The perimeter fence of the property was imposing. Getting in was not easy. It would take more than just a ladder to scale the walls. Plus, the security system was set to detect any movement. If anyone was stupid enough to attempt to enter the property, an alarm would let me know.
Only two people apart from myself knew the override code—Ronnie and Doctor Lila Winchester. Ronnie was AWOL, and the veterinarian—among other things—was currently in New York at a conference.
Breath held in my throat, I watched the bush.
Nothing moved.
I let out a ragged sigh. I was getting jumpy.
Turning from the open door, I began walking for the stairs leading up to our bedroom. Clothes. I needed—
The distinct sound of someone diving into the pool filled the silence, followed by more splashing water.
I turned and sprinted to the open door, charging out onto the back deck, ready to launch myself over the railing and down onto the yard ten feet below. And stopped at the sight of Ronnie propelling herself through the water with a relaxed breaststroke motion.
“Oh fuck,” I burst out. Relief crashed through me, hot and prickling and mocking.
Christ, what the hell was wrong with me?
A hoarse chuckle scratched at my throat and I scrubbed at the back of my neck, watching Ronnie swim.
Fuck, she’s naked.
I skimmed my palm down over my stomach to cup my nuts, admiring the way Ronnie slid through the water, her perfection unmarred by bathers.
For a second, I considered shouting out to her, informing her I was going to join her, but I decided to stand back and enjoy the show for a while instead.
And fuck me, what a show it was.
Ronnie cut through the water, lap after lazy lap, her incredible ass bunching with each kick, glimpses of her breasts teasing me as her arms moved with each stroke.
My dick turned to a rigid pole as I admired the view. I massaged my balls, drawing deep, steadying breaths to slow my heart.
When Ronnie began to lap the pool in backstroke, her breasts and nipples breaking the water’s surface, the exquisite curve of her pussy doing the same, I knew it was time to join her in the pool.
I headed for the stairs to the yard from the back deck, and then changed my mind. Not about joining her in the water, but my approach. After the caveman-like fucking I’d given her earlier that day, perhaps it was time for some romance.
I’d never had a desire to be romantic until Ronnie entered my life, and to be honest, I wasn’t very good at it. A life fighting in gangs, a life brutalizing anyone not capable of standing his own against me in the underground MMA cage did not lend itself to nourishing a romantic.
Ronnie was changing that though.
The few times I’d been romantic during the last seven days—making her breakfast in bed, giving her an unexpected foot massage as we watched a movie on Netflix, shampooing her hair in the shower—she’d looked at me with such open love it had damn near stopped my heart.
Right now, in the pool? The perfect time to sweep her off her feet again. To show her I wasn’t just the bastard I knew I was.
I made my way back into the kitchen and snagged a bottle of white wine from the bar fridge. Humming, I chucked some ice into the bottom of an ice bucket, shoved the wine into the bucket, and then grabbed a packet of potato crisps from the pantry. Hey, I never said I was good at the whole romance thing, just that I tried.
I was grinning when I walked back out onto the deck. Horny, naked, and grinning.
I was also completely focused on the pleasure I was about to give Ronnie, which meant it took my brain longer than it should have to process the fact she was out of the pool, reaching for a towel on one of the sun loungers, her stare locked on the tall man standing directly before her.
Man.
Tall.
Tattoos.
Gun. Pointed at Ronnie.