Page 70 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

I stopped at the edge of the pool and looked down at my blurred reflection in the steam.

“I’m not swimming in jeans.”

“No,” he said. “Didn’t expect you to.”

I glanced over my shoulder. "And I'm not swimming naked."

“I gathered that.”

He stepped past me, toed off his shoes, and pulled his shirt over his head. The low light caught the hard lines of his chest and shoulders. Lower, the sharp cut of his hips disappeared beneath black boxer briefs. Solid all the way through.

And entirely aware of being looked at.

“Want to take a picture?” he asked, voice low.

“I’m thinking about it.”

He smirked, then dove in clean. When he surfaced he pushed the wet hair out of his eyes and looked back at me, that cocky edge still there.

“Your turn.”

I exhaled through my nose. Fine. I hadn’t expected this to be easy.

I pulled the sweater over my head. Black lace bra underneath, minimal. His eyes stayed on me. I unbuttoned my jeans, stepped out of them, and left them at the edge of the pool. Matching thong. He still hadn’t looked away.

The cold air hit my skin and my nipples hardened against the lace. I didn’t check whether he was still watching. I stepped to the edge and dove, staying under for the length of one full breath before I came up against the far wall and let my arms float on the surface.

He moved closer and turned, resting his back against the wall beside me.

“Worth it?” he asked.

I met his eyes. “Ask me again in an hour.”

He gave a quiet laugh. “Fair enough.”

We stood like that for a long moment. The heater hummed low under the deck. Somewhere in the trees an owl called once.

I put on my best attempt at a flirtatious smile, trying to distract him, lower his guard a little. It must have looked wrong, because his eyes narrowed slightly like he wasn’t buying it.

I splashed water at him.

He wiped his face, clearly amused. “Really?”

“Seemed like a good idea.”

He pushed off the wall and came after me. I ducked under and kicked away, but he was faster in the water than he had any right to be. Two strokes later I surfaced near the middle of the pool, already laughing — the kind of real, unguarded laugh I hadn’t let out in years. Fingers closed around my ankle and he pulled me back with almost no effort.

I twisted hard and tried to dunk him. It didn’t work. He was too big. I only managed to get half his face wet before his arm locked around my waist and we both went under in a tangle of limbs and bubbles.

When we came up again I was still laughing, breathless and a little shocked at the sound of it. Jackson’s expression shifted as he watched me. The playfulness drained out of it, leaving something quieter and more intent. We were still close, legs brushing under the water. His hands settled at my waist and held me there. The laughing faded into something else entirely.

“We should not,” I said, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer with words. He just leaned in and kissed me, deep and sure, like he’d been waiting for this all night. I kissed him back before I could talk myself out of it. The last of the resistance went under the water with us.

When he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was rough. “You were saying?”

I had nothing.