Scarlett Red: A Billionaire SEAL Story, Part 2 (In the Shadows) (8 page)

Me: Feeling much better. No massage for me today. Heading to the pool before it gets crowded.

Cynthia: Going to the ball tonight?

Me: Yes.

Cynthia: Finance guy insists we meet for dinner. Might have to miss it.

Me: Reschedule.

Cynthia: I’ve put him off 3x already. Sigh. TTYL.

Once I reply to a few emails, I put on my black one piece suit and slip into a matching cover-up, then grab my keycard, phone, and a towel and head down to the indoor pool. The smell of chlorine hits me as soon as I walk in, making me smile. It reminds me of learning to swim at the Y when I was in high school. At first I was completely panicked by the idea of water smothering me, but once I got the hang of not drowning, I learned to love swimming as a form of exercise.

I’m happy to see no one around except for a sandy-haired guy stacking fresh towels on a shelf next to a refrigerated cooler full of water bottles. When he looks up at my entrance and calls, “Good morning,” I wave and glance down at my room towel with a wry smile. Guess I didn’t need to bring one.

Setting my stuff on a lounge chair, I set my cover-up and towel next to the edge of the pool, then quickly dive into the deep end and begin to swim laps. Thoughts of Bash’s seductive comments drive me to push myself harder. Only sheer exhaustion will banish his enticing words from my mind. So I let the tug of the water against my body force my mind away from the hungry look in his piercing blue eyes as they slid over me. The cool water helps massage skin that feels too tight along my muscles, while my lungs work hard to keep up with my need to expel him from my thoughts.

I complete twenty laps before the burn in my chest forces me to pause a few feet away from the edge of the pool for more than the quick breath that freestyle swimming allows. When I turn my head, movement in my periphery catches my attention.

The sandy-haired guy is laying a water bottle on my towel. On the thin side, he doesn’t fully uncurl his shoulders when he straightens, but he does glance up to see I’ve stopped swimming.

Looking a bit embarrassed, he offers a shy smile. “You looked like you were working hard. I thought you might want this.”

He’s around my age, give or take a year. I smile back as I tread water. “Thank you. That was nice of you.”

With a slight nod, he backs away. “Enjoy your swim.”

Once the main door shuts behind him, I stare at the glistening water bottle, my mouth instantly watering. I want to take a break and down the whole thing, but thoughts of Bash surface once more. I grit my teeth, realizing I’m not tired enough if he can rush to the front of my mind so easily.

Frustrated, I dive under the water, then push to the surface quickly, breaking into the more challenging butterfly stroke as I head to the opposite end of the pool. Two laps later, I’m pretty much wrecked. Panting hard, I’m thankful I’m alone while I perform some kind of weird sideways dog paddle just to make my way to the side of the pool.

I’ve never been so happy to reach for the edge, but I gasp and jerk my attention up when I realize someone is standing next to my towel.

“That was…interesting,” Bash says in a dry tone. “If that’s how you learned to swim, no wonder you’re exhausted.”

Grrr!
Of course, Mr. Too-Fit-For-Words didn’t see me doing laps in perfect swim form just a few minutes ago. While he stands there in jeans and a short-sleeved black Henley that shows off his perfect body, his lip quirks slightly like he’s trying not to laugh. I instantly bristle. “I’m assuming you’re here for a reason other than to judge my swimming ability.”

“I am.” He leans down slightly and extends his hand to help me out of the pool.

When I frown instead of taking his hand, he raises an eyebrow. “You plan on swimming to the ladder on the other side?”

I might be breathing heavily and my heart is running a marathon in my chest, but the doubt in his tone, the sheer sarcasm flips my stubborn meter. I turn in the opposite direction, and despite every protesting muscle in my body, somewhere deep inside, I find the strength to lift my arms and slice them through the water in smooth strokes. I race across the water, picking up speed. When I reach halfway, I inwardly grin despite my aching muscles. Three-quarters of the way there, my skin starts to feel like it’s on fire just before a sharp clenching radiates through my calf, yanking me out of my rhythm. I stop instantly in the deep end, gasping at the fierce agony.

“You okay?”

I barely hear Bash’s voice, the pain in my leg is so excruciating. I attempt to massage the spasming muscle, but the water makes it hard to rub it briskly. Plus, I kind of need my arms to stay afloat. I try to flex my heel, but the spastic muscle just won’t give. Biting my lip to keep from crying out, I do my sideways dog paddle the last few feet to the ladder. I know I’m not going to be able to climb the metal rungs right away, so I veer to the right of the ladder, intending to grab onto the edge of the pool.

Just as I touch the curved lip, Bash grabs hold of my arm, and I’m pulled out of the water like a toy about to be sucked into the pool’s skimmer basket. He doesn’t speak, but quickly carries me to a lounge chair and lays me down.

Not that I care. Now that I’m out of the water, my calf is tightening up even more. I try to push him away so I can massage the balled up muscle, but he bats my hands back, snapping, “Stop being so stubborn,” right before he grasps my foot and forces it to flex in the opposite direction.

I exhale quickly at the brief relief the flexing provides, but when he clasps the clenched muscle in his other hand and begins to knead the knot, tears finally fall.
God, that hurts like hell!
I’ve never had a muscle do this to me before. Now I know why trainers always preach the importance of stretching before a workout.

“You could’ve drowned, all because you’re so damned defiant,” he says in a harsh tone.

“It’s how I’ve survived,” I say under my breath, but he must’ve heard it, because his jaw muscle clenches and his tight hold on my foot loosens slightly.

I brush the tears aside and watch him focus on his task. The single-mindedness in his gaze and the intensity of his touch surprises me, easing the tension inside me.

“Not defiant. Independent,” I correct in a lighter tone.

He cuts his eyes my way, eyebrow cocked. “Obstinate.”

“Self-reliant.” Circling my foot to show him the cramp is gone, I grin. “Thanks for your help.”

Amusement flashes in his blue eyes, acknowledging my ironic back-to-back statements, but the humor fades as he continues to stare. Heat suddenly flows through me, and despite the cool air making chill bumps surface on my wet skin, steam simmers just under the surface.

When I glance down at Bash’s still hand cupped around the edge of my calf, his thumb slowly slides along my muscle. My breasts instantly tighten in response to the change in his touch. An intended caress.

“Self-reliance can be incredibly unsatisfying, Miss Lone.”

His innuendo hits me in the belly and an explosion of lust shoots everywhere at once, making me hyperaware of his closeness and the incredible smell of clean deodorant and all male. I can’t decide if it’s his words that turn me on or his deeply seductive voice. Either way, I can’t let him draw me in. Grasping the chair’s arms, I throw my legs over the other side, ready to leave. “I’m all good now. Thank you.”

Before I can stand, Bash flattens his palm on the center of my chest and pushes me back against the chair. I grit my teeth, ready to blast him when he says, “I came here for a reason. Don’t you want to know what that is?”

I glance down at his hand splayed across my chest, his thumb touching the swell of my breast above the top of my bathing suit, and rely on sarcasm as my first line of defense. “I have a guess or two.”

Bash’s gaze narrows, and instead of removing his hand, he slides a finger down the center of my chest. Hooking it around the stretchy material between my breasts, he yanks me up so that my face is level with his. “Let’s get one thing clear. I don’t play games. I’m bluntly honest in my desires. You won’t ever have to question if I’m seducing you. Only how long I’m going to make you wait.”

Steam curls in my belly, sliding along my veins in scorching trails of want. “For what?” I ask, barely recognizing the huskiness in my own voice.

A confident smile curls his lips. Dark, sinful promises reflect in his eyes before he releases me and stands in one fluid movement. “I stopped by to let you know Donald is here now. I thought you might want to catch him before he gets too busy with the morning rush.”

“Oh,” I quickly stand and turn my head away, unsure what my expression reflects. I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or relieved that he hadn’t been trying to seduce me. “Uh, thanks for letting me know.”

With a curt nod, he walks away, leaving me standing there shaking from his powerful presence and bone-melting comments.

I quickly dry off, then shrug into my cover-up. Swooping up the unopened water bottle, I set it back in the fridge before I leave the pool area in a heavy haze of anxious curiosity about the resort’s pilot.
So much for ridding myself of thoughts about Bash.

“Y
eah, that’s him,” Donald says, his blond hair flipping in his eyes as he points to the picture of the fan club’s get together I’d saved as my phone’s main screen background for quick access. “That’s Mr. Sheehan. I remember because he only had an overnight duffle bag, but he insisted I take it to his room anyway.”

“I was told that he’d been gifted a night’s stay at the hotel by me.”

Donald nods as he leans against the wall next to the elevators. “Yeah, he showed me the signed invitation you’d sent along with the voucher that covered a night’s stay and a meal. He was very proud of it.”

Tension and excitement thrum through me; I’m finally getting somewhere. “The resort would have a record of the voucher he used, right?”

Donald rubs his brow, deep in thought. “I normally don’t work the desk, so I’m not sure what kind of details our system keeps or for how long.” He gestures to a girl with straight black hair at the main desk assisting a woman checking in. “Heidi would know.”

“Thank you for your time, Donald. You’ve been very helpful.”

After Heidi confirms the voucher was purchased in cash, she calls Mr. Hawthorne for his authorization to approve my next request before she leads me into their office section directly behind the main desk, and points to a door at the end of the hall. “You’ve got the date the voucher was purchased, so Simon should be able to help you with the rest.”

“Thank you, Heidi. I appreciate your help.”

I straighten my linen skirt and approach the door marked SECURITY in bold black letters, glad that I’d taken the time to grab a shower before seeking Donald out. Apparently my quest for Mr. Sheehan has turned into a true investigation. Whoever bought that voucher and then later gave it to him in my name should be on the security tape from that day.

A bald man in his mid-fifties opens the door. Smiling, he thrusts his hand out. “Hello, Miss Lone. I’m Simon Maddow. Heidi just called. So you think someone might’ve impersonated you? Come in and tell me what I can do.”

I shake his hand, but pause when I step inside his office. I’m surprised to see Bash standing by the window, bright sun outlining his fit physique and glinting off his aviator sunglasses.
What’s he doing here?
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting. I can come back later.”