Chapter 1: The Pool At Midnight

Iris's POV 

"You there yet?"

"Yeah." The key worked on the first try, and I stood in the doorway for a second, with my suitcase in one hand, phone pressed to my ear in the other. "God, Chloe. It's so quiet."

I looked around, the Blackridge Mansion was exactly as I remembered it, marble floors, high ceilings, the kind of house that screamed wealth.

"Well no one is home," Chloe laughed through the phone. "So stop thinking and go find the pool."

"Chloe I..."

"Iris." She said, cutting me off. "You've been a ghost for months. I know you're stressed out by your stepmom, and Tristan, I can see it in your face. So get in the pool, get in the water and remember what it feels like to actually be in your body."

I pressed my lips together. "Your dad gets back in the morning, right?"

"Yeah, he won't land until eight." She paused. "I'll be back by tomorrow too, so the house is yours. Now stop stalling."

"I don't have a swimsuit." I said.

"You have underwear, don't you?" She asked.

"Chloe..."

"Goodnight Iris, Enjoy."

The line went dead.

I stood there for a moment, phone in hand, the silence of the Blackridge mansion pressing in from all sides. I'd had a key to this place since I was sixteen, known every corner of it, and still, everytime I walked in alone, it felt different.

Fine. I set my bag down by the stairs. I'll have just one hour in the water.

The pool light was on, the water glowing in the dark like something alive. I unzipped my dress and let it fall.

The cool night air hit my skin immediately, raising goosebumps along my arms. I was in a black lace, thin underwear and bra, I could feel the weight of my own gaze as I looked down at myself. Full breasts heavy against the lace, the dip of my waist, my thighs pressed together.

I hadn't been naked in front of anyone in months, not even Tristan, not really. He'd always turned off the lights, always kept things quick, like sex was a chore to be checked off a list.

The water was warm as I slid in. The shock of it on my skin made gasped. I floated on my back and stared at the sky, closed my eyes, letting the silence swallow me.

I thought about Tristan, even though I tried not to. The way his hands was on my waist during s*x, the way he'd finish with a grunt and roll over and I'd like there, unsatisfied, wondering if this was all there was.

Eight months or that and calling it a relationship. Eight months of lying still in the dark wondering why I felt so untouched.

The water made me feel myself again, chloe was right. It felt like if I stayed in it long enough It'd swallow all my problems.

I was floating there, eyes closed, my curly hair fanned out around me, when the air changed.

Then footsteps, slow and deliberate.

"What the..." My eyes flew open, I stood upright, my feet hitting the pool floor.

He was standing at the edge.

I hadn't heard the door, or a car, or a bag dropping, but Rafael Blackridge, Chloe's dad, was standing there, work shirt still on, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, forearms crossed loosely at his chest like he'd been watching for longer than the last two seconds. His grey eyes, pale as winter water, were locked directly on me.

The pool light was catching everything. I could feel it the way you feel someone else's stare, the lace of my bra suddenly completely transparent, my nipples hard and visible, the dark fabric of my underwear barely a shadow beneath the surface.

I should have moved, should have covered myself, said something but I didn't.

His eyes dropped, starting from my face and sliding down to my throat, my collarbone, the curve of my breasts against the wet lace, my stomach, lower. The kind of look that left marks.

My face was burning.

"You're supposed to be in London," the words came out stupidly, like an accusation.

"My flight changed." His voice was low. "You're in my pool, Iris."

"I.. I didn't think anyone would be home,"I stammered. "Chloe said..."

"Chloe says a lot of things." He took a step closer. "She didn't mention you'd be here. Naked."

"I'm not naked," I said, and immediately hated myself for it.

His gaze flicked to my chest.

Right, the lace, the pool light. The way the fabric had stopped being a cover the moment it hit water.

So maybe I was almost naked. He didn't need to say it.

"You should get out," jlHe said.

My heart was pounding against my ribs.

I climbed out. I don't why I didn't wait for him to turn around or ask him to hand me the towel from the lounger three feet behind him.

I moved toward the steps anyway, and his gaze tracked me. I could feel my whole body burning, I climbed the steps and water poured off me and he still hadn't move or turn.

I grabbed the towel off the lounger and wrapped it around myself, fingers shaking.

"I'm sorry," I said, not looking at him. "I'll go inside."

"I didn't say that." He said.

I looked up. He was closer, two feet away, I hadn't heard him move, and his eyes were on my face now, not my body, which was somehow worse.

"I didn't say go inside." He paused. "I said you're in my pool."

"Okay," I pressed my fingers harder into the towel. "I'll go now anyway."

I moved to walk past him. His hand closed around my wrist, his thumb settled directly over my pulse, like he wanted to know exactly what I was feeling.

The silence stretched.

"You're cold," he said, quietly.

"I'm fine." I said quickly.

"Your hands are shaking." He said.

"They're not." I said, even though they were.

His thumb moved, one slow drag across my pulse point, then he released, just like that.

"You should go inside," he said. "There's a blanket on the guest room chair."