He let Jasper keep the last word and tucked his phone in his back pocket as his foot tangled in a pair of shorts left in a pile on the pool deck.
The hell?
His gaze tracked along to land on a matching golf shirt. He could just make out the Merry Maids logo in the glow of the pool lights.
Gatecrasher. He kicked the shorts up with his toe and snatched them out of the air.
“Fucking brilliant.” He was in no mood to deal with this shit. Feelin’ too much today already, watching Jasper and Quinn get their happy ending, dealing with Putter, working to keep that devil-may-care attitude at the forefront so his friends didn’t zero in on the shit messin’ with his head.
Failing at that if his conversation with Quinn and Jasper’s text messages were anything to go by.
Was it too much to ask for a quiet night swim followed by more tequila and a morning filled with the headache of regrets and good booze? Instead, he had to deal with some reckless townie looking to take advantage of the abandoned villa.
He looked beyond the shirt and the muscle in his jaw clenched when he saw the bra and panties discarded at the edge of the deep end.
A girl townie.
Fantastic.
Time was, he’d view this as a chance to end his night with his favorite kind of happy ending. Now, he was only annoyed at having to rustle some kid out of the pool before he could get back to drinking.
The sound of steady splashing caught his attention. He lifted his head in time to catch a glimpse of arms cutting through the water with smooth, sharp strokes.
Her body had length, most of it in the legs that kicked rhythmically in time with her arms, calf muscles cut in relief. Her head tilted for her to take a breath, eyes shut, the oval shape of her face perfectly bisected by the water like a Carnival half mask. Grant’s eyes tracked down to the equally round and, it had to be said, pert shape of her bare ass with tight cheeks he guessed would comfortably fit in each of his hands.
She reached the end of the pool and executed a perfect underwater flip that set her feet in precise location to launch into another lap. The floor lights in the pool illuminated the gleam of her body as she undulated for near half the pool’s length before breeching the surface with the sharp bob of a breast stroke.
Emphasis on breasts, plural, as both globes were revealed to Grant’s growing admiration. The SEAL in him admired her skill. She was an amateur but a damn good one who knew to move with the water rather than against it. Not many amateurs figured that trick out, instead thought swimming was a battle to tame the water to their form. Most never learned the truth.
There was no taming the water. Not in any form.
The man in him was far more intrigued by her other captivating assets. Grant felt a ripple of interest he hadn’t felt in months. He crossed his arms and settled in at rest to enjoy the show.
She was halfway through the return lap when she finally tagged him. Immediately, she floundered, getting a good swallow of pool water as she did, which led to an epic bout of choking while she got her feet under her.
Fixed on him, her eyes bugged out wide, but the pool light now put her face in shadow, hiding their color. Her once fluid limbs locked tight on the water’s surface, with an air of shocked embarrassment that told him she wasn’t accustomed to being naked before strangers.
He liked all that said to him.
’Cept he wasn’t in the mood to tangle with a moonlit mermaid. “You’ve got some nerve, sweetheart.”
“Holy cats,” she managed between coughs. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but pretty sure I paid for the privilege.” His gaze swept over her, clinical and without any admiration. “Don’t remember checking off the ‘naked water nymph’ perk on the reservation.”
“It’s –it’s only—” A final harsh gurgle cleared her throat. “It’s only offered to Gold Star members.”
Her cheek made him fight a grin, which only made him more aggravated. “Hafta remember to thank management for the upgrade when I report you.”
That took care of her cheek. “You can’t do that,” she whispered.
“Think you’re wrong there, nymph.”
Something odd flashed through the shocked embarrassment in her face. Odd and…familiar.
His vision narrowed to pinpoint on her features. Her wet hair left her face stark and that whisper of warning teased the back of his neck again. The one that’d saved his life countless times in the field. The one that told him he’d missed something important.
He felt it, but didn’t get it, so he got pissed. “Tell me your name”
She started at his bark. “N-no.”
Her refusal surprised him. He wasn’t used to being disobeyed, and the only thing that kept his temper in check now was that she looked as surprised by it as him.
Her eyes tracked past him to where she’d left her clothes. It was the new angle of her head that finally clicked an image in his head.
“You’re the maid who snuck behind me while I was on the phone.”
Her shoulders rolled back, chin tilting with an arrogance he’d expect from his Yankee, blue-blooded mother, not a housemaid at a Florida beach resort. “I hardly 'snuck'. Now if you please, kindly turn your back so I can get out and leave you to your evening,” she ordered, all traces of embarrassed guilt gone.
Grant found himself fighting a grin. “You’re not exactly in the position to make demands, nymph.”
She turned that rigid shoulder to him, exposing plump side boob and a very nice back whose spine was ramrod straight. She swished her way to the edge of the pool where she’d left her clothes—which were now at his feet.
Despite her demand to turn his back, her nudity seemed not to bother her at all. Once at the side of the pool, she looked up, fingers curling around the rim, and, fuck him, his dick finally dialed in to take acute notice, rousing despite her breasts being out-of-sight crushed to the wall.
Her legs kicked idly in the water, muddying his view, but he’d seen enough to know she’d be worth the time and effort—if he was in the mood to make either. Well, parts of him were in the mood, but it’d been a long time since he’d been led around by his dick. One tempting water nymph wasn’t going to make him revert.
“You going to stand there staring all night or are you going to report me?”
More cheek. He really didn’t want to like this woman.
“Probably. If you were a little nicer, maybe you could talk me out of it.”
He waited for the sharp reply, eager to hear what snooty rejoinder she’d aim his way. Any other woman would’ve cut and run by now, especially when he was deliberately being this much of an outright asshole. But something about this woman made him brace.
Good plan, too, since his water nymph contemplated him from below and then shocked the shit outta him by flattening her hands on the cement edge and hoisting herself out of the pool. A whoosh of water and there she stood, naked and without a hint of shame.
Water dripped down her chest and over her high, pert breasts with nipples raised to points by the cooler air. Down the concave slope of her belly and over the natural flare of her hips and the vee of her exposed sex to pool around her feet on the asphalt. She was almost a foot shorter than him, but her height was mostly in her long thighs and curved calves.
He wanted his hands on those hips, his mouth on those breasts, and those lithe legs wrapped tight and high on his back as he sank inside her. He felt the pull of her expectation and somehow wrenched his eyes from the feast to the no less bounty of her face. When she caught his gaze with what had to be the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, the perfect bow of her mouth curved into a smug, Cheshire smile.
“How much nicer do you want me to be?”
Chapter Three
Oh my God, God, God.
What was wrong with her?
Was she actually losing her mind?! Skye watched Grant visually devour her body, which made her prickle in private places that ha
dn’t prickled in six long months. She felt hot and cold at the same time. Her brain registered that this was the combination of the cool air on her skin and the arousal in her belly, but her brain wasn’t really doing the thinking right now, was it?
God, he was gorgeous. Sinfully so. She’d be in nonstop confession for the carnal violations she wanted to commit with this man.
Good thing she wasn’t Catholic.
But, Lord save her, she wanted him.
What was it about her and him and pools anyway? It was like they shared some private fetish by default.
Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was the stereotypical need to get banged but good in defiance of death.
Maybe she didn’t give a crap. The last man she’d had on the worst day of her life (barring today and the one when she found her grandmother’s obit and realized no one told her because no one knew where to find her) was standing before her, and, goddammit, she was going to have him again.
Come on, Grant. She couldn’t have given him a clearer invite if she’d had it written in the sky at midday. Jeez, the guy hadn’t had to work hard for her the first time either (not that he remembered it, the rat).
Thornquists do not beg.
Oh, but she wanted to beg. More. And harder. And yes. If Grant took much longer, the parts of Skye that wanted him between her legs were going to trump the parts that were Thornquist damn fast. Begging would only be the start of it.
It was too dark to make out his features, but Skye already had every bit of Grant Sisti committed to memory. He’d let his dark-brown hair grow in the six months since she’d seen him so it now angled flat across his forehead and was slightly shaggy around his ears and neck. The new style put his slightly overlarge nose in relief. She’d always been drawn to men with large proboscis and never could figure out why when part of her was immediately turned off by the same. He’d be hot if his nose wasn’t so big, she’d idly think of the rare movie star or society wolf who’d caught her usually brief attention.
On Grant, it worked for her. Big time.
Her experienced eye noted that for all their simplicity, his clothes were tailored to him. An off-white, button-down shirt that matched the loose cotton trousers. The top three buttons were undone far enough to show the shadowed dip where his throat met his collarbone. The arms crossed over the bulk of his chest called attention to his bulging biceps under the short sleeves. She might’ve been totally skunked that time he’d pulled her from the pool, but one thing she clearly remembered was how easily he’d climbed out with her hoisted in his arms before he’d tossed her over his shoulder. Not for one moment had she feared for her safety.
It was the last time she could remember feeling that safe. Or safe at all.
Maybe that’s why she’d come back to Barefoot Bay when she’d cut ties with everything and everyone she knew. She’d been waiting for this—waiting for him. Somehow embedded with the certainty that he’d come back, that if she was ever to feel that safe again, it’d be here, with Grant Sisti.
One more time.
He made a move, though she couldn’t tell what. He looked as solid as he had a moment before. But something had changed, something that rippled through the air making the space between them crackle.
“You sure this is what you want?” he asked in a low rumble.
Was she? He looked like the man she knew, but Skye could tell things had changed during their time apart. He had changed. This was not the laughing charmer who’d lifted her sopping wet out of the resort’s pool, designer gown and all, to carry her off for a night of debauchery. This man was a gruff bruiser she’d tamper with at her own risk and by the look on his face, she’d regret it.
Not that it mattered to Skye. Like that night six months ago, she was no longer in control. And this time, she couldn’t even blame it on booze. Something base and basic drove her. The same unnamed urge that made her exit the pool and challenge this strapping man buck naked.
“I’m sure,” she reassured.
“Don’t want you, later on, claiming I extorted you. This is your choice,” he confirmed.
She nodded and, to prove she meant it, crossed the few feet between them. Slowly, she raised her hand to his chest and laid it right on top of where his heart beat fast but steady. She stared, fascinated by the hard muscle under her fingers, knowing she’d soon feel all that weight and strength on her, in her, again. “My choice,” she repeated in a whisper.
Water slid down her calves to drip on his bare toes. Seemingly oblivious to her wet, he cuffed her wrist in his long fingers. A brief squeeze and then his hand traced slowly up her arm and over her shoulder until that wide palm settled at the base of her throat, fingers stretching over her collarbone to catch around the side of her neck. She felt their tips brush her nape, and only when her breath fogged in the air did Skye realize she was panting.
“Your pulse is racing, little nymph,” he murmured and she shivered under the rumble of his voice.
“I’m cold,” she lied. There was so much heat burning inside her, she could power a city grid. The shiver that crept up her spine was all his fault.
His mouth twisted, but the reaction was rote. His expression remained blank, a void but for the cold eyes that assessed her with such flat disinterest, it put her back up even as sudden embarrassment made her want to slink back into the pool and hide in the shadows.
Thornquists do not hide.
If her grandmother had ever stood wet and naked before a hot bruiser who didn’t want her, Skye was sure she’d say different.
“Let’s see what we can do to warm you up,” he said.
He moved and Skye started (and instantly hated herself for it), but she wasn’t quick enough to dodge when he suddenly bent over and scooped her up in his arms. Least he didn’t throw me over his shoulder this time.
She looped one arm around his neck and let him sweep her inside in a rather mechanical fashion for all the proposed gallantry of his bride-and-groom hold. She kept her eyes pinned on his taut throat, idly taking note of the embroidery detailing the panels of his shirt alongside the buttons, no less masculine for its precise stitching.
He stepped into the villa, jostling her once to shut the French doors, and making straight for the thermostat when she shivered again. “Put it where you want it,” he ordered. She adjusted the lever to a comfortable 72 degrees, biting back the instinct to ask his preference.
Thornquists never prioritize their own comfort.
At the moment, Thornquists could suck it.
He raised a brow at her setting. It was March, but it was still Florida. “It’s cooler at night,” she explained.
His shifted her as he turned and now his mouth brushed her ear. “A warm-water only nymph.”
She rolled her lips together while he made straight for the bedroom. Skye couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Which was dumb, because she wanted this. Wanted him. That he was ready to get right to business shouldn’t make her feel—hollow. Like he was letting her down somehow.
Maybe because he didn’t remember and had yet to ask her name. Again.
But she’d underestimated this new version of her old lover. Rather than plopping her in the bed and getting to it, Grant took her directly to the pristine bathroom she’d finished cleaning only an hour earlier. He lowered her feet to the floor with the same casual strength with which he’d lifted her.
Even had she the skill, Skye couldn’t hide her confusion.
“These robes should be outlawed for opulence,” he said with a head jerk toward the pair hanging nearby. “You should warm up quick.”
And with that, he shut the door in her befuddled face.
What the hell was that? He demanded she be absolutely clear that she wanted him then—whoosh—dumped her in the bathroom?! That she just cleaned?! (And she didn’t give one flip that he had no way of knowing that.)
She didn’t have a ton of experience, true, but Skye was pretty sure when a naked and willing woman gave you the green light, you didn’t dump
her and tell her to get dressed. She, a Thornquist, had been—rejected by…by…by a security guard!
What was all that “are you sure?” nonsense if he wasn’t going to…follow through? Was her new look so off-putting that even being a sure thing couldn’t wrangle her a one-off?
Quickly, Skye checked her appearance in the (she proudly noted) gleaming mirror. One good thing about expensive makeup—choose correctly and it was worth the dosh. Even chlorine water couldn’t remove her sweat-proof, waterproof, high-def cosmetics.
So it wasn’t that he’d recognized her and didn’t want a second go. That was something. What that something meant, she had yet to figure out.
“I’m in flippin’ Bizzaro World,” she muttered. Ignoring the robes out of spite, she yanked a thick towel from the warmer and wrapped it tightly around her body, jabbing the corner in between her breasts.
Beloved matriarch dead and buried the same day her mystery lover unexpectedly returned to the scene of the crime only to reject her offer for a repeat? Felt pretty flippin’ bizarre to her!
“Super,” she hissed. “I should have known not to go into the pool. Every single time, disaster strikes. That’s it. Never again. And no men either, especially super-hot security guards who can’t even bother to remember my name!”
She yelped when he knocked a quick trifecta on the door.
“Hurry up,” he ordered, short and terse, like this entire re-acquaintance. “I’ve brought your clothes in. Soon as you’re dressed, you can go.”
Of a sudden, the hurt burst in her chest. Skye swallowed hard before it could make it past her lips and finish this horrible night off with the solid humiliation of another crying jag.
She cleared her throat. “L-leave them on the dresser, please.” God, so polite it made her want to hurl. Couldn’t she, for once, get a bit of the bitch on? But no, courtesy had to be her ingrained default, while her sister and cousins were able to verbally eviscerate at will with not an iota of guilt.
Oh God, she had to go out there. She had to put her clothes on and go out there and talk to him if she wanted to get her behind out of this villa. And she did, she very much wanted out and someone else could clean the dang thing for as long as Grant Sisti stayed in it.
SEALed With a Twist Page 4