Breathe for Me(10)

“So sorry about that.” Terry backed up a pace and pushed through the door.

“Sure you are.” Xander stalked after him. He heard the soft hum of the elevator mechanism working. She was gone already.

“She’s a hottie.” Terry said as he hit the stairs.

“She’s none of your business.” Xander hesitated, hating having to ask, but necessity bit so hard he had to. “What’s her name?”

Terry turned in the stairwell, astonishment written all over him. “You don’t know her name? You’re copping a feel and you don’t even know who she is? You’re the f*cking master!” The guy almost bowed in admiration.

Xander was less than an inch from losing it. “Just tell me her name.”

“If you’re that hot, I’m sure you can find it out yourself.” Terry didn’t wait for a reaction. He sprinted down the stairs three at a time.

Xander unlocked his apartment and let the door slam behind him.

Asshole.

Clearly Terry had liked watching the midnight non-swimmer and he hadn’t appreciated having his perv sessions cut. Jerk.

But then Xander was a bit of a jerk too, wasn’t he? To be almost fingering her like that without knowing her name wasn’t great. Though at the time, he couldn’t have cared less. All that had mattered was arousing her, teasing her, satisfying her. Hell he’d wanted to see her satisfied. To see that need in her eyes assuaged.

He sighed and paced around his apartment. So damn relieved the fiancé was out of the picture. But his brain unrelentingly replayed images certain to send him mad.

Her lush lips had reddened, her eyes widened, the navy deepened. He’d had only a second with that sweet, tight nipple in his mouth, feeling the shivers ripple through her. She’d been holding herself rigid to stop her hips rocking, he knew it. And the way she’d arched against him when he’d sucked her in—swimsuit and all? Damned if he could resist that.

But for someone who had such heat in her eyes, who could talk it up a little, when it came to the moment she’d been surprisingly passive. She’d clammed up, almost like she was shy. But she hadn’t said no. And when he’d talked fantasy, invoked her imagination with his lame Superman line, that’s when she’d gotten hotter. That had been the key.

So is that what she needed? Him to make the moves? To instigate? To take control?

Fine. No problem. At least ‘til she warmed up. Because when he had touched her?

Ther. Mo. Nuclear.

He half laughed, half-groaned. She couldn’t have been warmer. Her response hadn’t been virginal. Then again, she’d been engaged. Hell, she’d teased she had more than one ring, like she collected them. Well she hardly did that. The way she’d run away the second she could, showed her true colors. No real vixen there. Though, it had to be said, she had potential.

Why had she run? Was it just embarrassment at being caught by Terry? Or was it fear? There was no need for fear. Xander never asked for more than a woman was willing to give. In fact, he usually asked for less than they wanted to offer. And he was certain she was willing. So he’d corral her, soothe her skittishness. And then ride her the way he knew she wanted him to. The way he was dying to.

But he needed to understand what was going on in her head. Because while her body was screaming yes, that verbal reticence bugged him.

Screw it. He’d go stalker. Just for five minutes. Just to get the answers he needed. Her name. Her business. What had happened with the ex. Thanks be the guy was an ex. Because one thing Xander knew, he was having her lips under his and her succulent body wrapped round him, squeezing on his thrusting cock until they hit oblivion together.

He grabbed his computer and logged into the hotel system. Pulled up her unit. Accessing a client’s files for personal reasons would cost an employee his job. Good thing he was the boss.

Chelsea Greene. Temporary tenant. Only here for two months. An intern with the Wroxton Institute of Urban Art & Design. Whatever the hell that was. He re-read her residency dates. His skin tightened as his muscles bunched. A deadline then. Less than eight weeks.

Chelsea Greene. How many could there be in this world? He logged out of the system and tried Google.

Turned out there were a few, but it was easy to sort them. She was still a student—had worked on a number of random urban art projects. But there was one headline that stole his attention. Blood chilling he clicked on the link that took him to the online version of the small town newspaper. It was only a brief—an obit. A young guy, Tom Holt had been killed in a car crash when his vehicle left the road. His fiancée, Chelsea Greene had suffered critical injuries but was expected to survive. The article was dated almost two years ago.

Hell. Of course her fiancé hadn’t wanted the ring back. He was dead.

Poor guy. Poor Chelsea.

Xander stared at the screen, absently rubbing his knuckle across his jaw as he absorbed the info. Not good. Awful in fact. Reading this, he knew he should veer away. She was more than bruised. She’d been heartbroken. And he was never going to be the guy to give her what she was going to need now. He didn’t hang with emotionally needy women. Which was why he never stayed with any woman for long, because every woman he’d ever met got needy at some point. But some needs were more intense, more obvious, more immediate. And in every way that was Chelsea.

She’d been smashed up, body and heart. He guessed she was here to move on with her life. Doing the fight for independence. Good for her. But he’d no intention of helping her out with that. She might not think it yet, but ultimately she’d want a guy who could become a pivotal pillar in her rebuild. She’d said yes once, eventually she’d want to again—going for the picket fence, dog and the whole happy-ever-after.

Xander didn’t. It’d never happen for him. Hell, the cynic in him didn’t think it truly happened for anyone. He’d witnessed the burning hell that was his parent’s marriage. Then the frigid unhappiness of his aunt and uncle’s. Coupledom was best being a light temporary thing.

Upshot was, she wasn’t ready to play—not his kind of fast-but-fun game. Too freaking bad, because they’d be damn good at it. The fizz and snap between them was a kind of chemistry he’d never encountered before.

But learning this was good. It’d stop him from making a mistake that’d only end in a mess.

Damn.





Chapter Six





Xander worked extra long hours, meaning he worked 23 of 24, which was fine given he couldn’t sleep without dreaming of her. In the last four years his security systems company had grown more quickly than he’d hoped it might. He needed to stabilize—fulfil the contracts he had while yet pushing for more. He’d recruited new engineers, extra sales people. The fact he now had so many employees was something of a surprise for a guy who liked to do everything himself. But he could delegate—he’d been careful in recruiting and he was reaping the rewards now of having a team that was loyal and as determined as he. But at the end of the day no one cared about the company like he did—there was always more he could do.

Four days into that fierce and frustrating regime, he needed a break from computer screens and barking instructions into his phone. He left the office at lunchtime. He needed to refuel, refresh and give his staff a break from his presence. He’d work from home this afternoon. And to be this damn hot? He needed a swim.

He figured he’d be in the clear. She wouldn’t be there at this hour, not when the likelihood of other pool patrons was so high. It was obvious she wanted to be alone to try to swim. But up at the roof he stopped at the door. Because she stood by the edge of the water.

Freaking fate. Sarcastic serendipity. Seems he was paying for some past misdemeanour in the grand old scheme of things, because he was screwed to the rack here and stretched out something painful.

She’d not looked up. Not seen him. He didn’t move. Just watched. He’d never been a voyeur, preferring an all action approach. But he didn’t want to disturb her yet. Plus, he’d gotten hard just from the sight of her and he needed to sort that out. Except he remembered the soft, smooth warmth of her skin, the sexy little sigh as he’d touched her, the passion she’d unleashed when he’d kissed her.

Temptation screamed. Pure want clawed at him, urging him to move closer. How could he not go for that again? Mercurial thoughts whispered—demand cloaked in desire. Maybe what she needed was a quick fling? Some fun to clear the cobwebs? He could so do that for her.

But then she turned slightly so he saw her profile more clearly. Even from this distance he saw the anxiety etched into her frozen features. It killed his lustful edge. Other instincts rose fast and sharp. He stepped nearer the glass, narrowing his gaze to watch her every movement.

Except she wasn’t moving.

She was holding her breath and she wasn’t even in the water. Her hands were fisted at her sides as she stared into the depths. Xander’s lungs ached as he held his breath right along with her. It was a beautiful pool. Warm, clean, soothing. He couldn’t wait to dive right in there. He’d take her in with him if she wanted. But it was pretty clear she didn’t.