Page 24 of Wicked Rush

Chapter Eight

Braelynn took a deep breath. With every second that passed, the more she contemplated telling Lars everything. Despite her paranoia, he’d been true to his word, hadn’t called the police. But doubts persisted about his motives. He was friends with Garrett and Chase. For all she knew, he’d already contacted them.

Her eyes darted to the cliff where she’d trekked the previous night. It was nearly fifty feet to the edge. If she sprinted, she reasoned she could possibly make it back to her car. But as she ran her palms over the soft robe, she remembered that she’d left her keys in her jeans pocket. Lars had told her he’d thrown her clothes in the dryer and retrieved them.

Her mind wandered to the handcuff he’d used to fasten her to the bed. She’d consented, but not willingly. He didn’t trust her. She’d been treated like a criminal. Yet his touch was that of a lover, his hands gentle on her skin. She rubbed her wrist, recalling how he’d caught her daydreaming, lost in her fantasy. The man made her hotter than hell, and she hated the loss of control over her emotions. A relationship with Lars was impossible. The best she could hope for was a life free from bars.

A bark in the distance drew her attention and she caught sight of Sasha barreling toward her. Braelynn knelt to greet her, steadying herself with one hand to the ground. As the rambunctious pup ran toward the patio, she glanced at the pool. Braelynn struggled to maintain her balance, reaching for the ball of fur. Unsuccessful in regaining her equilibrium, she toppled into the water, giving a loud scream. Her laughter carried in the wind as she broke the surface. But as the sodden thick cotton robe began to drag her under, she started to panic, fighting to keep her head above the water.

Fumbling to untie the belt, she cursed. Her legs burned, treading water. Calm down. Breathe. You’ve got this, she told herself. Although she’d always loved the water, she’d already nearly drowned once in the past twenty-four hours. She shoved down the fears of the memory, relief tearing through her as the sash loosened, allowing her to shed the fabric.

Braelynn swam to the side of the pool and reached for its edge. Clasping at the stone, her breasts brushed its smooth inner surface. Coolness passed between her legs, and the realization that she was stark naked hit her. Lars. Any second he’d be back. She scanned the patio for a towel, but the only covering of any kind she could spot was a stack of chaise longue cushions sitting five feet away.

Beggars can’t be choosers.It wasn’t the first time in her life she’d improvised. Without giving thought to the ladder to her right, she flattened her palms onto the patio. As she pressed upward, she caught sight of Lars staring at her. Blood rushed to her cheeks in embarrassment, and she dipped back out of his line of vision. This isn’t happening. A nervous smile broke across her face, and she buried her forehead on her crossed arms. Of all the stupid things I’ve ever done…no, no, no.

“You okay?” she heard him ask. Braelynn lifted her gaze, settling on his.

“I’m wet.” Sweet baby Jesus, I did not just say that.

He laughed and approached slowly. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I fell,” she managed.

“You know, when I heard you scream, I assumed you were in danger. And here you are,” Lars never took his eyes off her as he walked the length of the pool, “taking a morning swim.”

“I just said I fell,” she responded, irritated that he was playing with her.

“Fell in the pool. Swim. Whatever.” He nodded in approval. “Naked, though. You know, I can say I was not expecting that.”

“Neither was I.” She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, watching as he turned back toward the house. “Where are you going?”

“Relax, Doc. I’ll be right back.” He gave a half salute, disappearing into the house.

“Get me a towel,” Braelynn yelled. What the hell is he doing?

She considered shoving out of the pool and running up the stairs, but her short-lived plan was thwarted as Lars returned. Braelynn squinted, the sun in her eyes. She held tight to the edge with one hand while she brushed the water from her face. As he drew closer and she caught sight of the string wrapped in his masculine fist, her pulse raced.

“Something wrong?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You have it.” Braelynn’s eyes went wide as he held up the brass key she’d hidden in the sand.

“I told you I had it. You see, that’s the thing about me, Brae. I mean what I say.” Lars crossed to meet her and settled into a large contemporary sofa. Its red and white stripes stood out against the grey stones. Dangling the key in the air, he locked his eyes on hers. “You’re going to learn you can trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?” Her voice grew louder; she was frustrated more with herself for everything she’d done. “You didn’t call the police, I’ll give you that. But you don’t owe me anything. I don’t know why you are even bothering.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“I know exactly who you are. Lars Elliott. CEO.” She gave him a sideways glance and continued, “Playboy.”

“Seriously?” he interrupted. “You’re gonna go there?”

“Playboy,” Braelynn gritted out, not giving a fuck about hurting his feelings after he’d toyed with her. He wanted the truth, after all. Everyone at Emerson knew the score. She was wet and naked in a pool, and her limit of patience had been reached. “You do something athletic. Besides the surfing. I don’t know what but I can tell…” she stuttered, her eyes washing over him. “Smart. Brave. You saved me. The hospital. Nice voice.”

“You remember?” His voice softened.

“It’s hazy.”

“I want answers, Brae.”