“Might’ve been preferable,” I mutter.
His brow furrows as he throws out his hand for me to take. “Did you fall in?”
“No, I just fancied a dip,” I snark, slapping it away.
“Primevère.”
“The water is just lovely.”
“I’m not getting in.”
“That wasn’t an invitation,” I retort, more prim than Primrose.
He drops his forearm to his knee. “I almost hand a fucking heart attack running out here.”
“A man of your age ought to be careful.” The words come out of nowhere, even if my insides turn a little marshmallow-y
“Clearly,” he says with such dry amusement, the word could snap.
I give a little snicker and glance towards my sundress lying in a crumpled heap behind him. And his gaze tracks. Whomp-whomp.
“Like I didn’t already notice you’re naked,” he says, his concern undergoing a transformation.
“Don’t,” I mutter. “And I’m not naked. Just topless.”
“And that’s why you’re in there and I’m not.”
My brow furrows.
“I got a fucking shock, okay? I was about to jump in after you until…” His eyes dip at the precise moment my left tit escapes my hold, my nipple bouncing into the air like a naughty puppy’s nose.
“Stop that!” I squeak, not sure if I’m talking to him or it.
“So it appears there was an incident.”
“Does there?” I answer airily. Or snarkily. It’s hard to tell. I think my ears might be waterlogged.
“Would you like some assistance in exiting the pool?” He holds out his hand again.
“No, thank you.” Not with you here.
“So you’re saying this isn’t your attempt at getting me naked … by getting yourself naked?”
“I told you, I’m not—okay.” This is so awkward. Jesus, give a girl a break. “So there was an incident.”
“An incident with your dress or the pool?”
“An incident with a gecko.”
“A what?”
“A gecko.” Why I decide imitating the noise of their freaky people is a good idea, I’m not sure. “With the eyes, the see-through skin, and the horrible sucky feet.”
“A gecko made you shed your dress and jump into the pool.”
“Was that a question?” I snipe. “It fell on me, all right.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Barely.