Page 2 of Charm (Billionaire Buck Boys #7)

CHAPTER TWO

Greer

I’m tempted to call the local police, but I know I can handle this, or at least I think I can, unless the trespasser proves to be dangerous. I glance around the room and stop when I notice a black umbrella leaning against a wall not more than a foot from where I’m standing.

I have no idea why it’s there and not in the umbrella stand by the front door, but who am I to question a gift when it presents itself to me?

I grab the handle before I flip open the lock on one of the sliding glass doors and step outside.

The man in the pool is still oblivious to the fact that he has an audience, so I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “Who the hell are you?”

My voice doesn’t sound nearly as menacing as I want it to, and the fact that I’m wearing a pink tank top and denim cut-offs doesn’t help with the I’m-a-total-bad-ass vibe I’m going for.

The flip-flops on my feet aren’t doing me any favors, either. Still, I try to own it because the umbrella in my hand can easily transform into a pokey weapon in a pinch.

He glances over his shoulder at me before his left hand darts in the air in greeting. “Hey!”

Hey?

That’s it? He’s a trespasser, and his response to getting caught is a nonchalant hey ?

“Who the hell are you?” I repeat my question, backing it up with a jab of the umbrella’s tip in the air.

“Who are you?” He chuckles. “And what’s with the umbrella?”

“I’m the one asking the questions,” I say. “You’re in my pool.”

He turns to face me, and it’s an instant feast of visual delights. His wet, dark hair is pushed back from his forehead, revealing a face that is a treat to behold. A square jawline covered with a late-day shadow, chiseled features, and a smile that weakens my knees aren’t all there is to savor.

My gaze drifts to his broad shoulders, muscular arms, and bare chest before it drops to his abs. The water laps around his waist, so that’s where the free show ends.

I shake my head to get back into the moment. I shouldn’t be ogling the trespasser. I need him out of the pool now, so I step closer, holding the umbrella handle tightly in my fist.

“I’m in my neighbor’s pool,” he comments before he stretches. His arms rise in the air, proving just how fit this guy is.

Is he for real?

I don’t just mean the whole Adonis thing he has going on.

His answer seems super suspicious, given that the woman who owns the house I’m staying in specifically told me that all of her neighbors have pools.

That came up during one of our many text exchanges on the vacation home rental app that I used to find this place.

After she initially asked how many people would be staying the weekend, and I responded that it would just be me, she seemed intent on setting me up with someone during my stay.

I brushed off her suggestion that I seek out a chef who owns a bistro nearby, so she brought up ‘the pool man,’ as she referred to him.

Apparently, every homeowner on this stretch of the beach employs him for pool maintenance and repairs.

She even gave me his phone number in case I have a pool emergency.

I responded that I’d contact her directly if that happens, but she replied that the pool guy is good-looking and single, so I should feel free to reach out to him if need be.

Is that who this guy is? Is he taking a dip on the job and trying to cover it up?

“Are you the pool guy?” I ask, stabbing the umbrella in the air toward him.

It can’t hurt to remind him I’m armed and semi-dangerous.

“The pool guy?” he questions back with a light laugh. “I told you I’m the neighbor.”

“If that’s the case, you have your own pool,” I say in my best ‘gotcha’ tone. “The owner of this house told me that all of her neighbors have pools. If you have one, what are you doing here?”

He takes two steps toward me, causing the water around him to lap against his midriff again. It takes all of my self-control to keep my eyes on his face.

“The pump in my pool died,” he tells me. “They’re coming in the morning to fix it. I spoke to the pool guy myself, as you call him. I call him Martin because that’s his name.”

“Aha!” I snap that off my tongue. “I know for a fact the pool guy is named Paulie, so you’re busted. Get out of here now before I call the police.”

He cocks one eyebrow. “Martin is Paulie’s dad.”

“Yeah, right.” I point the umbrella right at him. “Out now, mister, or I’m calling the police.”

He holds both hands up as if he’s surrendering. “No need to call the police, but you might want to turn around before I get out.”

I gesture to the right with the umbrella, hoping he takes the hint to make his exit right now. “So you can tackle me? No way.”

“Tackle you?” He huffs out a deep laugh. “Why would I tackle you?”

“I. Don’t. Know,” I say each word with purpose. “Why do you swim in random people’s pools?”

“For the third time, I’m the neighbor.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and holy bicep, that thing is huge when it flexes. This man could have me up and over his shoulder in no time flat if he wanted to. He could cart me off to his kidnapper’s lair, and I’d never be seen or heard from again.

I take two steps back to get closer to the sliding glass door. I kick off my flip-flops, too, so I can bolt back inside if he charges at me. “Get out of the pool now, or I will call the police. That’s the last time I’m saying it.”

“I warned you,” he says before he walks toward me.

I inch back again. “Warned me about what?”

“This.” He moves toward the pool’s edge before he starts to make his way up the ramp that leads out of the water.

With each step he takes, more of him is revealed, until… oh, my God .

He’s completely nude.

He does nothing to hide anything, and I can’t stop myself from staring.

Everything below his waist is just as impressive as everything above.

I’ve seen a few naked men in my life, but this guy puts every one of them to shame. Speaking of shame, I should not be staring at him right now.

I drop the umbrella and cover both of my eyes with my hands. “Grab a towel or something.”

His laughter flows around me before I hear movement, and then, “Feel free to look.”

I inch my fingers apart so I can peek. A white towel is wrapped around his waist, so all the good parts are covered. Impressive parts better describes what I saw… no , magnificent parts.

“I’m going home.” He jerks a thumb toward the left. “Because I am, in fact, the neighbor.”

“Okay,” I say, because what else is there? He’s not making a move to knock me out cold, so maybe he really is who he says he is.

“Don’t trip over that umbrella.” He tilts his head toward where I dropped it. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe you will.”

He shoots me a brilliant smile before he crosses the lush green lawn as he heads toward the sprawling grounds next door.

“Maybe I’ll run out of sugar, neighbor,” I whisper as he disappears from view. “Scratch the maybe. I will run out of sugar.”