And it was quite a walk. Every step of the way, down the long hallway, then out into the reception area, down the elevator, over priceless carpets and past impressive paintings, through the huge glass doors into the early dazzling San Diego summer sun and onto the patio decking, he watched.

While telling himself he shouldn’t.

“Beautiful day,” she said when they went through a courtyard, beyond which came the scent of chlorine. The security rooms were just beyond the pool area. “I’d still prefer the beach, though. Give me the hot sand and pounding surf any day over the scent of pool.”

He lifted his eyes off her legs, which were revealed by the long slit in the skirt with every step she took. Did she know her hips swung to and fro in the most hypnotic way? That she was highly entertaining in a way he couldn’t explain, and he didn’t want to miss anything? He shook his head to clear it. “The beach. Yeah, I was there at the crack of dawn, and it was something.”

“What were you doing? Running?”

“Surfing.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You surf?”

“Is that so strange?”

She laughed. “I’m just trying to picture you without the tie.”

“Who says I surf without it?”

She stared at him, then laughed again. “You’re very different than I thought you’d be, Weston Roth.”

And so was she. They moved close together to make their way through a narrow walkway. Strands of her long blond hair seemed to catch him, tug at him. Annoying as hell.

Worse, she’d dressed like some movie star out of the 1930s. Who could have guessed a long-sleeved blouse and long, long skirt could be so sexy? It might have been the fact that the blouse was sheer, showing a peek-a-boo hint of something lacy beneath.

They came to the pool. Because it was early yet, no one was in the water. Two little girls, wearing matching pink polka-dot bathing suits and inflatable arm rings stood near the edge, screeching at each other.

“Mom said!”

“No, she didn’t!” The left one added a shove to the screech.

Her sister shoved back.

Kenna stepped forward. “Hey, there’s no lifeguard on duty. Where’s your mother?”

The girls paid her no attention. Wes watched them screeching and shoving, and wondered if all little children were devils incarnate. These two especially, as with each push, they brought each other closer to the edge of the pool.

His fearless new partner stepped close, right on the very edge of the tile herself.

He stepped close, too, and tried to warn her. “Uh…Kenna? Bad idea-”

“Where are the pool employees? These girls can’t be out here alone.” Stepping between the kids, she bent down to their level. “Where’s your mom?” she repeated.

“Mom said!” the one on the right said again at an incredible decibel level.

“No, she didn’t!” The one on the left reached around Kenna and added another push.

Wes winced. “Kenna-”

With absolute irritation, she whirled on him. “I just need a minute, Wes. Can you give me that?”

He looked down at the edge of the pool, almost directly beneath her feet, and then into her fierce eyes.

Swallowing the dire warning he’d been about to offer, he stood back, calculated the splash level, and then stepped back another few feet. “You know what?” he said. “Take all the minutes you want.”

“Thank you.” Kenna turned back to the children. “Now,” she said, with the patience of a harassed teacher on a Friday afternoon. “I want the two of you to- Hey!”

One of the little girls stopped pushing her sister and pushed Kenna.

“Stop that,” she said sternly.

The other sister apparently liked this new target, too, and joined in the action, adding her weight to the pushing match.

And that’s when it all went bad.

Arms flailing, Kenna flew backward.

Right into the pool.

9

SURFACING, Kenna blew her soggy hair out of her face. Furious, and more than a little embarrassed, she glared at her target. Not the two horrified children, but Weston Roth. “Don’t even think about laughing.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

The two girls, crying now, ran for their mother, who’d just come onto the deck with an armful of towels.

Nice of her to show up.

Kenna’s teeth started to chatter, because the contrast between the air temperature and the water temperature was so great and she swam for the side of the pool. That’s when it hit her that Wes stood a good ten feet back.

Of course he did, the jerk.

“I could be drowning, you know.” She shoved more of her soggy hair from her face. She really was going to have to go with waterproof mascara.

The irritating man merely smiled, though he did step a bit closer. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

He laughed, and the low rough sound of his good humor really fried her. She knew damn well he wouldn’t be laughing if it was him in the water.

“You’re talking too much to be drowning,” he said, then hunkered down at the edge of the pool, careful to keep his shoes dry. “You’re a mess.”

“It’s very sweet of you to point that out.” She lifted a hand, too irritated to swim to the shallow end or toward the ladder. “Pull me out.”

Mockingly apologetic, he shook his head. “You said you were going to handle this.” His smile was slow, sympathetic and utterly, infuriatingly sexy. “You said-”

“Oh, shut up.” She held on to the side of the pool, the water dragging her clothes down while she plotted her revenge, never mind that it was her own stupidity that had landed her in the pool in the first place. Somehow this was his fault, she just knew it. “Give me a h-hand.”

She hadn’t faked the shiver at the end, but she realized when he frowned in concern that it was a nice touch and immediately added another.

He held out a hand, which she took. And latched on. Feet braced on the side of the pool, she tugged as hard as she could.

The splash he made after he flew over her head and hit the water was quite satisfactory.

When he broke the surface, he shook his head and stared at her, shocked. “You pulled me in.”

She smiled. “Your glasses are crooked.” She moved to haul herself out, meaning to do so gracefully, with dignity, so as to fully savor having the last word.

But her clothes weighed a ton. She’d lost one heel, and she couldn’t hike her leg up in her tight skirt. “Um…Wes?”

He swam to the edge, with a fine stroke she couldn’t help but notice, and shot daggers at her. “What?”

“Could you give me another hand?”

“Hell, no.”

She shivered again-not quite a fake one this time-and he rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine.”

In the next breath, he’d hauled her toward him, and since he could stand, he slipped one large hand around her waist, another other under her legs. His fingers curled just beneath her breast, his strong, warm forearm banding around her upper thighs.

For one all too brief second, she was plastered against his hard chest before he lifted her up and out, unceremoniously depositing her in a growing puddle on the edge of the pool.

At the feet of five gaping employees, all trying not to be amused by this situation. Nice of them to show up, too. Someone tossed her a towel.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling her clinging clothes away from her body in vain. Giving up, she worked on her hair. “Thanks so much for coming now, instead of say five minutes ago, when two little girls could have drowned.”

With the grace and dignity she’d wanted for herself, Wes hoisted himself out of the pool beside her, surging to his feet in one easy, strong motion that made her want to grind her teeth.

Only a moment ago she’d had a flashing thought that all those lean muscles of his were a bit sexy. They weren’t sexy, they were maddening as hell.

“Your skirt…” he said a little oddly.

Looking down at the material which had plastered itself to her body, rendering her porno material, she tugged at it again. “I hope you’re all of age,” she said to the employees still standing there, and they laughed a little nervously.

She sighed. “Okay, we’re fine now, so you can all go back to work. Assuming one of you stays out here to watch the pool.” She glanced at Wes, unable to get past the fact she’d done an extremely childish and reactionary thing by pulling him into the water.

He hadn’t yelled at her. He’d even helped her out of the water when she could have very well swum to the shallow end and gotten out herself.

Why had he done that?

She looked him over. He was every bit as drenched as she, and probably just as cold. His glasses had drops of water on them, making her wonder if he could even see her clearly.

Even more unsettling, for all his talk of wanting this job for himself, he’d been, if not exactly kind, at least honest. “Thank you.”

He looked confused again and a little wary. “For what?”

“Sticking with me. For working with me, even though I know you must resent the hell out of it.”

He pulled off his glasses and shrugged those amazing shoulders, so perfectly delineated in his wet shirt. “I just want the hotel to be a success,” he finally said. Shoving his fingers through his hair, he sent more water flying. And then seemed to realize she was hanging on his every word. “I’d like to hear you want the same thing.”

“As opposed to taking this job for the glory?” She gestured to herself, a soggy wreck. “Because from where I’m sitting, Wes, there isn’t much glory.” When he just looked at her, she relented. “I want the hotel to be a success. Of course I do. I’d just like to be a part of that success. Even have something to do with it.”

“As much as any of us are, you will be.”

She almost felt that odd lump of emotion return to her throat, because for a minute there, wet and chilled, he did seem kind.