With graceful strokes, he swims to the edge and effortlessly hauls his powerful body up and out of the pool. Muscles bunch in his arms and roll in his back with the motion, and I’m momentarily tongue-tied.
He could be a fitness model.
Or a catwalk model.
You know, if the writing gig doesn’t work out.
Water sluices off his tanned muscular back, rolling down under the waistband of his blue designer swim shorts, and it’s like a slow-motion scene from a movie.
“You should take it easier,” he chastises Margot, giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “You work too hard, and you need to relax more.”
“I don’t like to be idle. You know this. Consequence of living on a farm.” She hands him two new bellinis, and I briefly consider getting out to kiss her, but I’m far too comfortable and way too lazy to move.
I blow her a kiss. “Thanks, Margot. You’re the best.”
“Anything for my grandson and his pretty friend.” She points at me. “Your back looks a little red. You might need more sunscreen.”
Of course, I do.
I sigh, bemoaning the need to get up.
“Stay put,” Beck says as Margot heads back into the house. “I’ll grab the bottle.”
Trailing my fingers through the water, I watch him grab the sunscreen and walk around the pool in my direction. “Come here, lazybones.” He is grinning as he sets the drinks down and sits at the edge of the pool with his feet dangling in the water. I am glad his mood seems to have lifted.
Using my hands, I “swim” over to him on my inflatable.
“Put your legs over each side and turn around so I can reach your back,” he instructs, popping the cap on the sunscreen and pouring a generous amount into his palm.
I manage to do what he says and stay afloat, which is a miracle.
I’m sitting on the inflatable with my back to Beck and my feet bobbing in the water as I wait for him to apply the cream to my skin. For some reason, my mouth is extra dry, and my heart is galloping like a racehorse on Derby Day.
Beck clears his throat. “Do you, ah, want me to untie your top?”
Heat flares in my cheeks. “Um, no. It’s fine. You can just work around it. I don’t mind if you get lotion on it. It will come out in the laundry.”
“Okay.” His voice sounds deeper with an undercurrent of something I can’t name, and it’s doing strange things to my insides. Butterflies skate around my tummy, and I feel a little on edge.
A yelp rips from my mouth when his large palms land unexpectedly on my shoulders.
“Sorry.” His voice sounds clipped as he tears his hands away. “I tried to warm it up with my hands.”
It’s not cold, but I don’t correct him. “It’s fine.”
Weird tension lingers in the air, and my chest heaves as I gulp back nerves.
“Shall I continue?”
I jerk my head, incapable of speaking.
This time, he is very careful when he places his hands on my shoulders. “Is this okay?”
I nod again, wondering if I might pass out from sunstroke because it feels like I’m burning up from the inside out.
His magic hands and deft fingers are thorough as he works the sunscreen into my flesh. I’m barely breathing as I close my eyes and try to ignore the tremors tiptoeing over my skin from his touch. Reaching the bikini string, he is careful to hold it out a little from my body with one hand while he uses his other hand to rub the milky-looking lotion into the skin above and below the band.
It's a miracle I don’t expire from lack of oxygen to my lungs or take a nosedive into the pool as he continues applying sunscreen to my back. His fingers brush my sides, and as they creep lower and lower, heading toward the top of my bikini bottoms, I’m a freaking inferno, so hot it feels like I’m ready to spontaneously combust.
