Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I pulled off my cover-up, secured my hair clip, and got in, sighing at the feel of the water. Cool enough to be invigorating, but warm enough not to jolt me as I slipped under the surface. I began to swim, all other thoughts escaping my head as I did lap after lap. Finally, I stopped, heading toward the darkened corner. There were steps there, and I sat down, enjoying the silence, the feel of the water, and the breeze on my shoulders.
Then I felt it. I wasn’t as alone as I thought. I could sense someone else was nearby. Watching in silence. A nervous tremor passed through me, and I looked around, my gaze finding the form of a person sitting across the pool from me, submerged in the water, the glow of a cigar hanging from his fingers a bright spot in the dimness.
He lifted a hand in greeting. “Hello.”
I recognized his voice immediately.
Nicholas Scott was sitting across from me.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I came in while you were swimming,” he said. “You must do that a lot.”
“Do that?” I repeated, my voice almost husky.
“Swim. You’re like a little fish.”
“Oh. Yes. My dad says that all the time.” Then I grimaced. My dad. I sounded about thirteen.
I felt about thirteen. Tongue-tied and standing in front of a boy at school I had a crush on—unable to talk. If Sammy were here, she’d glide through the water, introduce herself, and carry on a proper conversation. Charm him.
But I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
He moved, sliding off the step and wading toward me. I swallowed, pushing myself back into the shadows.
What was he doing?
He stopped a few feet away, as if he sensed my unease. “So, you like to swim.”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “I like to come out here and relax.”
I cleared my throat. “You-you don’t swim?”
“For fun. I’m not regimented like you.”
“I’m not regimented,” I replied. “I just like to swim. It relaxes me.”
He tilted his head, taking a draw on his cigar. The aroma hit me, reminding me of my uncles and Dad. They liked the occasional cigar, and as much as I disliked smoking, I had to admit, I liked the scent of a good cigar. He studied me, a frown on his face. “Why would a pretty girl like you need to use so much energy in order to relax?”
Pretty? Nicholas Scott thought I was pretty?
“Do you need glasses?” I asked without thinking.
He looked startled, then he began to laugh. The sound was low, rumbly, and sexy as hell. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair that, even damp, fell in curls over his forehead. He peered at me, one eye open and focused through the puff of smoke around his head. “No.”
“You shouldn’t smoke. It’s not good for your voice. Or your health.”
He blinked. “I do a lot of worse things for both,” he drawled and stepped closer. “Does it offend you?”
“No, but this is a non-smoking area,” I pointed out, my voice almost squeaking.
He nodded, then extinguished the cigar on the cement beside him. “I’ll dispose of it,” he assured me. “But you won’t tell on me, will you?” he teased.
“Um, no.”
I pushed up to the next step, moving away from him. He noticed my actions and held up his hand. “I won’t hurt you.” Then he extended his arm, his hand hanging between us. “I’m Nick, by the way.”
I hesitated, then let him take my hand. His large palm and long fingers closed around mine, encasing it in warmth. I felt a slow shock run up my arm as our skin connected. “Mila,” I murmured.
“Mila,” he repeated with a smile. “What a joy to meet you.”
What a joy? No one had ever said that to me before. It sounded so personal. Intimate.
My heart raced, and my breathing picked up. Our hands remained locked together, his warmth sinking into my skin. The corner we were in was cast in darkness, the branches of the tree filtering out the moon and overhead lights. His face was angles and shadows, his silhouette a dark form in front of me. I felt my nipples tighten at the closeness of him, the shiver that raced through me having nothing to do with the breeze and all to do with his close proximity. He was taller than I expected, his shoulders wide and his muscles defined, even in the low light. He frowned as he looked down at our hands, then allowed our fingers to slowly separate. He stepped back, shaking his head as if to clear it.
“You’re a guest here?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?” he asked.
“I-I don’t know.”
“Are you here with someone?”
“Yes.”
He frowned, the action making him look angry in the dull light.
“Boyfriend? Husband?”
“No. A-a business associate.”
“Are you married?” he demanded, his voice low.
“No.”
Our gazes locked. Even in the semi-darkness, I could see the intensity of his gaze. His presence was overwhelming. I swallowed, my throat dry. I should tell him who I was. Explain we would be working together.