She missed them.
Halfway back, her singlet bothered her, tight and heavy and dragging with the weight of the water she wanted against her breasts, and out here, alone, she decided she didn’t need it. She tugged it off, tossing it the side, where it landed with a slap on the stone surrounds, and resumed her slow, gentle strokes. The water whispered past her breasts, sensual currents making her nipples peak and turning alight skin already sensitised by memories that could not be erased.
She reached the deep end and stopped, resting her arms on the edge, dangling her legs through the water, feeling suddenly frustrated. So much for a cooling dip. This wasn’t working at all.
Dominic was still in the garage, wondering why he felt the need to continue with the piece at all. It was torture now, working the piece, shaping it, recreating from memory the scale and the curves. And every time he touched it, every time he turned it in his hands, it made him think of her.
He had to finish it, if for no other reason than to stop thinking of her. Besides, he had a bin full of abandoned projects. This one, he knew, he had no choice but to persist with until the bitter end. He glanced at the watch he’d set close to his forgotten and now cold cup of coffee and winced, knowing he had to be up in a few short hours and remembering he’d wanted to do some work on the overseas markets before he went to bed.
Which pretty much meant now if it was going to happen at all. He took one last look at the sculpture, committing it to memory so his subconscious could work on what he needed to do tomorrow, and snapped off the lamp.
The night was quiet and heavy with it, a change expected tomorrow that would liven things up weather-wise. But, for now, the warm night air was eerily silent as he stretched his legs outside under the moon before heading upstairs. He heard it then, no more than a burble, a swish of water and the hint of a sigh that had him turning rock-hard even before he turned towards the pool.
Surely not?
Night time fantasies were just that, weren’t they?
And then he heard a wet slap and saw her in the pool, her bare arms pearlescent under the light of the moon, and fantasy collided with reality.
And he didn’t care that he’d decided it would be better to stay away. He didn’t care if he knew she didn’t want his child, because there was no way he could turn away. Because, he thought, as the top button came undone, and the next followed, this wasn’t about any child, or about what he knew was good for him.
This was about wanting her.
Pure unadulterated need.
And it was killing him.
She heard his footsteps before the husky, deep, ‘Hot night, mind if I join you?’
She swallowed. His shirt was already undone, a column of superb masculine flesh exposed to her gaze from his neck to his waist. Skin her fingers ached to touch. ‘It’s your pool,’ she managed. ‘Although you’re not exactly dressed for it.’
‘Easy fix,’ he said, his hands at his belt as he kicked off his shoes.
She turned her head away, wanting to look but afraid to, wondering just what he intended swimming in. Maybe it was time she got out. She heard a splash, felt the surge of water from his dive and turned to see him powering down the pool, long strokes eating up the length until he disappeared on a roll and came surging back towards her.
Maybe she should get out.
Maybe…
And then he was there beside her, water flying from his glorious head in beads that spun away like jewels in the silver of the moon.
‘Couldn’t sleep?’ he asked her, and she shook her head, not wanting to open her mouth lest she reveal what had kept her awake.
Besides, his eyes had her full attention, night sky meeting the night sky, with just the glint of the moon to light them. They should be cold, she thought idly, but instead they were charged with heat and she wondered—dared to hope—that he might be fighting his own internal battle with temperature control.
He lifted a hand to her face, those dark eyes focused and intent, and her breath hitched as he pushed away a strand of wet hair from her face. His touch triggered sparks under her skin that travelled the entire length of her, a chain reaction that tugged at her nipples and sent a pulsing awareness between her thighs. ‘I meant to thank you,’ he said, ‘for what you have done with the nursery. Rosa said you did it all yourself. Everything.’