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      Ivy dove into the pool, limbs slicing across the still water like a hot knife through cool butter. Thanks to Mr. I-never-lied-to-you, she’d slept like hell and woke at dawn. But with each stroke she could feel the stress from the previous night begin to evaporate, burned away by the adrenaline and endorphins coursing through her bloodstream.

      She’d always had something of a love/hate relationship with exercise. She’d been blessed with a naturally slim figure, so her sporadic visits to the gym never caused her concern. In the last few years, however, she’d noticed things gradually beginning to expand and spread.

      Hence her daily morning swim. It was the one thing that felt the least like real exercise. And while it wouldn’t bring back the figure of her youth, she was able to comfortably maintain her present weight.

      She only wished some of that extra weight had been redistributed to her less than impressive bustline.

      She completed her laps and surfaced, and there, not three feet away, lay Dillon in a lounge chair beside the pool, a mug of coffee in one hand. Watching her, of course.

      Here we go again.

      She couldn’t see what he had on from the waist down, other than the fact that his feet and calves were bare, but from the waist up he wore a deep tan and a sleepy smile. One that said, hmm, how can I mess with Ivy today?

      She ignored the sudden lightness in her chest, the jittery, nervous feeling in her stomach. She repressed the why me groan working its way up her chest.

      “Morning,” he said. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw and his hair had that mussed, just-rolled-out-of-the-sack look.

      She wondered how long he’d been sitting there watching her. She’d never seen him crawl out of bed before ten in the morning. Usually it was closer to noon.

      She swam to the ladder and climbed out, facing away from him, feeling uncomfortable despite her modest one-piece suit. It was still too revealing. Too likely to show off the changes in her body, when his own physique appeared to have only improved with age.

      And really, why did she care?

      She wrapped herself in a towel, squeezing the excess water from her hair. “You’re awake early.”

      “I’m an early riser these days.”

      Just her luck. More time he could spend harassing her.

      Yet nothing good would come of letting him see that he was irritating her. Last night was an unfortunate setback. It was imperative that today she play it cool. She had to be patient.

      She grabbed her iced coffee from the table where she’d left it and turned to her ex. When she realized how he was dressed, the cup nearly slipped from her grasp.

      Deep down in the rational part of her brain, she knew he was going for shock value. She knew the appropriate reaction was no reaction at all.

      Unfortunately, at the moment, her rational brain was not calling the shots. “What are you wearing?”

      He looked down to his lap, at what appeared to be a pair of very expensive black silk boxers. “Skivvies,” he said casually, as though there was nothing at all inappropriate about walking around a strange house in his underwear. “I would have put on pajamas, but as I’m sure you recall, I don’t wear any. Besides,” he said, with a slight wiggle of his eyebrows, “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

      “There are six other people in this house, you know.”

      “And they’re all sound asleep.”

      “Not to mention the housekeep—” She stopped abruptly and spun away from him. “For pity’s sake, at least have the decency to button your fly.”

      “Whoops,” she heard him say, although he didn’t sound all that concerned with his faux pas. The man would go to any lengths to make her uncomfortable.

      “No wonder the housekeeper looked at me funny when I was pouring my coffee.” There was a short pause, then he said, “The stallion is locked back in the stable. You can turn around now.”

      Facing him meant he would possibly see the red patches of embarrassment blooming across her cheeks. But not facing him would be even worse.

      She turned, keeping her eyes above neck level. Looking at his bare chest reminded her of touching his bare chest, which reminded her of other things they used to do. Which would only make the blush burn brighter.

      “When did you start swimming?” he asked. “I seemed to recall you hating exercise.”

      “I still do, but some of us have to work at it.”

      “And you’re assumin’ I don’t? Would it surprise you to learn that I go to the gym every morning before work?”

      Being surprised wasn’t the issue. She didn’t want to know about his life. It humanized him, made him seem like a regular guy. She preferred to keep him in the niche she’d carved out for him. That place in her mind where he would always be arrogant and cocky and totally unappealing.

      “Although I never did learn how to swim,” he said, which she found incredibly hard to swallow. True, she’d never actually seen him swim, but his home had been highlighted on some decorating show on cable television—or so someone had told her. From what she heard he owned a big, fancy mansion—she might have even driven past it one time, accidentally, of course—where he’d installed an Olympic-size indoor pool. He wasn’t married, didn’t have children. Why install a pool if he didn’t plan to use it?

      “You should try it sometime,” she said.

      “Are you going golfing today?” he asked, referring to the golf outing Blake and Deidre had scheduled.

      Apparently, he didn’t remember everything about her. She did not golf.

      She was about to tell him no, she didn’t plan to go, but caught herself. There was only one thing Dillon had СКАЧАТЬ