Page 41 of Into These Eyes

He’s so fucking hot. Both literally and figuratively.

As my grip on the plastic bottles tightens, one of them crackles, making me jump. My eyes snap to his face, terrified he’s heard it, but he’s reaching up, taking off his sunnies and placing them on the tiles beside his feet.

Then he dives, every muscle tense as he hits the water and disappears beneath the surface.

Only then do I remember to breathe.

Surfacing at the shallow end, he stands, swiping his hair back with both hands as water cascades over his exposed torso. It’s like he knows I’m watching, knows he’s making my blood buzz with his spectacular show.

As soon as he dives under again—and before I can think better of it—I slide the door open and step into the heat.

By the time I slip my feet into a pair of thongs, he surfaces at the deep end. Not wanting to startle him, I call out, “How is it?”

His head jerks toward me. The moment I take a step forward, he swims to the side of the pool to meet me.

“It’s perfect,” he replies. As I move closer, he gives me a curious look. “You’re home early.”

I stop beside the large, potted Ficus at the pool’s edge. He stays low in the water, his arms crossed on top of the tiles, effectively blocking the view of his naked body, and the tattoo I want to know all about. Of course, I can’t ask him about it without revealing I’ve just seen him naked.

“Sorry, I should have called to let you know,” I say, tucking a bottle beneath one arm while I unscrew the cap on the other.

He squints up at me. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I probably should. I wouldn’t want to walk in on …” I trail off, realising I might have given myself away.

“Walk in on what?” he asks, eyes bright with amusement.

Shit. Does he know I’ve seen every hot inch of him? “Anything I wouldn’t want to walk in on, I guess.”

He grins. “Are you going to offer me that, or just tease me?”

I quickly pass him the bottle, disappointed when he reaches for it with his left hand, leaving his right firmly covering the tattoo.

Turning, I pull the sunbed closer to the pool, making a show of sliding his clothes aside so I can sit on the towels he’s left there. His gaze snaps from his clothes to my face.

“Don’t let me stop you from enjoying your swim,” I say.

“Why don’t you get in?”

I smile. “Why don’t you get out?”

He holds my gaze for an intense moment, sending heat racing through my bloodstream at the thought that he’s contemplating doing just that.

“Smartarse,” he grumbles with amusement before taking a gulp of water.

“Did you do something to the garage door?”

“Just needed a little WD40.”

“Thanks. And for mowing the lawn. I really hate that job.”

“It’s the least I can do. Speaking of which, I’d love to tidy up the garden, do any maintenance around the house you might need. Looks like it could use a lick of paint.”

He sounds so hopeful, like it’s something enjoyable. “You don’t need to—“

“It’d make me feel a hell of a lot more useful.”

My heart swells for him. All his worth seems to be contingent on what he can contribute.

Already, I know he’s so much more than that.

“I’m happy for you to do whatever you want.

Although the inside was renovated not that long ago, the outside’s definitely been neglected.

Just let me know if you need anything.” I make a mental note to give him one of my debit cards, knowing he’d find it demeaning to ask for money every time he needs to buy something.

“Would you mind if Benny helped out?

“Of course not.” He’s so sweet, always thinking of ways to not only stay close to Benny, but make him feel useful as well. “Benny doesn’t have a job?”

“He’s not on parole, so it’s not required. But he does still need to look for one to get his government assistance payment. Problem is, he’s a twice convicted murderer and he’s sixty. It’ll be one hell of feat for him to actually land one.”

“Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea to keep having him over to help you.”

“Great. Now, get in here. Water’s amazing.”

That look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. He’s baiting me. Putting my hand on top of his clothes, I decide to call his bluff.

“I’ll need to get changed. Should I take these inside for you?”

“Sure,” he says without missing a beat.

I stand and scoop his clothes into my arms, then pick up the towels. “And these?”

“That’s totally up to you …”

Oh, he thinks I’m kidding. I take a few steps toward the house.

“And whether you want me traipsing through the house dripping wet,” he says, the smirk in his voice all too easy to hear.

Now he’s calling my bluff. I consider the reality of being confronted with him in the house, naked and wet. Heat shoots between my thighs. It seems too real, too possible, too tempting. I quickly drop the towels on the sunbed and dash toward the house.

I don’t want to ruin what we have here. He needs my help, and I’ve discovered over these last few days that while I might not need his help, I desperately want it.

There’s something simmering between us. But I don’t know him well enough yet to figure out if he’s genuinely interested in me, or if he’s just interested because I happen to be female. After being deprived for so long, he probably looks at all women the way he looks at me.

I don’t even trust what’s going on inside my own mind and body. It’s possible that our shared connection—the shitty hands we’ve been dealt—is the reason I feel this way. To find someone who completely understands what I’ve been through is, after all, an attraction all its own.

Letting anything happen other than friendship might ruin everything. I can’t let emotion get in the way. I want to provide him with a life that doesn’t involve living in a caravan and searching for mediocre jobs only a convicted murderer can get.

Until his name is cleared, I want him to have some luxury, to know someone cares about him.

Because once I do my job, he’ll be free.

Untethered.

From me.

And already, I’m not sure how I’ll go back to the way things were.

I scoff at that thought.

The way things were no longer exists.