I can’t help myself. It’s there for the taking. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you’ve come to the right place.’ One of these days, she will slap me.
‘Not that kind of favour, you ass.’ She blows out a long slow breath, like asking me for anything is killing her.
Curiosity curls in my core, along with an intrinsic desire to please her. ‘Well, go on then.’
‘Do you offer adult lessons?’ she asks meekly.
Multiple multicoloured images of the kind of adult lessons I’d like to give her flash through my delinquent brain, but the sheer desperation in her tone prevents me from spouting another suggestive one-liner.
I clear my throat and readjust my dick in my pants. ‘I don’t, but I could, I suppose.’
Can Savannah Kingsley, the feistiest woman I’ve ever met, seriously not swim?
‘I’ll pay you, of course,’ she says.
‘Oh, sweetheart, spending time with you in a swimsuit is more than enough payment, trust me.’ I’m not even joking.
‘Are you an asshole to everyone? Or just me?’
If she knew the truth of the situation, she’d know I’m not being an asshole. I’m being brutally honest. To save any awkwardness on both our parts, it’s probably best for both of us if she doesn’t find out. ‘That’s a good question. I honestly don’t know. You’re the only woman who calls me one.’
‘Hard to believe,’ she mutters.
‘Believe it, sweetheart. But this asshole will teach you to swim if that’s what you’re looking for. I don’t want your money, though.’
‘What do you want, then?’ Her voice is thick with suspicion.
‘Go on a date with me,’ I blurt before I can bite my tongue.
She exhales again. ‘I don’t date.’
‘Don’t or won’t?’ Why am I pushing this? I know the score.
‘Both.’ She sighs. ‘Does that mean you won’t help me?’ Panic permeates her words.
‘I’ll help you. I suppose seeing you in a swimsuit will be payment enough.’ I’m not joking.
‘Ronan!’ she chides, but with less vehemence than usual.
This can only end in trouble. The woman is more volatilethan a volcano and more tempting than Eve’s forbidden rosy red apple. But she could ask me for anything, and I’d never say no to her. And the funny thing about it is, she doesn’t even have an inkling.
‘Thank you.’ Relief is audible in her tone. ‘When can we start?’
‘What’s the rush?’ I rock back on the couch, cradling the back of my head with my free hand.
‘I’ve been offered an advertising contract with Coral Chic.They want me to be their brand ambassador.’ A hint of excitement bites into her voice.
Impressive. Coral is Ireland’s most exclusive swimwear brand. To be the model for the female range is a huge deal.
‘But the photoshoot is in the water.’ The nerves creep back in.
I blow out a breath. ‘Can you swim at all?’
‘No,’ she admits.
‘When’s the shoot?’
‘In a couple of months. Details to be confirmed.’
