Page 10 of My Ex’s Dad (Scandalous Billionaires #1)

I snap my gaze straight to the concrete. “I apologize. I truly thought you were in distress or that it might be…too late. I immediately went to the worst-case scenario, and then I just reacted.”

She blows out a sigh that makes her shoulders sag inwards. “That’s…yeah. I’m the one who should apologize. Seeing a body at the bottom of the pool wouldn’t just give me a jump scare. I’d freaking shit my pants.”

“That’s…good to know.”

She stares at me for a second, more water droplets sluicing down her body, kissing every inch of her skin and drawing my eyes to all the places they shouldn’t be.

Fuck. I’m fully dressed in a pool. Wet jeans cling, and boner problems will be extra obvious.

Fuck again . It’s not like the water will hide anything.

Probably the exact opposite. Triple fuck .

All the fucks . I’m saying fuck in my head more times than I’ve said it out loud or mentally for the past week, and I just spent it with my parents, so that’s really saying something.

She tilts her face, gives a little shrug, and then snort-laughs before walking over to the pool lounger and grabbing a black dress I didn’t even notice in my panic over her drowning.

After she tugs it on and adjusts the halter tie around her neck, she can’t help but give it a little dance twirl. The bottom hem swings out, and the top floral cutouts look gorgeous against her breasts.

Fuckkkkkkk .

“I know this is your pool, but you should probably get out. Going in with clothes on throws off the PH balance or something. I’ve been reading up on caring for pools.

I’m fine with a broom and mop, but I’ve never had to take care of anything larger than cleaning a bathtub.

I didn’t want to cause a catastrophe on my first week. ”

At least she turns, giving me some privacy.

I’m thankful for it, considering that no matter how much I’ve talked myself into not having a hard-on and not noticing that this taboo, totally forbidden woman is stunningly gorgeous, it’s happening.

My body isn’t obeying my brain. My brain isn’t obeying my brain.

“I’m going to go and make myself something to eat. I’m starved.” She starts for the pool house, and I yank myself over the edge.

Her steps suddenly stop. I freeze as she whips around. I very quickly arrange my lap so that I’m hunched over in a thoughtful statue pose as though I’ve suddenly discovered the meaning of life.

“I…erm…I’ve actually been eating out of your fridge,” Amalphia admits sheepishly.

“I’m sorry. Pittsburgh is huge and intimidating.

I should have just gone out and gotten some groceries for myself, but I was cleaning in the big house, I mean your house—it’s all your house—and I realized there was a bunch of food in the fridge that was perishable.

You did say you’d be gone for a while, and I didn’t want the food to spoil.

They were mostly organic, so no doubt expensive, and when they’re not full of preservatives, they don’t last all that long past the dates on the packages.

Or so says the internet. I looked it up.

” She flicks her eyes up to the sky as if asking the sun for forgiveness.

“Anyway, I’m not making excuses for why I ate pretty much the entire contents of your fridge. ”

“That’s perfectly fine. Thank you. It would have spoiled.”

She sighs in relief, grabs a handful of her wet curls, and wrings them straight out onto the pavement. It’s so hot that the splashes of water evaporate almost instantly.

“I can make us something if you’d like. There isn’t much left, but I can work some magic while you get changed.”

I lift my head but not my chest, cursing the pounding in my heart, and…

erm…lower. This doesn’t happen to me. I have never once had a hard-on for an employee.

Or anyone younger than me by more than a year or two.

At this rate, I feel like dick-punching myself as a lesson to not be a creep.

Maybe my cock doesn’t understand the meaning of forbidden.

Quite possibly, I need to get my hormones checked.

Is that even a thing for men? Testosterone levels?

Or body chemicals. That’s probably legit.

Perhaps I have a body chemical imbalance leading me to believe that Reginald’s ex-girlfriend, and now present employee, is attractive.

Or maybe I just have eyes.

“Sure,” I groan.

Her brow creases in concern. “Are you okay? That didn’t sound good.

I’m used to holding my breath under there, but did you take some water in?

I’ve heard of this thing called secondary drowning, where if you inhale water, it can be a big problem.

Are you in pain? Do you feel lightheaded? How’s your breathing?”

“I’m good,” I assure her tightly.

“Why are you all folded up like that?”

“Oh, uh…just some indigestion. I had cabbage rolls for breakfast.”

She looks at me like I just told her that I consumed moon cheese. “I’ll rummage through the medicine cabinet and have an antacid waiting for you with lunch. I promise I’ll keep it bland. As long as you’re sure you didn’t take in half the pool.”

“I swim every day. I enjoy it. I’m fine. It’s just…some gas.”

“Okay,” she practically sings. “One bland lunch and some meds for your poor tummy coming right up.”

She skips off into the house, letting herself in through the sliding door.

I sit for another minute, stewing in my humiliation.

Great. Now, on top of what Amalphia might already think of me, she’s going to assume I smell like farts and have a cabbage intolerance.

I mean, doesn’t everyone though? Cabbage is serious business. Delicious, but deadly.

I know exactly what will fix me right up, and it’s not an antacid I don’t even need.

It’s a cold shower.

Extra cold. Forcefully cold.

And a vow to get my head in order, which I’m going to force the rest of me to take seriously.