You're What?!. Anne Eames
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and floated on her back, keeping her ears below water, listening to the muted sounds of her own labored breathing. She tried to relax, but the race was no longer the cause for her discomfort. Kevin was an interesting, multidimensional man. Okay. Sexy. Not a model-perfect specimen, but a man with depth, a passion seething right below the surface. She’d heard it earlier when he sang, and seen it these past few minutes in the way he attacked the lane. It wasn’t just the competition that pushed him. She sensed something far deeper in this man—and the observation attracted and alarmed her at the same time.
She heard a splash and lifted her head in time to see his lean torso clear the water and amble over to his towel.
It was only Tuesday. How could she make it to Saturday without succumbing to this growing fantasy? As Kevin had started to say earlier, it had been a long time since.
She swam to the side of the pool nearest her cover and, giving her suit a few last-second modesty tugs, used the steps and left the water.
Kevin wiped his face, then eyed Michelle standing by the ladder as she tightened the sash on her thin white cover-up. Within seconds, the moisture of her suit penetrated the outer fabric and her puckered nipples were clearly visible.
He groaned inwardly, feeling a tightness in his trunks. He hadn’t thought it possible he’d experience such feelings again. Maybe it was merely lust. God knew he was overdue for a little action. But what bothered him was that he liked this woman and he wanted to know what made her tick. He’d always prided himself on being able to see past people’s masks. Now he wondered what some man had done to Michelle to leave her so defensive and wary, so competitive and conflicted.
When he regained control of his traitorous body, he walked over to her, curious what persona she’d display next.
“What shall we do now?” he asked, a smile quirking his lips.
“We?” Her gaze darted back and forth. She picked up her beach bag and looked past him. “I don’t know about you, but I want to get out of the sun, put on some dry clothes and maybe do a little shopping.”
There was no invitation to join her. He took the hint with a mix of relief and disappointment. “Maybe I’ll catch up on some reading back in my room, take a little nap.” She didn’t move. Had he misread her? Had she been expecting another response?
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