Wedding Party Collection: Always The Bachelor. Barbara Hannay

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СКАЧАТЬ to worry, he would be cooled off soon enough.

      “I could use a cold drink,” he said. “Can I get you something?”

      “Whatever you’re having.”

      “Two mineral waters comin’ right up.”

      His arrogance, his unshakable self-confidence, would be his undoing.

      She walked to the deep end of the pool, hiked her skirt up to the midthigh region so it wouldn’t get wet—and hell, why not give him a decent view before he went down—and sat on the edge, the hot tile scorching the backs of her legs. She dipped her feet in and cool water lapped around her ankles. The midday sun reflecting off the surface strobed in her eyes and made her squint.

      She watched as Dillon stepped around the bar and fished two bottles of water from the refrigerator. With the exception of a sip of champagne, she still hadn’t seen him drink a single alcoholic beverage.

      “You don’t drink anymore?” she asked.

      He opened both waters and added a wedge of lime to each one. “Occasionally.”

      Keep a casual conversation going so he doesn’t suspect, she told herself. Act as if everything is normal. “What made you quit?”

      “You ever try to run a billion-dollar corporation with a raging hangover?” He carried them both over to where she sat, and the anticipation was killing her.

      “So it was interfering with your work?”

      He shrugged. “The truth is, I didn’t make a conscious effort to stop. I guess I just outgrew it.” He leaned slightly forward to hand her a bottle. “Here you go.”

      “Thank you.” She cast him a bright smile. This was going to feel so good.

      She reached up to grab it, but instead she wrapped her hand around his wrist and yanked as hard as she could. He teetered for a second, trying to catch his balance, then he laughed and cursed and let himself fall.

      He landed with a noisy, messy kersploosh, bottles and all, splashing her from head to toe with pool water.

      “Yes!” She jumped to her feet, cherishing her victory. May be now he would stop messing with her; he would see she meant business. And even if he didn’t, it had been a lot of fun.

      She gazed down into the water. Any second now, he would rise to the top and see her smug smile, the satisfaction in her eyes. May be the kiss idea had been a disaster, but this would be her moment of triumph.

      Yep, any second now.

      She squinted to make out his shadowy form against the dark tile lining the bottom of the pool. He was still way down there. May be he was looking for the water bottles. So someone didn’t accidentally step on one and cut their foot. Only thing was, he didn’t appear to be moving.

      A pocket of air rose and bubbled to the surface but still no Dillon.

      What if he’d hurt himself?

      No, that was silly. She had seen him go in. He hadn’t hit his head or twisted anything. At least, she didn’t think so. He was fine. He was just trying to get her to jump in after him.

      Well, she wasn’t falling for it.

      But how long could someone hold their breath? It had already been a while, hadn’t it? Close to a minute even. At least it seemed that way.

      As every second ticked past, her confidence began to fizzle.

      What if there was something really wrong? What if he wasn’t breathing? What if he’d been telling the truth and he really didn’t know how to swim?

      He’d told her he never learned how and she’d pushed him in regardless, meaning she would be responsible if he was hurt.

      If he died.

      Her heart dropped hard and fast, leaving a sick, empty hole in her chest as a dozen gruesome images flashed through her brain at the speed of light. Dillon being dragged from the pool, his tanned skin gray and waxy, his lips a deathly shade of blue.

      Dillon’s funeral. Having to face his family and admit it had been her fault.

      She thought of all the things she could have said to him, should have said, and had never gotten the chance.

      Her stomach churned with the possibilities, and her head swam with disbelief. She didn’t like Dillon, but she didn’t want him dead, either.

      And what if no one believed it was an accident? She could see the headlines now. Bestselling author murders ex-husband after publicly berating him in her tell-all book.

      Dillon had floated closer to the surface, but he still wasn’t moving, and she was running out of time. There was no way he could hold his breath for that long.

      Oh, hell.

      She kicked off her sandals and dove in, the cool water swallowing her up like a hungry beast, numbing her senses. All she could feel was the dull throb of panic squeezing her chest, hear the beat of her own pulse in her ears, louder and louder as she descended. She opened her eyes, blinking against the burn of chlorine. Her gaze darted back and forth as she searched, desperate to spot his floating form. She would have to hoist him from the pool and do mouth-to-mouth, get his airway cleared. She’d been certified in first aid and CPR for years, but she’d never actually had to use it. She only hoped she remembered how.

      But she would have to find him first. He was gone, as if he had vanished into thin air, or been sucked into an alternate universe.

      She hit the bottom at the ten-foot mark and flipped over, her long skirt tangling around her legs. She looked up and saw a pair of booted feet and blue jeans and the lower half of a male torso. The rest of him was out of the water.

      And he was very much alive.

      She heard a muffled noise above her and realized it was laughter. He was laughing.

      He was okay. All this time he’d been okay, and now he was laughing at her.

      She pushed off the bottom of the pool and sailed to the surface, her lungs screaming for air.

      A minute ago all she could think about was saving his sorry behind. Now she wanted to kill him.

      Dillon hoisted himself up onto the pool edge beside the ladder, wiping water from his eyes and sweeping his dripping hair back from his forehead. His wet jeans clung to him like a cloying second skin, his boots were toast and his lungs burned like the devil from holding his breath for too long. But it would be worth it. Worth the look on Ivy’s face when she re-surfaced.

      Would she never learn? No matter how dirty she played, he always sank an inch lower. He always won.

      Ivy popped up out of the water, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes. Her auburn ponytail hung lopsided and limp and one side of her tank top drooped down her arm.

      She looked like a drowned rat.

      He smiled and said, “Gottcha.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ