This was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I touched her. I’m fucked. This is the woman whose legend I’ve been spinning since I laid eyes on her. She’s ambitious. She’s not a slave to her fears and she is sexy as fuck. In the month that I’ve known her, I’ve come to see that she’s special. And I’m so wildly attracted to her that it hurts. I shouldn’t be doing this. She’s my employee. She is so fucking young.

But fuck if I can help how hard I am, being this close to her. I’m a selfish asshole. Because I can’t not do this.

I was purposely keeping her body away from mine so she wouldn’t feel how little control I have. I didn’t anticipate her taking a step backward. And as soon as I felt that soft ass of hers cradle my cock, I jumped. And now she thinks I was rejecting her and she’s leaving.

Fuck.

“Lucía,” I begin, but she just turns around and starts walking toward the stairs.

“Don’t worry about it, no big deal. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” she says without turning around.

I swim after her and in a few strokes, I’m able to grab her by the waist, under water, just as she is putting her foot on the first step.

“It is a big deal and I’m sorry,” I say as I come to standing and turn her around to face me. And when I see her eyes, those big brown, beautiful eyes, I know I should probably let her leave. I see the pain in them before she erases it and sets her entire expression to neutral; the last thing I want to do is hurt her. I should let her walk away because I can’t be thinking about fucking her when we both have so much riding on this whole experiment. But I know I won’t.

She sighs, “Reece, forget it. You don’t have to sit here and try of think of something to say. I don’t know why I stepped back when it was obvious you were holding me away.”

“No, Lucía.” I put my arm on her elbow to stop her from leaving again. “I’m trying to think of what to say. Yes, I was holding you away.” She slips her arm out of my grasp and this time I grab her hand. It’s so small, and yet there’s nothing fragile about it, or her. I can feel the callouses in her palm and I remember that this woman has worked hard and fought for every single inch of paved road she’s traveled. I shouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. But her hand, it feels so right in mine.

“No. Shit. I’m fucking this up. Lucía . . .”

“Reece, it’s okay. Really.”

“Stop interrupting me, dammit,” I growl at her.

She clamps her mouth shut and her eyes grow wide. She looks as shocked as I feel, she actually did what I said without arguing. That’s a first.

“I was holding you away because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t be getting hard while I’m teaching you how to swim. I shouldn’t be getting boners with you at all. You’re—”

“I know, I’m not your type.” She tries to tug her hand out of my grasp and in frustration, I pull her flush against me. She melts into me, connecting us from hip to thigh.

“Does that feel like you’re not my type, Luc?” I mumble when I feel her hips rotate and against my erection.

“But you said . . .” she whispers and looks up at me. The look of wonder on her face makes me want to take her mouth in a wild kiss.

I let go of her hand and move both of my hands up her body. One stops at her waist, the other goes to brush away the loose hair that is sticking to her neck. As soon as my hand touches her, her eyes close and I feel a shudder pass through her.

I lean in and down and put my nose on the side of her neck and inhale, she smells like sweat and vanilla and chlorine. I press a kiss to the base of her throat and move my hand to cup her neck.

“I lied,” I say against the spot I just kissed.

Her head falls onto my chest and she says my name, and in her tone I hear so much of what I’m feeling: confusion, frustration, need. I tilt her head up to look at me. Her eyes remain closed.

“Luc, look at me.”

She shakes her head no.

“Luc—”

And then, the air and the moment is cleaved in half by a loud, all too familiar voice shouting my name

“Reeeeece!”

Lucía and I both jump, breaking contact. Without another word she turns and starts up the stairs just as fucking Fabienne comes around the corner.

She comes to a halt as she sees Lucía. Her eyes dart back and forth between us and I see them narrow in a way that I dislike.

“Fabienne, what are you doing here?” I ask her as I start to follow Lucía out of the pool. She’s already at her mat and hurriedly pulling her T-shirt on by the time I’m out of the pool.

“I could ask you the same thing Reece’s Pieces,” she taunts, using the nickname she knows I hate. She holds out a towel to me.

I roll my eyes as I snatch the towel from her. Fabienne is my ex-wife. Our marriage was years of tantrums, breaking up, making up, accusations and drama. Our divorce was even worse. Unfortunately, she’s been cast in a film the studio is producing, but she has no reason to be here, in Malibu, looking for me.

“Can you just answer a question without being cryptic. Why are you here? How did you know I was at the guesthouse?”

She glances at Lucía who is drying her hair with a towel and not facing us. God, could this be anymore awkward?

“I went to your house and Alma said you were here. So, I took the golf cart. Sorry to interrupt.” Her gleeful tone says the exact opposite.

“Cut the shit. Why were you at my house?” I ask her, ignoring her evasion.

“I just thought we could have breakfast, you know . . . I want to talk.” She looks at Lucía again and this time Lucía looks up at her, too.

Her expression is shuttered, but I can see the tension in her jaw and I know she is anything but calm. And then she turns to face me.

“I’m going to get ready for work. I’ll see you at the office. Thanks for the lesson.” And then she walks towards the sliding door without acknowledging Fabienne.

“Lucía, can you wait?” I start after her.

She stops and turns to face me, her expression no longer shuttered. Her eyes are cold but her chin is quivering, and I can see that she is struggling to hold on her to her composure.

“No.” She gives her head a gentle shake. “I can’t.” And then she turns to go, closing the sliding glass door behind her.

“So, that’s the famous authoress?” Fabienne drawls as she drops into one of the lounge chairs on the deck. “I read her book, you know,” she quips.

“Good for you. And I don’t have time for breakfast,” I say as I start to walk past her into the house. I can’t imagine what Lucía’s thinking.

“What? You always have time for breakfast,” she calls after me, and I can hear that she is not perturbed in the slightest. She knows she’s done some damage and that makes her happy. She used to be one of the nicest people I’d ever met. Her fame changed her and I went from being her boyfriend to being a tool she used whenever she wanted to make headlines.

“Not anymore. At least not with you. If you need something, talk to your production team. You can show yourself out,” I say, not bothering to look back at her.

“Reece, I read chapter fifteen of the book. I know why you’re desperate to get it made,” she singsongs, but her voice has the edge to it, the one it normally gets when she’s about to say something she knows is going to sting. I stop and turn to face her.

“You don’t know anything, Fabienne,” I say slowly. I don’t want her even thinking about Lucía. She looks at me, her expression puzzled at first and then delighted.

“Oh, you haven’t read it.” She claps excitedly as she stands up. “This is perfect,” she says with a giggle. Her glee making me all kinds of nervous. She’s never happier than when someone else’s day is about to be ruined.

“Fabienne, please leave.”

I hear her laugh as I shut the door behind me. I walk to the front of the house and watch as she hops into her convertible Jaguar coupe and drives off.

“Lucía,” I call as I enter the house. The shower in her bathroom is running. I want to walk in there and make her listen. When she was pressed against me, I could feel every single curve of her body melt into mine. I could feel the pulse in her neck when I kissed it.

I owe her a conversation and I want to make sure Fabienne’s really gone. So, I grab a piece of paper and pen from her counter and write her a note.

I’m just about to walk out of the kitchen when a picture catches my eye. It’s a silver framed picture of her and a boy, I assume he’s her brother . . . he looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t know why. She looks like she’s about five years old. She’s sitting on his shoulders with a wand of bright pink cotton candy in one fist. He’s smiling up at her and she’s staring up at the sky, her mouth open in a laugh, her eyes full of wonder.

I’m going to put that smile back on her face. I let my fingers skim her face in the picture before I let myself out.