“No, you’re not.” He steps in front of me, scowling.
“What do you mean?” I chuckle, confused.
“I didn’t bring any.”
“Preston, you knew there was a pool.”
“Your point?” He gives me a flat look, as if I’ve suggested swimming in jeans. “It’s just us.”
He closes the gap, fingers grazing the towel around my breasts until it falls to the floor. A second later, his follows.
“So really,” he murmurs, “why would you bring something that’d keep me from you?”
Because I don’t usually feel this safe with a man. Because I’ve worn that shaping suit so many times, it’s practically armor. But I don’t say any of that. I’ve given him too much already.
“Yeah, guess I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He tilts his head. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Hiding. Come on. Let’s see if the chlorine washes this bad habit off you.”
Damn you, Preston. Stop looking that deep.
We step out onto the rooftop. Trees border two sides of the balcony, thick enough to block any prying eyes. The other edges offer a postcard view of Central Park, no neighbors in sight. Preston struts ahead, bare and unapologetic.
And sure, his ass is distracting, but even paired with the skyline, it’s not enough to shove my self-consciousness off the balcony ledge. I’m still naked. Everything of his flexes. Everything ofmine jiggles.
Yeah, yeah. Comparison is the thief of joy. Or whatever that quote is.
My hand flails mid-air. Should I cover my tits? My stomach? Maybe shield my thighs? Everything’s on the move, and I’ve got nowhere to tuck any of it.
Preston turns, and I freeze, hands hovering. Thank God I didn’t commit to an area, or I’d be getting a lecture now. My arm drops to the side as he checks his watch.
“Wait here.” The hell I am. I enter the pool and pretend the water gives me any sense of coverage. The floating-titty sensation gives me something else to focus on, at least.
He comes back with the restaurant menu and asks me to pick lunch for us. “Anything,” he says. But that just adds to my indecision.
I don’t want to feel or look bloated because round two is coming. “I don’t really need anything. If you think about it, I just had averyfulfilling protein smoothie.”
“Nice try.”
I scan the page for half a second, then glance up at him. “Do you think I burned enough calories for a burgeranda chocolate cake?”
His brow lifts. “If you say the wordcaloriesagain, I’m crossing ‘spanking’ off that list sooner than you thought.”
I roll my lips the tightest I can, but he sees right past my best efforts and smiles back at me, shaking his head.
He reaches for the phone, and I watch, mouth agape, as he orders for us.
“Hi. Yeah, in about… an hour, send up one of everything that the chef recommends, starting with the burger. And all the desserts. Yes. All of them. Thanks.”
Preston steps into the pool, and for once, I don’t thinkabout how I look. Not when he’s watching me likeIam what the chef recommended. Now it feels like the water hugs my curves better than any shapewear ever could. I float toward the deeper end, weightless, my brain quiet for the first time in… God, I don’t even know how long.
Preston rests his arms on the ledge next to me, neck tilted back, hair slicked off his face. If a statue of a Greek god came with dimples and dad instincts, it’d look exactly like this.
“So, we’re nowhere close to done, but”—he turns his head to stare at me—“was today what you hoped for when you started that list?”
