I need to get some sun. Clear my head. Get the hell out of this room where I’m reminded of how amazing it felt to have Huxley’s five o’clock shadow roughly rub against my inner thighs.
The sides of the cover-up flap open as I snag my sunglasses from the dresser and head for the stairs. I leave my phone behind because I don’t want any distractions. I want it to be me and the sun.
I take the stairs down to the main floor and glance around, noticing that the space looks untouched, and then head to the back of the house, where I open one of the overly large sliding glass doors. Of course there are towels folded neatly and stacked in an outdoor linen closet, along with anything else you might need while swimming—goggles, sunscreen, and even those little plugs for your nose.
From the closet, I snag a towel and take it to one of the black-and-white striped lounge chairs bordering the pool. Undoing the ties of my cover-up, I let the fabric fall to the ground, then set my sunglasses over my eyes. The California sun is relentless, making it great tanning weather, which makes me think . . . I glance around, knowing damn well I’m alone in this incredibly large house, so I reach behind and undo my bikini top. Oops, would you look at that, completely topless. That’s more like it. I revel in the way the heat of the sun immediately warms my nipples.
Should I strip down completely?
I glance around one more time and then think, why the fuck not?
Once my bottoms are pushed down to my feet, I step out of the fabric and place the bottoms with my top.
Nude.
And it feels so good.
There’s a white lounge float in the pool calling my name, so I walk over to the edge, reach for the float, and pull it toward the stairs to carefully get on. The cool water against my heated skin is a wonderful contrast that my body appreciates. Once I’m situated on the float, I adjust my glasses and then sink into the comfort of floating on the water as the sun heats my naked skin.
Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone skinny-dipping.
I close my eyes and listen to the subtle breeze swishing through the palm tree leaves, offering a relaxing soundtrack to my mid-morning swim. Yes, this is just what I needed.
Eyes shut, I’m just about to doze off—
“What the hell are you doing?”
Huxley.
And from the tone of his voice, he’s not happy.
I open my eyes and lift my sunglasses to see him at the edge of the pool, wearing nothing but a pair of running shorts and running shoes. His thick, bare chest is covered in sweat, and his hair is soaked, wet strands clumping together.
God, he looks yummy.
I shift on the raft—I’m not shy at all, the man has seen it all already—and say, “Floating.”
“You’re naked.”
“Am I?” I ask, glancing down. “Well, would you look at that, I am.” And just for the hell of it, I spread my legs wider than the raft and let my feet dip into the water.
“Why?”
I fix my sunglasses over my eyes. “Because I wanted to. Because you’ve already seen me naked. And because your staff doesn’t work on weekends anymore.” I tilt my head toward the sun. “God, I love skinny-dipping. Have you tried it?”
“No.”
“Really? You have a pool. You should at least try it once.” I wave toward him. “Come in, join me.”
He doesn’t say anything, so I crack my eyes open to see what he’s doing. I find him standing on the edge, but now his hands are balled into tight fists at his side.
Someone needs to relax.
The man is a pent-up ball of stress, ready to explode any minute. He’s had small moments here and there where he’s allowed himself to relax, but he hasn’t fully unclenched yet. Maybe slowly but surely, I can help him do that.
“I won’t bite. Promise.” I dip my fingers into the water and splash them around before bringing them up to my chest, where water drips from my fingers and onto my breasts. I’m tempted to circle my nipple but I’m not looking for him to come in here sexually charged. I’m just looking for him to relax.
When he still doesn’t move, I sigh in frustration and shift my body off the raft and into the cool water. My nipples harden immediately from the shock of the temperature change to my skin, but I power through and make it to the stairs.
Huxley’s eyes stay fixed on me, pulsing through me with such intensity that my stomach bottoms out momentarily as I grow close to him.
With a shaky hand, I take his in mine, guide him to a lounge chair, and forcibly make him sit. When he doesn’t protest, I kneel in front of him and remove his socks and shoes. I can feel his gaze on me the entire time, watching my every move. When I’m done, I stand and take his hand in mine again. I leave him in his shorts, because those are easy to swim in, and after I’ve checked for his phone and wallet, I guide him to the steps of the pool.