In fact, the only thing I smell is chlorine.
Eyes closed, I inhale deeper. Yup, definitely chlorine. I can pick up the sound of running water too. A few twists and turns and dead ends later I find the source of the smell and experience giddy enthusiasm for the first time in years.
This insane house has an even more insane indoor pool. Entirely enclosed under what must be the center of the building, Mediterranean tile walls curve up into arches over what looks like an Olympic-size pool. Between the arches, the ceilingis painted blue to mimic the sky, the vibrant color reflected in the water below.
The pool itself is surrounded by teak flooring, white chaises in a tidy row on one side, giant palm trees bathed by some kind of special lighting on the other. At the rear of the pool is the source of the running water sound—a waterfall that cascades down from a height of at least eight feet, breaking into the serene surface of the pool in a ruckus of froth and bubbles.
Just seeing it makes me giggle.Giggle. Something I was sure I’d forgotten how to do. But swimming—there’s no way I’d forget that.
I’m Italian. A sun-worshiping, beach-loving child of the Mediterranean. There isn’t a body of water that I’ve met that I haven’t loved. Not even the freezing waters of Lake Michigan can bum me out when I’m desperate for a swim.
This utterly gorgeous pool? It’s the stuff my dreams are made of.
I strip off my sweatshirt and sweatpants and don’t bother testing the water before diving in wearing only my bra and undies.
The instant I’m below the surface the entire world disappears, leaving me with nothing but silence and the comforting weight of water.
I lose count of how many laps I do, the repetitive movement and subtle ache in my muscles forcing my brain to shut off.
When the ache becomes a burn, I do another dive below the surface, holding my breath until I clear the other side of the waterfall. When I come back up, I’m hidden from the rest of the room by a wall of water. The pool is shallow here, the water stopping just below my chest when I stand. I’m about to rest against the edge when I hear footsteps on the other end of the pool’s deck.
I hold my breath. The footsteps stop and for a moment I think the person has turned and gone. Then, the person—aman—starts talking. I’m too far away to identify the voice or what he’s saying, but I can tell by the cadence he’s pissed.
A feeling I share when I hear the unmistakable sound of someone diving in.
For the first few minutes I stay where I am, frozen, hiding behind the waterfall. Praying that he—whoever he is—won’t notice I’m here. But the longer he swims laps, the longer I wonder about who else in the house would have the freedom to use the pool when there’s a captive to keep from escaping.
The guards must work in shifts, I rationalize. There’s no way they’re all on duty twenty-four/seven. Alik is an autocratic ass, but even he isn’t that controlling. Maybe,maybe, I silently pray, it’s just a guard enjoying an off-duty swim. Maybe it’s even Dimitri. Maybe the big bald guy won’t even notice if I slip out of the water and scurry away…
A fantasy that drowns when a frustratingly familiar head rises above the surface on my side of the waterfall, muscle-bound shoulders eating up the space between me and any chance of escape.
I barely stop myself from cursing out loud when a wet Alik fills my line of vision. His hair is slicked back and darker now, a deep brown with just a few glints of gold shining through. Water droplets cling to his eyelashes and navigate the sharp planes of his face. The in-pool lighting casts his torso and arms in a hazy glow, the water doing nothing to conceal the thick ropes of muscle that band around his chest and stomach. Or the intricate lines of ink that seem to hug him from the back, an unidentifiable image painting his sides and the edges of his chest.
I’m studying those lines, trying to see them more clearly when Alik clears his throat. “You’re staring.”
I glance up, really hoping my face doesn’t look as pink as it feels. “You’re invading my personal space.”
“It’s my pool, Marya.” He’s closer, the water weaving between us like thread around a spindle.
“That’s not my name,Alik.” I retreat as far as I can, the pool’s ledge a hard line across the middle of my back.
“But it suits you so well,moya voitelnitsa,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting down to where my chest is exposed above the water line. And where my once-pink bra has become waterlogged and completely transparent.
There’s no way I’m not blushing now. Alik can see my nipples. The same nipples I put on display during my little revenge performance for his cameras.
I want to dissolve in humiliation, but he slips closer, shrinking the space between us until there’s barely an inch left. “What are you doing?” I hiss, trying not to drool over the brutal lines of his shoulders. God, I wish they weren’t so damn lickable.
“Such a good question. WhatamI doing?” His eyes are near black, his pupils so wide there’s nothing left but a ring of blue. “The one thing I swore I wouldn’t.”
16
SERA
Something about his answer makes my stomach tighten, my skin so hot steam should be rising from the water. Alik lifts his hands, the muscles in his shoulders doing magical things as he grips the edge of the pool on either side of me.
His chest brushes mine. Barely a touch and I feel it all the way to my toes. Lips dry, I lick them. Alik tracks the movement like his life depends on it.
“Wh-what did you swear you wouldn’t do?” I stammer.