The cold water engulfed her, feeling like heaven as she swam underwater for a few moments. God, what a gorgeous day. Despite the fact that she missed her job, she was looking forward to a few weeks of downtime. Doing nothing but swimming and tanning and exploring San Diego. She closed her eyes and floated on her back for a while, relishing the solitude, but her me-time was cut short at the sound of footsteps.
Her eyes popped open just in time to see Ryan approaching the pool deck, his sexy blue eyes seeking her out and dancing playfully.
She was so surprised she sank in the water like a stone. Sputtering, she broke the surface, droplets dripping from her hair and into her eyes. “You,” she squeaked.
“Me,” Ryan confirmed.
She was suddenly grateful to be submerged in cold water, because the sight of Ryan made her extremely hot. He wore blue surf shorts and a sleeveless basketball jersey, and his chin was dotted with dark stubble. God, why did men look so good when they were all scruffy? Bryce never sported any scruff—the guy shaved like three times a day just to make sure his aristocratic face remained pretty-boy smooth. But Ryan…oh boy.
Putting on an indifferent voice, Annabelle raised a brow at him and said, “Didn’t we say everything we needed to say last night? You know, when I asked you to leave?”
He shot her a lazy smile. “You may have said what you needed to, but I have one more thing to say.”
“Oh, really? And what’s that?”
“Yes.”
Treading water, she shoved wet strands of hair off her forehead. “Yes what?”
Slowly, he reached into the back pocket of his shorts and removed a wrinkled piece of paper. Annabelle’s eyes widened at the familiar scrap of yellow. No. That couldn’t be the same sheet she’d been using when…shit. Shit, where had she put the list? She searched her brain, finally remembering she’d tossed the fantasy list on the floor before she went to bed. The floor…on which Ryan had dropped his clothes before he’d crawled into bed with her.
“Yes to this question,” he said pleasantly, holding up the paper. “I’m Up For This. Are You? Well, babe, yes. I am definitely up for it.”
Horror climbed up her spine, mingling with the humiliation scorching her cheeks. Scrambling up the metal ladder at the edge of the pool, she hauled herself to her feet and shot a wet arm in his direction, trying to grab the list. Grinning, he held it out of her reach. “Finders keepers,” he said mockingly.
“What are you, five? Give it back. That’s personal property,” she snapped.
Rolling his eyes, he obligingly handed her the list, which got soaked the second her wet hand clutched it. The ink began to smear, and for some asinine reason, she fanned the sheet to stop the smearing. What was the matter with her? A total stranger had just become privy to all her secret fantasies and she was trying to preserve the words? She ought to be burning the damn thing.
“Don’t worry,” Ryan said graciously. “I memorized it.”
She set her jaw. “You had no business reading that.”
“Maybe not, but I did, and now it’s branded into my memory.” He sighed. “It kept me up all night, you know. There I was, tossing and turning, wondering where we should go to take care of number four. A park? Out here in the pool? The back alley of a bar? Damn, the possibilities are endless, Annabelle.”
Number four? What was he—her cheeks burned. Sex in public (preferably a place without security cameras). Oh God. She couldn’t believe he’d actually memorized it. The last time she’d been this embarrassed was back in the third grade, when her frenemy Joan poured water on Annabelle’s crotch and proceeded to tell the entire class she’d peed her pants.
“We are not going anywhere,” she said stiffly. “I, on the other hand, am leaving now.” Her back was ramrod straight as she stomped toward the chair where she’d dropped her towel.
She felt Ryan’s eyes on her as she dried off, and she knew he was ogling her tiny bikini. A sick part of her was even a little flattered, but the embarrassed part overruled it, pushing her to dry off faster and wrap the towel around herself.
“So is that a no?” Ryan asked, cocking his head casually.
“Huh?”
“You won’t let me help you?” he clarified.
She frowned. “Help me do what?”
“Cross out all those dirty items on your dirty list.” He offered a charming smile. “Look, it’s obvious you can’t carry out some of those, uh, activities, alone. I’m just offering my services, babe.”
“Again with the babe?” She huffed out a breath. “I don’t want or need your help. That list was intended for someone else.”
He paused. “You’ve got a boyfriend?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “No. Well, maybe.”
“Which is it, yes, no or maybe?”
She fought a wave of exasperation. “All of them, okay! I have a boyfriend, a sort of fiancé, but we’re on a break right now. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“A sort of fiancé?” he echoed.
“It’s a long story.” She grabbed her clothes from the chair, then slipped her wet feet into her flip-flops. “You are the pushiest guy I’ve ever met, you know that?”
A thoughtful expression flitted over his face. “I’ve never been called pushy before. Endearing, sure. Charismatic. Drop-dead gorgeous. A real-life Michelangelo’s David. But never pushy.”