Chapter 3

Emma's POV

I didn't wait long to make my move.

By Wednesday, I'd already had two more sessions. Two more times watching him fight his own body's response to mine. Two more times seeing that bulge in his shorts he couldn't hide.

Thursday afternoon, I sent the text: [Pool training this Saturday? 10 AM?]

His response came within thirty seconds: [Works for me, Ms. Carter.]

Ms. Carter. So formal. So controlled.

I smiled at my phone. Not for long.

Saturday morning, I woke up with my heart already racing. I'd barely slept, running through scenarios in my head. I chose my swimsuit carefully—a black one-piece that looked modest from the front but was cut so high on the hips it left nothing to the imagination from behind. The back was barely there, just thin straps crisscrossing my spine.

When the doorbell rang at 10 AM, I took a deep breath and opened it.

He stood there in basketball shorts and a tank top, gym bag over his shoulder. But when his eyes landed on me in that swimsuit, his jaw tightened.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Yeah." His voice was rougher than usual.

We walked through the house to the pool, and I felt his gaze on my back the entire time. I knew exactly what he was seeing—the curve of my ass, barely covered, and all that bare skin.

When we reached the pool deck, he pulled his tank top over his head.

I forgot how to breathe.

I'd felt his body during workouts, but seeing it in full daylight was different. His chest was carved muscle, his abs a perfect six-pack that tapered down to those V-lines that disappeared into his waistband. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick with muscle. When he pulled down his shorts to reveal tight black swim trunks, I had to look away before I did something stupid.

"Water work builds core strength without joint stress," he said, all business. But I heard the slight strain in his voice.

He dove in first. I watched the water stream off his body when he surfaced, droplets catching the sunlight on his skin.

I jumped in after him. The water was cool, shocking my heated skin.

"We'll start with flutter kicks," he said, moving behind me. "Hold onto the pool edge."

I gripped the tile, and his hands came to my waist, positioning me. His touch was professional, firm. But when I started kicking, my body naturally drifted back against his.

"Good," he said, his breath warm on my wet shoulder. "Keep your core tight."

His hands stayed on my waist, guiding my movements. With each kick, my ass brushed against him. I felt him tense.

"Now let's work on floating," he said, moving to my side. "Lean back. I've got you."

I let myself fall backward. His arm slid under my shoulders, his other hand supporting my lower back. No—lower than that. His palm was right under my ass, fingers splayed across my upper thighs.

"Relax," he murmured. "Trust me."

I did. I let my body go loose, floating in his arms. The water lapped around us, creating a rhythm. His face was close to mine, water droplets on his eyelashes. I could see his chest rising and falling faster.

"I need to adjust your position," he said.

His hands moved to my hips. Then one hand slid down my thigh, lifting my leg slightly. The movement made me drift closer to him, until we were face to face, my body pressed against his in the water.

I felt it. Hard and unmistakable against my stomach.

Our eyes locked.

He didn't move away this time.

"Emma," he said, my name rough on his tongue.

"Yes?"

"We should—" He paused, his jaw working. "We should take a break."

He pulled away, swimming to the pool steps. I watched him climb out, water streaming down his body, his swim trunks clinging to every line. He grabbed his towel but didn't bother drying off. Just stood there, chest heaving, staring at the horizon.

I climbed out slowly, deliberately. When I walked past him to the lounge chairs, I felt his eyes following me.

"Want a drink?" I asked, opening the poolside bar fridge. "I have champagne."

"I don't usually drink during—"

"It's not a session anymore," I interrupted, pulling out the bottle. "It's just two people by a pool on a Saturday."

He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Okay."

I poured two glasses and handed him one. We sat on adjacent lounge chairs, the afternoon sun hot on our wet skin.

"How long have you been single?" I asked, taking a sip.

He raised an eyebrow. "That's direct."

"I'm done being indirect."

He smiled, a real one this time. "Three years."

"By choice?"

"Not at first." He looked at me over his glass. "I was waiting for the right person."

My heart skipped. "And have you found them?"

He held my gaze. "I think so."

The air between us changed. Thickened. My hand, as if moving on its own, reached out and touched his thigh. His muscle jumped under my palm.

He didn't move it away.

"Dominic," I whispered.

"Emma, if we do this—"

I kissed him. Cut off whatever rational thing he was about to say. Just leaned over and pressed my lips to his.

For one second, he froze. Then he groaned and kissed me back. Hard. Hungry. His hand tangled in my wet hair, pulling me closer. His other hand grabbed my waist, and suddenly I was in his lap, straddling him.

His tongue swept into my mouth, and I made a sound I'd never heard myself make before. His hands were everywhere—my back, my hips, my thighs. He stood up, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing, and walked us toward the pool house.

We barely made it through the door before he pressed me against the wall. His mouth moved to my neck, biting and sucking, and I arched against him.

"I've wanted this," he growled against my skin. "God, Emma, I've wanted this since the first day."

"Then take it," I gasped.

He did.