Page 5 of Ten Day Affair

I raise the glass to my lips for one long, slow sip, and that’s when I hear footsteps.

I blink toward the stairs leading up from the sand.

It’s the man from the hospital. I blink hard, wondering if I’m imagining it. My fantasy has taken a twist. Damn, did I spike my own wine with some hard shit?

Blonde, broad-shouldered, stupidly hot, and casually climbing onto my private deck like it’s part of a public walking tour.

Nope. This is not in my head. He looks up and sees me. And freezes.

Immediately, I sit up straight and pull my robe tighter around my body.

“Umm, can I help you?” I say, lowering the glass.

"Excuse me?"

“What are you doing on my terrace?”

I realize as soon as the words leave my mouth that it’s probably a little salty, even for me. But I’m pissed. I’m finally relaxing, and he walks up here like I’m the intruder. Even if he is hot as fuck.

His brows pinch. “This is yours?”

No apology. Just confusion.

I set the wine down with a little more force than necessary. “Unless you’ve bought the place in the last ten minutes, yeah.”

He leans against the banister and crosses his arms. He doesn’t look sorry one bit.

Our eyes lock just before his drop. I follow them to see I'm wearing a robe that hardly covers me.

A breeze brushes the hem against my thigh. His gaze lingers. My breath catches. The chill skates across my skin, but it’s not what makes me shiver.

God help me, I don’t even know his name and I’m sopping wet down there.

TWO

Cole

I can't stop staring at her legs. Long, bare, and draped over a lounger like they were made to catch moonlight.

She’s in a barely-there silk robe, staring at me like I’m a complete idiot. Which doesn’t make sense. This is supposed to be my place.

I glance around, trying to get my bearings. It’s the same stone terrace, same steps from the beach I walked down earlier to clear my head. Everything looks right.

Except for the furniture. And her.

She doesn’t move from her seat. Instead, she watches me like I’m a glitch in her very expensive view.

“I’m sorry, I guess I got turned around,” I say, not quite sure if I sound confused or amused. Because, to be completely honest, I'm both.

She doesn’t blink and tilts her head slightly as her robe slides off one bare shoulder.

“Well, at least you’re polite. I'll let it slide this once.”

Her tone’s still dry, but something flickers behind her eyes. She keeps her eyes on me like I might be worth the interruption, if I play it right.

And that’s when it hits me. I’m not the one caught staring anymore. I’m the one trespassing. And I desperately don’t want to leave. I wonder if it would seem like a bad pick-up line if I asked if I could join her for a glass of wine.

Since I only bought the house a few months ago, and this is my first night here, it’s no surprise I mistook my neighbor’s for my own.They are all very similar.