Zoey

The sound of my phone alarm comes as a rude awakening. I hardly slept a wink. Tossing and turning, I couldn’t stop thinking about last night’s events.

Brandon Taylor saved my life. My real-life Kurt Kussler rescued me from drowning. Gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and carried me in his arms. I couldn’t stop reliving the feeling of his soft lips on mine, breathing life into me, his heartbeat singing in my ears, and being in his strong arms, mine wrapped around his neck, clinging to him. Never wanting to let go. Never wanting him to leave me.

Peeling one eye open after the other, my exhilaration gives way to the reality that today is just another humdrum day of being his overworked assistant and back at his beck and call. What happened last night was just a fluke thing. He did what any good Samaritan would do. Except Brandon Taylor isn’t any ordinary citizen. He’s my boss. TV’s highest paid actor. People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive.” And let’s get very real. He’s totally unavailable. He’s engaged to Katrina Moore, America’s It Girl. And they’re getting married on national TV.

Still tucked under my covers, I gaze up at the ceiling like I’m looking for answers. Fucking Katrina. Did she yank me into the pool or did I slip? While she did try to stop me from leaving, I can’t be sure. Pointing a finger at her is not going to pay off. The manipulative bitch will throw insults in my face and twist things so I look like some dumb-ass spaz who doesn’t know how to swim. In my head, I can hear her apologizing to Brandon in her kiss-up saccharine voice for not helping me while I was drowning. In my best impersonation of her, I mouth, “I’m sorry, Brandy-Poo. I had no clue.” And then, the lying bitch will make things all right by pulling down his fly…

My alarm rings again. Just in time to stop my imagination from going to repugnant X-rated places. It’s time to get up and down to business. Groggily, I lift myself to a sitting position and reach for my phone on my night table. I routinely go to my emails to check what’s on today’s agenda before getting dressed and heading off to Starbucks. Sure enough, there’s one from Brandon with “IMPORTANT” written in the subject line. My pulse quickening, I click on it and read it:

As soon as you’re up, meet me at the pool and be sure to wear a bathing suit.

Anxiety blasts through me. The pool is the last place I want to hang out with him. And I sure as hell don’t want to put on a bathing suit. I only own one—a one-piece I’ve had for years that covers up most of my imperfections. I’ve actually never worn it and dread putting it on. I email him back.

Do I really need to wear a bathing suit? I’d rather not.

I hit send and get an instant reply.

Yes. Get your ass to the pool now.

Fuck. Boss’s orders. He’s back to being an asshole.

When I get to the pool, he’s already in the water swimming laps—something he does daily while I go to Starbucks to fetch his must-have Grande iced coffee. He cuts through the water like a shark, each powerful stroke propelling him forward, the muscles of his tanned arms and back rhythmically contracting. On a breath, he catches sight of me and swims up to where I’m standing. His head rises from the water, his skin and hair glistening. Lifting his goggles atop of his head, he rests his beautiful arms along the edge, flexing those well-formed biceps. His thick-lashed violet eyes gleam into mine.

“Good morning,” I say, holding it together despite a flurry of flutters. “What’s on the agenda?”

“Jump in.”

My stomach twists. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Take off your robe and jump in. I assume you’re wearing a bathing suit.”

I nervously tug at the belt of my worn velour robe. “If you recall, I don’t swim.”

“That’s unacceptable. You’re a liability. Now, please take off your robe.”

Slowly, I shrug off my robe until it’s puddled at my feet. His eyes travel from my head to my toes, lingering on some places he has no right to be. While all my lady parts are hidden, I feel like I’m totally bared to him. Divulging every imperfection. A shiver runs up my spine while I tug on the edge of my tank suit to make sure it’s covering my big butt.

“You look good in a bathing suit. Now, let’s get you wet.”

I read more than I should into his words. A rush of hot tingles bombards me.

“I’m a little nervous.” Make that scared shitless. My fear of drowning is so great I don’t take baths, and when I was at that spa, I never stepped foot in the hot tub.

“Jump in,” he orders again, his voice louder and gruffer.

Clenching my fists, I stand as still as a stone statue. I’m paralyzed with fear.

He scowls at me. “If you don’t do it, I’m going to hoist myself out of the pool and throw you in.”

I gulp. Though I suppose I could threaten him for harassment, he’s not giving me much choice. I chew on my bottom lip.

He breaks into a smug smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch every little bit of you.”

The thought of being held again in those magnificent arms motivates me. Okay, here goes. My heart racing, on the silent count of three, I squeeze my eyes shut and jump into the pool. The deep end, no less. Splash! As quickly as I sink in the tepid water so deep my toes skim the bottom, I torpedo to the surface. My head powers through the water and I find myself eye level with Brandon who’s holding me tightly. His firm hands cinch my waist. Face to face, we’re just a palm’s width apart. Anxiously, I grasp his broad shoulders for extra support and security. Or should I say irresistibly?

He smirks. “See, that wasn’t too bad.”

His warm breath heats my moist cheeks. “Okay, are we done now?” Truthfully, I don’t want to let go of him.

His smirk morphs into a fiendish grin. “We’ve only just begun. I’m giving you a swimming lesson. Something you’ve obviously never had.”

“Um, uh, my parents never got around to it,” I stammer. Brandon knows very little about my family or past. He’s never asked. Right now, the pathetic excuse will have to suffice. It’s not the time to tell him about my mother’s tragic death.

He cocks a brow. “Whatever. By the time we’re done today, you’re going to be able to swim a lap all on your own.”

My breath hitches in my throat. “I don’t think so.”

Without responding, he transports me to the shallow end of the pool where we can both stand up. He sets me down on my feet. While the water comes to my chest, it hits his six-foot-two frame just above his waist. His shimmering pecs and six-pack are in full view. They take my breath away.

Almost ironically he says, “Okay, the first thing you need to learn how to do is breathe. It’s simple.”

I watch as he dips his head into the water and blows out little bubbles. After thirty seconds or so, he lifts it out and shakes off some excess water. Somehow, I find that sexy as sin and a new set of hot tingles rushes to my core.

My turn. I imitate his actions, and with pursed lips, I blow out bubbles, trying to breathe normally. The soft percolating sound echoes through my ears. Finally, when I can no longer hold my breath and my lungs feel on the verge of bursting, my head pops out of the water. I inhale a deep breath of the warm morning air to replenish my lungs. My gaze meets Brandon’s.

His eyes are wide. “Wow! You have amazing breath control. How’d you learn to do that?”

One two-syllable word is on the tip of my tongue. Blowjobs. Sadly forgettable. I bite it back and shrug. “I suppose it’s just a special skill I have.”

He smirks again, his eyes narrowing seductively. “I bet you have lots of special skills I don’t know about. You’re lucky. I’m going to add swimming to your repertoire.”