strange
underfoot, and some kind of canopy that would have been appropriate
as a drop cloth while painting or used as an extermination tent
draped the ceiling. But the water was a nice temperature, so I got
in to use it as midsection camouflage before Penny came out.
“ You got in
already?”
I turned at the sound of Penny’s voice, and
whatever I could have managed to say strangled in my throat.
I have dated my fair share
of beautiful women over the years. Some of them might have been
beautiful because of how much I enjoyed their company. Some of them
had been beautiful despite how I felt about them. But Penny…
Her legs were unbelievably long considering
her short stature. Her bikini bottom wasn’t any skimpier than one a
person would see in the wild, but it seemed shockingly small on
her, likely because I was seeing so much skin all at once, for the
first time. The suit tied at her hips; her penchant for wearing
clothing that begged to be untied had to have been a conscious
choice. Even if it wasn’t intentional, it was driving me wild. And
her top… Jesus, her breasts were too perfect to exist in real life.
The red-checked material—what little there was of it—brought the
southern United States and women like Daisy Duke to mind.
And there it was. Just inside her right hip,
half-covered by the low rise of her suit, was the octopus
tattoo.
I had to say something. I couldn’t just
stare at her—probably open-mouthed, I couldn’t feel my face to
verify—like a pervert in the bushes. What came out was, “Stop
showing off.”
She smiled and dipped her face as if to hide
it. She’d taken her hair down, I noticed, and she tucked it behind
her ear shyly. “Sorry. Somebody has to be the prettiest girl in the
room, though.”
I looked around at the deserted pool area.
“Let’s go for prettiest in this hotel. Or the city. That would also
do.”
“ Beyoncé lives in this
city,” she reminded me wryly. “But I appreciate the
endorsement.”
She stepped down the ladder
cautiously, Phoebe Cates in a slow-motion reverse of that scene
in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I held my breath, feeling somehow it wouldn’t be
safe to breathe again until her feet touched the pool
floor.
When they did, the water came up just high
enough to half-cover her breasts, framing her perfect cleavage and
challenging me to not stare.
“ Isn’t this nice, though?”
she asked, sinking down until the water was over her shoulders.
“It’s not crowded like those pools you have to pay for.”
“ And much less Axe body
spray, I’m sure.” For all the faded grandeur of the place, I could
see why Penny liked it. The views from the twenty-seventh floor
were spectacular, and served up from multiple directions. It lent
fantastic lighting to the place. We might as well have been
outdoors. At least this way, we wouldn’t get sunburned.
She ducked her head under, pushing her hair
back as she came up. “Can you swim?”
“ That’s something you should
have asked before you got me into this pool, isn’t it?” I gestured
to the wall. “It’s only five feet deep. I think we’ll be
fine.”
“ You’ll be fine,” she said,
holding her hand up to eye level. “I’ll be in trouble.”
“ I promise I won’t let you
drown.” I hated the idea of getting my hair wet in front of her.
Women with wet hair always seemed sexy and carefree. I didn’t feel
men could pull it off. But I also didn’t feel that standing in a
swimming pool without getting wet was a realistic goal.
I dunked under, same as she had, catching a
glimpse of her water-paled legs stirring up flashes of silver
bubbles beneath the surface. I forgot for a moment we were
trespassing; I’d forgotten anyone besides Penny existed at all.
“ You won’t let me drown,”
she repeated, lying back in the water to float. “That’s in my top
five must-haves for boyfriends.” The skin that broke the waterline
showed gooseflesh, and her nipples were hard against her
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham