Christian readjusted the waistband of his trunks. His V cut gave Joe Manganiello a run for his money. “That’s actually not a bad idea. I’ll get my secretary on that.”
“Let’s see how that works out for you.” I braced myself on the edge, pulled out of the water, and sauntered to the bench where I’d left my towel and flip-flops. Christian followed me, sneaking a peek at my legs as I wrapped the towel around myself.
“Are you saying you haven’t come here because of me?” He folded his arms over his chest.
I let out a snort, like the idea itself was preposterous. “Believe it or not, Mr. Miller, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”
He watched me pat myself dry. “Do you swim often?”
Huh. No verbal sparring. Maybe he’d come down with something.
“Just started again. You?”
“Every day since I was twelve.”
I could tell. He had the sinewy, long, and lean body of a swimmer. His muscles were defined but not bulging.
“It’s a healthy sport,” I said. Great. Now I sounded like my grandmother. Next, I’d give him a granola-cookie recipe.
“Yes,” he replied flatly, not letting me off the hook.
“I missed swimming.” More meaningless words from yours truly.
Christian began circling me like a shark, a smirk playing on his lips. “Why are you here, Roth? Really, now. What’s your game?”
“Something about you feels familiar.” I secured the towel around myself, turning to look at him. “And I intend to find out what it is. Other than that, I’m just enjoying my new daily workout routine.”
His blue eyes held mine in a vise grip. For the first time, I could see something that wasn’t hate or disdain in them. There was curiosity, with a dash of hope thrown in. I felt like I was missing something. Like we were having two different conversations about two different things. Most of all, I thought what we were doing was wrong somehow. Forbidden.
“Are you saying we know each other, Ms. Roth?” he asked, very slowly, almost like he was clueing me in on something.
“I’m saying the pieces of the puzzle aren’t adding up, and I’m not going to give up until I get the full picture.”
“Tell me, Ms. Roth. What’s going to happen if you lose this case?”
“I don’t lose,” I said quickly, too quickly. Because not wanting to lose was a better incentive than actually asking myself the million-dollar question—whether Dad was guilty or not.
There was a beat. The silence hung in the humid, hot air like a sword over a neck.
“Meet me in the wet sauna in twenty minutes.” The words ripped out from his mouth, like he was fighting them. He turned and stalked away. I watched his triangle back, sensing I’d seen it before. Touched it, even. But it couldn’t be. I’d remember a man like that if I’d gone to bed with him. The only other person who’d ever made me feel quite so desperate for something I could never define was long gone. Nicky had died, and even after I’d been told that he’d died, I still vainly looked for him every now and then.
But Christian was here, and Christian was different. Callous and cunning, miles away from the sweet, surly boy who’d stolen my heart.
I was going to do what I needed to do to protect the only man in my life who cared.
Even if it meant dying on the sword of my principles.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHRISTIAN
Present
Something about you feels familiar.
The sentence had undone me, and here I was, twenty minutes later, sitting on the wooden bench in the wet sauna, waiting for Arya.
It didn’t help that she looked good enough to eat in her red bikini. Or that I’d been hitting the Brewtherhood almost every night, hoping she’d defy me by showing up. Picking up where we’d left things off last time.
I rested my head against the wall, beads of sweat slithering down my torso into the white towel wrapped around my waist. I was hard. I was always hard when Arya Roth was around. And for some reason, she always seemed to be around. I couldn’t get rid of her, now that she’d reentered my sphere.
I detested that she’d come to the pretrial hearing. Not only because it had made me deal with a constant semi while exchanging golf tips with Judge Lopez, but also because seeing her miserable didn’t have the desired effect on me. As much as I hated her—and I truly did—her father was my main fish to fry.
Not to mention Claire was getting antsy. I hadn’t invited her over since the hearing had begun, and it didn’t help that she’d noticed I couldn’t take my eyes off Arya whenever we were in the same room. I had to remind myself that Claire knew it had never been serious. That I’d stressed it to her time and time again.