Page 18 of Saved By the Billionaire
He clears his throat. "I was planning to swim after this. The indoor pool—" Of course there's an indoor pool. "It's heated, very relaxing. Would you like to join me?"
My mouth goes dry. Swimming. With Richard. Which means... swimsuits. Which means seeing even more of his body, which I'm not sure I can handle without spontaneously combusting.
Which also means him seeing me in a swimsuit.
My body isn't pool-ready. Isn't magazine-perfect. I'm soft where I should be firm, thick where I should be thin, covered in fading bruises that tell a story I don't want Richard to see written on my skin.
"I don't have a swimsuit," I say, seizing on the excuse.
"There's a selection in the pool house. Multiple sizes." His voice is neutral. "Everything's new, tags still on. Part of the guest amenities."
Of course there are guest swimsuits. Because this is Richard Kane's house, and he thinks of everything.
"I'm not sure..." I trail off, uncertainty warring with desire. Because God, do I want to go. Want to spend more time with him, want to see him in the water, want to take this opportunity I've been given.
But do I want him to see me? My body, barely covered, all my flaws on display?
Nathan's voice echoes in my head: *You should cover up more. Nobody wants to see all that.*
Except Richard isn't Nathan. Richard looks at me like I'm beautiful, not something to be hidden away. Richard had clothes purchased in my exact size, stocked a guest room for me, stayed up half the night making sure I was okay.
Richard, despite what I keep telling myself, might actually see something worth looking at when he looks at me. And God, I've wasted so much time suffering. Two years of being told I wasn't enough, wasn't attractive, wasn't worth the effort. Two years of being controlled and isolated and hurt.
I'm free now. Maybe not completely. Nathan will come looking, there are still legal complications to sort out, but I'm free enough to make this choice. To say yes to swimming with a man who makes my heart race and my body ache and my brain forget why this is supposed to be inappropriate.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "I'd like that."
"Good." He turns toward a door on the far wall. "Let me show you the pool house. You can change there. It's got private changing rooms, full bathroom facilities."
I follow him through the gym, trying desperately not to stare at his back, at the way his muscles shift as he moves. He pushes open a door and suddenly we're in a glass-enclosed walkway, the forest visible on all sides.
"I wanted the pool separate from the main house," Richard explains as we walk. "Somewhere I could swim without tracking water through the entire place. Plus, it gave Marcus another structure to fortify, which made him happy."
The mention of his head of security makes me curious. "Does Marcus really enjoy fortifying things?"
"It's his love language." There's dry humor in Richard's voice. "Some people give gifts. Marcus installs security cameras and runs threat assessments."
The walkway opens into another building. Smaller than the main house but still impressive. And there, taking up most of the space, is the pool.
It's stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, the fourth wall made of natural stone with water cascading down it. The pool itself is large, the water a perfect blue-green, steam rising from the surface.
"The changing rooms are through there." Richard points to a door. "Like I said, there should be suits that fit. Take your time. I'll be in the water."
He disappears through another door, presumably the men's changing room, and I'm left alone with my racing thoughts.
I can do this. I can put on a swimsuit and get in a pool with Richard Kane and act like a normal human being instead of a lust-addled mess.
The women's changing room is spa-like: lockers, benches, and another full bathroom. And there, neatly arranged on shelves, are swimsuits. Multiple styles, multiple sizes, all high-end brands with tags still attached.
I find my size and sort through the options. There's a modest one-piece, practical and coverage-providing. Safe.
Then there's a bikini. Burgundy, the same color as the sweater I'm wearing. High-waisted bottoms that would actually be flattering on my curves, and a top that would provide adequate support while still being... attractive.
I reach for the one-piece, then stop.
Fuck it.
I grab the bikini and change quickly before I can second-guess myself. The bottoms fit perfectly, sitting high on my waist and actually accentuating my curves instead of trying to hide them. The top... God, my breasts look good in this. Full and soft, cleavage visible but not obscene.
