Married to the Secret Billionaire Read online

  We’re about halfway through those when I hear a low cough from the far side of the pool.

  “Excuse me, is it too late to join the class?” a soft, feminine voice asks.

  I turn, along with half the rest of the women in class, and freeze in place, my eyebrows shooting upward.

  Because there she is. Almost like she’s walked straight out of my fantasy and into reality. Granted, she’s dressed differently today—she’s ditched the long flowing cover-up for something a little more revealing this time. A one-piece bathing suit in a deep navy blue that really brings out the color of her eyes—not to mention hugs every inch of her curves.

  It’s a good thing I’m waist-deep in water and wearing really loose trunks for this lesson, too. Because fucking hell. The sight of those curves—a tiny waist between the luscious swell of her breasts and broad hips that make me long to run my hands over them (not to mention my tongue).

  I want her. No, scratch that. I need her.

  It’s an instinctive thought, every bit as animal and base as breathing or hungering. I force myself to tamp it down, as much as I possibly can. With all that running through my mind, it takes me a second to drag my eyes away from those curves and back up to her face. It takes an even longer second to process what she just said.

  When I finally manage to, I grin. “Of course not. Jump right in.”

  Her gaze lingers on mine. Unless I’m much mistaken, to judge by the flush in her cheeks and the way her eyes keep dipping down to my chest and then back up to my face, she doesn’t hate the view either. For once, I’m glad to be noticed. Even if it’s a huge risk, one I shouldn’t be taking… I can’t bring myself to wish the moment away.

  My eyes linger on her as she bends to climb into the pool. Every move she makes just shows off another turn to her curves and makes my hands itch to touch her.

  To distract myself, I turn back to Mrs. Jenkins, who I was in the middle of teaching about the breast stroke kick. She shoots me the kind of sly smirk that tells me she knows exactly what I’m thinking right now, and darts a glance over her shoulder at the new girl sliding into place along the nearest wall of the shallow end, taking the ladder down into the pool. “Nice to have some young blood here.” Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes spark where they catch mine. “Finally, someone age appropriate to gawk at you, handsome.”

  I snort and gesture at her to try the kick again. “No amount of flirting is going to get you out of this lesson easy, you know, Sandra.”

  “Oh, I’m counting on that,” she replies with a throaty laugh, and I have to roll my eyes.

  I also can’t resist watching her from the corner of my eye, even while I’m attempting to help Mrs. Jenkins with her stroke. Finally, she waves me off with an eye roll of her own. “Go on,” she scolds me. “Shouldn’t you help the newest student first?”

  I suppress a smirk, but I do as she asks, and head across the pool to where my mystery student is clinging to the wall, despite the fact that we’re in shallow enough water that it only comes up to her chest.

  Her perfectly voluptuous chest. The one piece she’s wearing isn’t the most revealing thing, but it still shows off several inches of cleavage. Enough that I can imagine exactly how perfect the pert, soft, pillowy breasts beneath would be. I wonder how long it would take her nipples to harden under my thumbs, if I were to run my hands across those tits now. Or better yet, my tongue…

  She clears her throat, and I shake myself out of the daze and force my eyes back to her face, only to find her watching me. Am I imagining things, or is there a hint of amusement in her eyes and the curve of her lips as she studies me right back?

  “Glad you could make it to class today, Ms...?” I leave in a healthy blank for her to fill in.

  Still, there’s a split second where she hesitates, almost like she doesn’t want to tell me her name. I watch her eyes cloud over, like she’s processing some kind of internal debate. But eventually she shakes her head and sticks out a hand, managing a smile. “Sinclair,” she says.

  “Sinclair.” I arch an eyebrow. “That a first or a last name?” I take her hand in mine and try very hard not to think about how soft and smooth her narrow fingers are. How good they would feel running over my body or wrapped around my cock.

  Damn. I’m in so much trouble.

  Her smile widens, just a little. It’s enough for me to glimpse a hint of a dimple on one cheek, and that is enough to drive me wild. “First name,” she says. “I know it’s kind of unusual.”

  “I like it,” I reply, releasing her hand. “I’m Ankor, by the way. So, I hear you on the whole unusual name thing.” I wink, and her cheeks flush, a bright red that blends in with the smattering of freckles across her nose.

  “I like it,” she mimics, and we both grin this time.

  “So, Sinclair. What brings you to my lessons?” I wave an arm around the pool. Most of the older women are doing nothing to hide their blatant gawking at the two of us. A few have already started whispering. I spot Sandra among them and resist a laugh. I’m sure she’s already spreading rumors about me and Sinclair.

  Not that I mind. On the contrary, I could hope to be so lucky.

  Remember your hiatus, my brain is shouting. But my brain has long since lost control of things. All the blood has flooded south, and it’s my other brain in charge of me now.

  And I want this woman, damn it.

  “I, uh…” She bites her lower lip, just a flash of pearly teeth against her pale skin, and it’s almost enough to make me try and kiss her right now. There’s that smile again, shy and a little sly, like she’s got a naughty streak she’d let out at the right provocation. “I don’t actually know how to swim,” she says. She flushes again. “Pretty embarrassing, I know. Everyone knows how to swim, right?”

  “Not the people I hang out with every day,” I point out, and she relaxes a little. “It’s not that weird. Besides, you’re here now. You can make up for lost time. We’ll get you swimming out there in the surfer waves in no time.”

  Her breath hitches again, like she’s nervous, but she quickly changes it into a huffing laugh, to cover it up. “Oh, I don’t know about swimming in the ocean or anything. I just want to know some basics, for… if… well, you know, in case.”

  I think back to yesterday, to her rescue of that boy on the sand. “I’ll admit, it does surprise me you know CPR so well, though,” I tell her, before I turn to demonstrate how she should hold onto the wall to practice floating on her stomach first, with her legs kicked out behind her.

  She imitates me, those big blue eyes of hers fixed on mine. “Oh.” Her cheeks flush yet again. “You saw that?”

  I crack a smile. “It’s a pretty small beach. Even if I hadn’t seen it myself, pretty sure half the town’s been talking about the mysterious heroine who saved the day.”

  She ducks her head, as if that sentence worries her.

  “It’s a compliment, you know. You saved that boy’s life. It was really impressive to watch.”

  “Yeah,” she says, still without looking at me. “I’m glad he’s okay.” Her legs have already started to sink, her hips and belly now too. She grimaces. “Am I doing this right?”

  “Relax,” I tell her. “May I?” I reach out, but I hesitate before touching her, and wait for her to nod.

  She does.

  I’ve only done this with older women until now. It’s never exactly been an exciting part of my day, helping people adjust their bodies into the correct swimming positions. But now… When she floats back to the surface, I catch her hip with one hand and draw her legs up and back. She gasps a little, though whether it’s from my touch or the fact that I’m pulling her body farther into the water than she’s dared before, I’m not sure.

  It’s all I can do not to stare as her pert, perfect ass pops out of the water for a second. She flounders, starting to flail her legs, but I hold her there.

  “Relax,” I repeat. “Try kicking your legs a little, in small motions.”

  She does, a
nd I sense her shoulders relaxing slightly, when she realizes she isn’t immediately about to faceplant underwater and drown. “This isn’t so bad,” she says, turning to catch my eye again. My hand is still on her hip, and I’m definitely not imagining things when she shifts a little closer to me, so now her whole side grazes against my taut ab muscles.

  “Now you’re getting the hang of it.” I grin down at her. “Ready to try another position?”

  She actually bats her eyelashes, just for a quick second. “Just tell me what to do,” she says, and fuck, the way she looks at me when she does makes me want to tell her to do something entirely inappropriate for a public swimming lesson, with a flock of old ladies ten feet away, watching us with knowing smirks.

  “Roll over,” I say. I slide my hand down to her belly to brace her, and this time when her breath hitches, I know it’s thanks to me. Her muscles tense beneath my hand, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans harder into me, as she lets me flip her onto her back, her hands still on the wall, her neck braced against it too.

  My hand slides around her waist so it’s against her lower back now, and god, it’s driving me crazy to be this close to every inch of her perfect curves and not be able to do anything about it. “Arch your back,” I tell her, when her lower half starts to sink again.

  She does, and it pushes both her perfect tits and her hips up out of the water. For a split second, it’s agony, because all I can do is imagine how she’d look lying like this in my bed instead, spread underneath me as I bent down to kiss those perfect bow lips of hers, then run my tongue across every inch of that sculpted body…

  I shake the filthy thoughts away. Not now.

  Sinclair is floating on the surface, her neck braced against the wall, and her eyes widen with surprise. “I’m floating.” She lets out a little huff of surprised laughter.

  “Not quite.” I keep one hand under her lower back and slide my other up to beneath her shoulder blades. “Ready to let go of the wall?”

  She bites her lower lip again, the same motion that almost drove me wild earlier. Her gaze darts to mine, and I can see real nervousness there, underneath the flirtation I know she’s trying to maintain. “Um… I’m scared,” she finally admits in a mumble.

  Instead of reassuring her, I just catch her eye and hold it. “That’s normal.” I press both my hands under her, so she can feel that I have her. “Do you trust me?”

  She hesitates, but only for a second. Then, slowly, she nods her head.

  So I draw her toward the deeper end of the pool, out and away from the wall. She gasps again as her hands leave their familiar purchase, and as her head sinks up past her ears in the water. But she stays up on the surface.

  “Feel that?” I ask, bouncing a little beside her so the waves cradle and rock her body. “The buoyancy?”

  “Yeah.” Her breath comes out in a little puff. She glances toward me. Dares a small smile. “Now does it count as floating?”

  “Almost.” I let her go.

  Her amusement shifts to panic almost instantly. She flails, and immediately her legs and chest sink beneath the water. She sputters as it reaches her lips, but I catch her around the waist and right her, until she’s standing on the bottom, the water only up to her chin.

  She groans and flushes again, as she regains her balance. “Sorry. I just…”

  “It’s okay. It’s normal when you’re first learning.” I watch her, wondering. Especially when she side-eyes the deeper side of the pool with obvious mistrust. “I won’t let you drown in here, you know.”

  She laughs again, a little more relaxed this time, turning her face toward mine. “I know. Sorry. It’s habit. Just, especially after that kid yesterday…” She shakes her head a little. “I used to be a nurse.”

  I tilt my head, confused at the sudden shift in subject.

  She smiles, a little sheepishly. “Earlier. You asked how I knew CPR but not how to swim. Well, we learned CPR in school. Swimming wasn’t a requirement, though, so I avoided it like the plague. Never liked… water,” she finishes, almost like she was about to say something else and changed her mind at the last moment.

  “Well, you just have to understand how it works,” I tell her. “For example, earlier, when you were floating on your back—”

  “Ha!” she interrupts with a triumphant grin. She leans in to nudge me, and her hand lingers against my bare chest a little longer than strictly necessary. Her palm feels like silk against me, and it makes me want to touch her all over again. “I knew that counted as floating.”

  I laugh. “Earlier, when you were almost floating,” I correct myself, “you would’ve stayed afloat if you hadn’t started flailing so much. If you just relax into it, the water will do most of the work for you, holding you upright. Especially women, who tend to be more buoyant thanks to… well.” My gaze drops down her body, and her smirk widens.

  “Thanks to my built-in flotillas?” She slides a hand over her breasts, and it takes every ounce of self-control in me not to reach out and trace the path she’s following, put my hands where hers are.

  Fuck. This girl is messing with my head bad. “Yes,” I manage to say, unable to resist a sly smile. “Thank god for those.”

  It takes serious willpower to drag my gaze from her chest back up to her face.

  When I do, I find her watching me, too, her gaze dragging over my bare chest and stomach. “So let me guess,” she says. “You’d probably sink thanks to all that muscle?”

  I bark out a surprised laugh. But before I can respond, Ms. Humbolt whistles from behind Sinclair.

  “Now, Ankor,” she says, her voice taking on the old crotchety tone she only does when she’s messing with me. “I hate to interrupt budding young love—”

  “Young hormones, more like,” Mrs. Orial interrupts, and all of the women cackle with laughter.

  Sinclair bounces a few paces away from me through the water, like she can avoid any insinuations by taking herself farther from me.

  I just let her go with another laugh.

  “But there are still other people in this class,” Ms. Humbolt continues. “We’d appreciate a little direction now and again.”

  “Just getting our newest member situated, that’s all,” I reply with an easy grin. “Ladies, this is Sinclair, she’ll be joining us for the day.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” Mrs. Jenkins pipes up first, and reaches out to pat the wall beside her, in the shallowest section of the pool. “Join me, why don’t you?”

  With a tentative smile, Sinclair swims over to her side, as I start the lesson itself. “Right, ladies, hands on the wall, we’ll begin with some kicks.” But as I walk them through the opening exercises, I can’t help myself. My gaze keeps drifting over to Sinclair, admiring her sleek body beneath the water, and the way she moves, at such odds with the way she keeps her face down and her eyes averted.

  Her body acts confident, even if she seems to keep remembering she shouldn’t let herself for some reason.

  I can’t help remembering what she said earlier. She was a nurse. Meaning she isn’t anymore? Why not? And what else is she hiding, that makes her so tentative? Even Mrs. Jenkins, who’s been asking her polite, small talk questions all throughout class, like where she’s from (“continental US,” she says mysteriously), and what she does for a living (“figuring that out at the moment,” apparently, so definitely no longer nursing), can’t seem to get a straight answer out of her.

  By the end of the lesson, I don’t know much more about Sinclair than I did at the start of it, besides her name, and one more very important thing.

  I still want her, damn it.

  3

  Sinclair

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. My whole plan when I came here was not to get involved. Not with anything or anyone locally. I was going to keep my head down, lie low, and figure my life out.

  What’s the first thing I do? Rescue a drowning kid on the beach, in full view of everybody, raising about a mil
lion questions from everyone watching. The opposite of lying low and not standing out like a sore thumb. And now, according to my chat with Ankor, just about everyone who lives in Maui is talking about me, the mysterious hero. Great.

  And what’s the second thing I do, once I recover from that disastrous idea?

  It’s to take a swim class with the hottest guy in the old people only resort I booked—one that I chose specifically because I figured I wouldn’t meet any hot guys here, never mind one who looked like him. Goddamn. Between the perfectly sculpted abs and pectorals, his deep tan skin and his dark eyes, which light up with amusement and something else, something that sends a trill of desire straight to the pit of my belly every time he looks at me, I know I’m in trouble.

  And the way his hands felt, all over me during the opening of the lesson… Fuck. Warm and strong and capable, for once I felt safe in the water, with his hands on me. I thought I could actually do this, maybe, actually conquer this fear.

  Then he let go, and I made an absolute fool of myself. I groan and run my hand across my forehead. The last thing I want to do now is focus on how embarrassing that swim lesson was. He’s probably seen children behave better in water than me. Probably a lot of them, for that matter.

  Still, in spite of the embarrassing parts, I can’t help remembering the lesson. The way it felt to be close to him. The way his eyes couldn’t keep away from my body. There’s no way I was imagining it. He feels something for me too.

  Which only makes him more dangerous.

  This is exactly what you told yourself you wouldn’t do, Sinclair, I think angrily as I storm into the changing rooms beside the pool. Out behind me, I can hear chatting, as the older women corner Ankor after the lesson. As for me, I couldn’t sneak away soon enough, afraid that if I stayed, I would cave in to my desire to talk to him more. Talking would lead to flirting, would lead to drinks at the very scenic hotel bar I spotted the other day, out overlooking the beautiful beach… And then drinks would lead back to his room or mine, where… where I can’t let myself go. Certainly not now. Not after everything that’s happened.