on what I’m used to doing when presented with a nude woman. I settle my hand on her hips, pulling her against me, enjoying the gasp that leaves her mouth when she feels how turned on I am by her.
“You really plan on torturing me, don’t you?”
That gleam of hers turns flirtatious. “Trust me when I say this kind of torture is mutual.”
She breaks away from my embrace and runs down the stairs. I chase after her, catching her again when she skids to a stop at the steps of the pool.
“Scared?”
“A little.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Our hands lace together, and for some reason, in that moment, I feel that she won’t let anything happen to me either.
“You go in first, and I’ll be right behind you.”
She turns slightly, her gaze catching mine. “Promise?”
“Always.”
*** *** ***
Bliss
I’m standing in the shallow end, near the edge, as I wait for Jackson to join me. The water only comes to my waist, and I feel too exposed. Maybe I’m throwing too much caution to the wind by going topless, but I have nothing to lose. Not anymore.
All my life I’ve been cautious, resigned to my situation. With Jackson, I want to be free.
“Watch out!” Jackson yells.
I turn in time to see him do a front flip into the deep end of the pool. When he comes up for air, I clap, impressed with his trick.
“Pretty soon, you’ll be doing that, too.”
“But not today.”
He shakes his head, sending water flying everywhere, before he begins to swim in my direction. I bend my knees and sink beneath the surface, until the water hits my shoulders. My heart pounds as he comes closer and closer. A familiar feeling of desire swirls in my abdomen when he holds out his hand.
I smash my lips together, suddenly nervous.
“Ready?”
“Kinda,” I answer truthfully.
He winks at me. “Take my hand, baby doll, and I’ll show you the basics.”
The minute our hands touch, I suck in a breath, and he does the same. Slowly, with my heartbeat in my ears, I stand and walk to him.
“Is the water warm enough?” he asks, his voice all low. I recognize what it means. He’s turned on by me. It’s a powerful feeling for someone so used to being powerless.
Nodding, I softly say, “Yes.”
He keeps his eyes on my face, and I want to giggle when I see how hard he’s trying not to stare at my breasts. With my free hand, I touch the bluebird tattoo on his chest. It’s over his heart and, for some reason, it makes me sad to look at it.