He swims every morning at five. Not six. Not whenever he wakes up. Five. On the dot. And now, because sleep and sanity have abandoned me, I’m standing outside at 5:03 a.m. in a green bikini, a towel around my shoulders, andJane Eyretucked under my arm like I’m about to do something productive with it. Duchess trails beside me, tail up, unimpressed.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper. “It’s just… fresh air.”
The pool area is still half-dark, lanterns spilling light across the tiles. The air smells like lemons and chlorine.
He’s already here.
Nicolo moves through the water with the same precision he uses for everything else. Controlled. Deadly. Focused. Each stroke cuts the surface like a blade, his body built for power, not show. The man swims like he’s outrunning something, and maybe he is. The water shifts, glinting against his shoulders ashe turns. The muscles in his back flex, defined even in the low light.
I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him cruel. I’ve never seen him like this: quiet, unguarded, human.
Duchess hops onto a lounge chair and curls up like she owns the place. I spread out my towel beside her and sit, pretending to be absorbed inJane Eyre.
Except I’m not. My eyes keep drifting back to him. The sound of water hitting tile. The faint ripple of his breath when he surfaces. The way his wet hair clings to his forehead before he pushes it back.
Nicolo isn’t beautiful. He’s too hard for that. Too sharp around the edges. But he’s compelling. The kind of man you stare at even when you know better. He finishes another lap and climbs out.
God help me.
Water rolls down the planes of his chest, dripping along the ridges of muscle before sliding beneath the waistband of his black trunks. He reaches for a towel, movements efficient, unhurried. Not a single wasted motion. His body’s all power and control—everything boys my age aren’t. He takes a sip from a glass bottle, throat working, and then finally, inevitably, his eyes find me.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is rough, low from disuse.
I lift my book. “Reading. And hoping to catch a tan.”
His gaze flicks toward the still-dark sky. “The sun isn’t even out yet.”
“I don’t care. It’ll be out soon.”
His jaw flexes. The silence between us tightens. Then he mutters something under his breath, turns, and dives back in. The water breaks like glass. I pretend to read, eyes fixed on the page.
My brain, however, is locked on him. On the sound of his strokes. The drag of his body through the water. I can feel the tension in every movement. He doesn’t swim to relax; he swims like he’s at war with himself.
I shouldn’t notice that. I shouldn’t notice him at all. But that’s what makes this so addictive: the forbidden aspect of it all.
Duchess lets out a soft meow, breaking the quiet. I scratch her head without looking away from the pool. Nicolo’s cutting through the water again, relentless. When he stops to catch his breath at the edge, his gaze snaps to me. I look down too fast, heart hammering.
By the time I glance up again, he’s already climbing out. The light catches the droplets on his skin, turning them into something indecent. I shift in my seat, suddenly too aware of how little fabric I’m wearing.
Nicolo dries his hair, the towel dragging across the back of his neck. His shoulders roll. His biceps flex. I focus very hard on not focusing. He walks toward me, each step slow, deliberate, predatory. The kind of walk that tells you he knows exactly how much space he takes up.
I lower my book, pretending to be calm. My pulse betrays me, but he doesn’t know that.
He stops beside me, his shadow cutting across my legs. “I didn’t know you could read a book upside-down.”
It takes me a second. I glance down. The text is…yes. Upside-down.Great.
Without a word, he reaches down and plucks the book out of my hands. His fingers brush mine—warm, rough, calloused. I hate the shiver that runs down my spine. He flips the book around and sets it back on my lap.
“I…I’m multifaceted,” I say, clearing my throat.
“You’re many things. Multifaceted isn’t one of them.” His voice dips lower, all dry amusement and control.
“Do you always sneak up on people mid-literature?”
“Do you always spy on men swimming?”
I raise my brows. “Spying implies interest.”
