Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series

I couldn’t have planned this better if I tried. While I had no idea this opportunity would present itself, I like the thrill of thinking on my feet about how to drive him crazy.

It’s probably reckless. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s one hundred percent reckless, but this is what makes me feel alive.

As I open the door to the guesthouse an idea pops into my mind.

I’m going to go swimming.

That will not only drive him mad, but it will most likely piss my father off too.

Which is a wonderful bonus.

Making quick work, I throw my bathing suit on, the smallest and most indecent one I own.

It’s barely a bathing suit. It’s more like lingerie; with black lace and tiny strings keeping it together, it leaves nothing to the imagination.

I don’t bother grabbing a towel before I head back outside.

The temperature tonight is chilly, but Sherry likes to swim in the early morning, so the pool is always heated to a balmy ninety-eight degrees.

They don’t hear me at first, but when I make it to the edge of the pool, Dane sees me. His head jerks up, and my father follows his movement, turning to look at me.

“Josie? What are you doing out here?”

I cock my head. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m swimming. Is that okay?” I challenge.

“Of course, you can. I’ve just never seen you swim since you’ve been here.”

“Tonight, I felt like it.” I shrug, and at that, I dive into the water and start to swim the length of the pool.

Beneath the water, I can’t see anything. Almost like my future, its depths are unknown, but that’s what I like.

Not knowing.

Just living.

Once I’m done with my lap, I pop back up and look toward where they are sitting.

My father is talking, hands raised in the air as he describes in detail and gestures God knows what, but it’s not him I care about. It’s Dane, who has yet to take his eyes off me.

He watches me intently, like a man possessed.

He’s not moving. Hell, it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

Not remotely subtle, Dane.

His perusal lights me on fire.

He burns me from the inside out.

I need to have him.

And just like that, my father says something, drawing Dane’s attention away, leaving me cold and a bit annoyed.

Whatever my father says to him makes him laugh, and a sharp pain radiates in my chest.

It hurts.

Why can’t he look at me and laugh?

When he stares at me, sure, I know he wants me, but I can also tell he hates me for it.

He looks so relaxed at this moment.

Younger too.

It’s evident in the softness of his brow, the lack of lines marring his skin, and even his shoulders are less tense, but it’s his laughter that does me in. Every time the sound escapes his mouth, I can’t help but grin, remembering our time in that bar and the way he acted just like that for me.

Then, a thought hits me in the gut.

I want to be the person to make him laugh, to make him smile. I want to be the reason he lights up a room with his presence.

I dive back under the water, continuing to swim. I go another lap before I emerge again, but this time, I see my father stand from his chair, place his glass down, and move toward the house.

I choose that moment to strike. The pool’s ladder is only a few strokes away, so I head in that direction and then make my way back up onto the ground.

I stride in his direction, feeling like a panther stalking her prey.

“Where did my father go?” I ask, wanting to gauge how much time I have.

“He went inside to help Sherry.”

“So, it’s just us?” I run a finger over my clavicle, drawing it down toward my cleavage.

Small lines crease his face.

“Yes.” He’s angry. He doesn’t want to be left alone with me.

Pool water drips off my body as I make my way closer to where he is.

Finally, I close the gap, standing so close to where he’s sitting that my leg touches his thigh.

I look down at him, hungry and wanting.

He’s watching me. His eyes are stormy, and there is a harsh look in them. It’s hard to see in the dark of the night, but his eyes look black. Like all of the blue has been eaten up and replaced by darkness that matches his mood.

“Hellfire.” A warning.

One I fully intend to ignore.

I reach forward. “Sinclair. Or maybe I should call you Sin?” I smirk.

My hand finds his hand, and his eyes fly to that spot where we touch.

“What are you doing?”

“What we both want me to do.” My words hang in the air, and I wait for him to object, to say this isn’t what he wants. That I’m not what he wants, but he doesn’t speak. He holds my stare, watching me intently.

I take his hand in mine, when our fingers touch, a wave of heat spread through my body.

It’s cold out, but I feel no chill.

Instead, the feeling of skin touching skin sends an electric current through my body.

I move my hand, and he lets me.

My eyes are trained on his, watching him watch me. I can tell he’s wondering what I’ll do. He knows he should stop, but he won’t. He’s too curious. Too caught in my spell.

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

I can almost feel the way his chest rises and falls with every heavy breath he takes. The anticipation is doing the same thing to him that it’s doing to me.

I place his hand on my thighs, and his fingers trail up my leg. As he does, he wipes away the tiny crystals of water that cling to my skin. Soon, he’s made it to the material of the bikini. His finger traces the thin lace, eyes bouncing between the thin fabric and my eyes.

I take a deep breath. “Do it.”

His finger dips beneath. My heart rattles fiercely. Just as I think he will touch me, he drops his hand and stands abruptly.

“No.”

And with that one word, the air suddenly chills to arctic levels, and I’m left standing alone and utterly disappointed.