Trophy Husband (26 page)

I could have headed home after the
reception, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep tonight. I told my mom I
wanted to stay over, and I waited until everyone was in bed before
grabbing a robe and trekking across a couple acres of lush grass
for a moonlight swim.

I’m no stranger to
insomnia, but it’s been worse since I returned home. In the silence
of the night, there’s too much room for my thoughts and they expand
until they fill every corner of my mind. While I was away, I could
be anyone I wanted to be, but in New Hope, everywhere I turn,
someone’s labeling me. When I was young, I was just
one of the Thompson girls
, but now the labels aren’t so innocuous.
Black sheep. College dropout.

Slut.

I drop the terry cloth robe from my
shoulders and dive into the water completely nude. Most pools would
be intolerably cold in Indiana before June, but the water
circulating from the hot tub keeps the water comfortable from
spring to fall. Even if it was cold, I’d still be here. Exercise is
the only thing that calms my mind. Tonight, I’ll swim laps to
escape the demons.

Until last year, small town life was the
only life I’d ever known, so I should be used to it, but you can be
cut open a hundred times, and the slice of the blade still
hurts.

I just never expected Will to be the one
holding the knife.

Does he love her? Would he marry my sister
out of spite?

Did he tell Krystal the truth about our
canceled vows?

I turn and pull my limbs
through the water, asking myself the question I’ve been avoiding
for weeks.
Can I live here and watch Will
and Krystal build a life together?

I count out twenty-five laps. The rhythm of
my breathing calms me. The water rushing over my skin salves my
wounds. Finally, I rest forearms on the edge of the pool and gulp
in air, focusing only on my breath and the water dripping from my
face.

“Training for the Olympics?”

I snap my head up in surprise. In the soft
glow of the moon, I can make out the bad boy from the reception. He
stands in swim trunks three yards from me, a towel draped around
his neck. I was right about the tats. He has some sort of starburst
on his left peck, another circling his thick biceps.

“Sneak up on many girls?”

“Only the special ones.” He drops the towel
on a chair and dives into the water.

When he surfaces, my heart kicks up a beat.
He’s close. I could almost touch him if I reached out.

But even as my eyes tour his broad chest and
sculpted shoulders, I back away. “What are you doing here?”

His eyebrow quirks. “I live here.”

I snort. “No you don’t.” Then, when his
expression remains stoic. “Shit. Really? You’re Rich Dude?”

“Rich who?” He looks puzzled. And
annoyed.

Giggles bubble up and slip past my lips.
I’ve always pictured the owner of this property to be some
white-haired old man with a cane and a monocle. Asher is so far off
the mark, I can’t help my laughter. “Shit. I’m sorry. I just…” I
laugh more, and it feels damn good. My muscles are spent from my
swim, my mind is calm, and laughing feels like a long-denied
decadent treat.

“You haven’t come to swim in a long time,”
he says softly.

That cuts my laughter
short. “You watch me?” I want to feel violated by the idea. But the
thought of
this
man watching me swim nude in his pool zips potent arousal
through my veins.

Asher shakes his head, studying me. “My
groundskeeper told me a young girl used to sneak in about once a
week. I assume that was you?”

“Yeah,” I say softly.

“Why’d you stop?”

“I left town for awhile.”

“Looking for something?”

I shake my head. “Running away.”

He nods, as if my answer is
perfectly reasonable, and I get the sense that he doesn’t just
accept it, he
understands
it. His gaze settles on my mouth. When his eyes
drop to the water and my bare breasts, his breath catches, and I
feel that rush that comes from being desired, that false sense of
worth I’m willing to be fooled by tonight. Suddenly, I want him to
kiss me. Touch me. More.

I want to wash my loneliness away with the
weight of a man’s body on mine, to erase unwelcome memories with
his mouth.

This man’s body. This man’s mouth.

“Sorry I had to disappear earlier.” His
voice is low, husky as watches me.

“I’d let you make it up to me,” I murmur,
closing the distance between us. I hesitate, but his gaze—hot,
hungry, all over me—is all the invitation I need.

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