I push off the wall, expecting to hear the door close behind Thorne as he leaves. Instead, there’s a splash as he re-enters the pool at the opposite end.
“I thought you were finished,” I say when I reach the wall where he treads water.
“Changed my mind.” He pushes wet hair from his forehead. “How fast are you?”
“Fast enough.”
A challenge sparks in his eyes. “Prove it. One lap. Wall to wall and back.”
This is juvenile, unexpected, and exactly what I need. “What does the winner get?”
He considers this, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Wiggling his brows, he says, “A kiss?”
Another surprised laugh escapes me. I expected the infamous Thorne Blackstone to be many things. A villain. Cold. Boring. But not playful.
“Do you think that’s wise?” I ask.
“I never said I was wise.”
“How about bragging rights?” I counter. “And the loser has to answer one question. Truthfully.”
Thorne is an enigma that leaves me with so many questions. Like, is it true that he slept with Sebastian’s ex-wife? Is he as heartless as the rumors say he is? Did he actually bet all his inheritance on a horse during the Derby? Or would he be willing to do that thing again with his tongue?
No. Bad girl. No foreplay or sex with Thorne Blackstone.
He grins as if he can read my x-rated thoughts, but all he says is, “Deal.”
I position myself at the wall. “On three.”
We count together, then push off hard. I’m a strong swimmer. Years of competitive swimming in high school and college kept me in good form. But Thorne is powerful, his longer reach giving him an advantage.
We hit the far wall almost simultaneously, flip, and power back. I pull ahead slightly, lungs burning, then he surges beside me. We slap the wall within a fraction of a second of each other.
“I won,” we both say, breathing hard.
Our eyes meet, and unexpectedly, Thorne laughs. It’s a rich, genuine sound I’ve never heard from him. “Tie?”
“Tie,” I agree, unable to suppress my own smile. “So we both get to ask a question?”
“Seems fair.” He rests his arms on the edge of the pool, his body close enough that his heat radiates from him despite the cool water.
“Ladies first,” he offers.
I consider carefully all my earlier questions swirling around in my head, along with a few new ones. I want to ask about his relationship with his family, especially his dad. Or why he left Kentucky for Canada. But the question that comes out is simpler.
“Why do you workout every day at 6 a.m.?”
He smirks. “Someone has been paying attention to me.”
My cheeks heat, but I reply, “Says the guy who knows I’m in the library every morning at this time.”
His chuckle is warm, relaxed. “Guilty.” He pushes wet hair back from his forehead. “I work out every morning and most nights probably for the same reason you came here today. To quiet my mind. The repetitions of lifting weights or swimming help. Used to use bourbon for that.” He pauses, like he's testing how much to reveal. "Didn't work as well."
I study his face. “But you still have it at dinner.”
"One drink. Every day. No more, no less." He looks away and then back. "Turns out you can have bourbon in your blood without letting it drown you."
The honesty surprises me. This isn't the cocky man from the train or the cold businessman from the conference room. This is someone trying.
