Pool Girl: A Forbidden Slow Burn Romance Page 4

  As we climb in, Dr. Sally inquires, “What happened to you yesterday? Did you have the day off?”

  I tell her all about my late start, and she laughs as she maneuvers her car onto the road. “All that daydreaming is catching up to you, Gemma. What’s the plan today?”

  I tell her I have to fix a client’s pool pump and then I have to perform routine maintenance for a new client, Cullen Roberts’, pool at the golf course.

  “Who, Cullen?” Dr. Sally asks.

  “Yeah, Cullen Roberts, I guess he used to live here, but he’s recently moved back from Los Angeles. Why? Do you know him?”

  “Of course, I do,” she replies. “Small community, after all. Plus, his house was one of the first built on the golf course with a pool. I guess it’s a very large and impressive pool with lots of boulders and waterfalls. Really expensive.”

  So I’ve been told. I remain silent. Why don’t I know this Cullen Roberts? And when did he move in?

  I wonder if Taylor would know him. Taylor is not one for gossip, but she does keep an ear to the ground. She might know more than me, at least.

  “Here we are. Have a great day Dr. Sally.” I say before getting out.

  When I walk into the shop, Jack isn’t there yet, but everyone else is. I sign the logbook, and Michael helps me carry the carton containing the spare parts to my work truck. Before I pull out of the driveway my cell phone rings. It’s Sally.

  “Look, Gemma, I want you to be careful when you go to Cullen’s house,” Dr. Sally begins tentatively. It’s like she wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how to say it.

  “Why, is he some sort of drug dealer?” I tease.

  Dr. Sally sighs into the phone. “No, he’s not. But he’s…older.”

  “And so? I’m only fixing his pool. It’s not like I’m going to move in with him or anything.”

  “Just be careful.”

  She hangs up. I pull out onto the street. My day starts.

  I drive towards the golf course and turn in the point of the road that takes me uphill towards Mr. Robert’s estate.

  His house is the large one at the end of the road. I get out of my truck, and I can feel the breeze sweeping in from the desert. The house is enormous—and beautiful. The lush green lawns curve around the right side of the house and towards the back, out of my field of view. I assume that the golf course is behind the house.

  I’m about to press the bell on the side gate when a gust of wind blows the gate open. Mr. Roberts must have left it unlocked for me.

  I make my way in. I walk around the house to the pool. It’s a very large and deep swimming pool surrounded by stones and boulders. Although the pump isn’t on, it looks like several waterfalls pour over the stone grottos that are big enough they seem like caves. I imagine it would look quite majestic lit up at night. I notice the water looks clear, but there are a lot of leaves on the bottom.

  I turn and look towards the house. There’s a glass wall on the ground floor overlooking the pool. Behind the wall is a luxurious living room. I stare for a minute. I’ve lived in Henderson practically all my life, and I’ve never seen a house as beautiful as this one. Mr. Roberts must be a wealthy man.

  I find the pool’s pump box and drop my toolbox, quickly assessing what needs to be maintained. I notice it’s getting hotter and since it appears that no one’s around, I figure it won’t be a problem if I slip out of these hot coveralls and boots.

  Underneath, I’m wearing very short denim cutoffs and a white tank top. No bra today since I didn’t plan on taking these off. Oh, well. I fold my coveralls neatly and place them next to my toolbox and continue working, it’s getting hot, and I’m getting sweaty.

  Since there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, I decide to take a quick dip to cool off. I use the stairs down at the shallow end and quickly step down, immersing my entire body in the cool water. It feels almost elicit to dip in a stranger’s pool. I wonder if any of the guys I work with do anything like this? I’ve allowed myself this indulgence only twice before, and I never get caught. What’s one more time? There’s a saying about ‘third times a…’? Oh, I can’t remember.

  Just then I hear a ruckus in the house. I tiptoe up the steps and out of the pool.

  I know I shouldn’t, but after what Dr. Sally said about this client, I’m curious to see what’s going on. I blot myself with my coveralls from dripping and go to find the source of the noise. I cautiously slide the glass door open and step into the living room. I peer through the doorway to the next room, which appears to be the kitchen. What if it’s an intruder?

  I’m about to step through the doorway when someone appears in it. I backpedal, stumble, and begin to fall. I’m preparing to fall flat on my ass when the man grabs me by my waist and draws me back up. I let out a stifled scream.

  The force with which he grabs me and the change in direction has me slamming my wet body against his, throwing my hands around powerful, bulging biceps to keep steady. He’s still holding me tight in his arms, and I feel a tingle of pleasure run through my body as I catch his scent.

  I look up, and my heart seems to stop. His face is dark and gorgeous, strong jawline and perfect cheekbones and the most ridiculously hypnotic gray eyes. He also looks familiar to me, and for a moment I can’t place him. But then—oh, my God. This is the guy with the Range Rover.

  Surprise fills his face. “Gemma?”

  Chapter Six: Cullen

  Huffing and puffing, I go for another quick round of twenty push-ups. My body is cloaked in a visible layer of sweat. My sweaty palms are flat against the highly polished floor of my private gym. My legs are straight and taut. I’m bare-chested, my muscles gleaming in the sunlight pouring into the room from the open windows.

  Before me is a stunning view. This wall is a floor-to-ceiling window that offers a sweeping view of the golf course.

  After finishing my fifth cycle of twenty push-ups, I pause, taking time to control my breathing. My lungs are already aflame with the exertion. For forty-two, I’m in great shape. Muscles, abs—it’s all still intact. But then again, I’m not getting any younger. There are certain things that I have to admit were easier for me ten years ago.

  For example, a hundred push-ups. I’d still just be warming up. Now, I’m bone-tired, and my head has started to ache. Back then, I usually did at least two hundred push-ups at the start of my day. Now, I’m lucky if I do a hundred to finish up after my cardio.

  I’m reminded every day that I’m getting older and I this is my last chance. I’m determined to make House of Stars work.

  I contemplate going another cycle of twenty. Just one last cycle. I negotiate with my body for a second and then go at it again. At ten, my head begins to spin. At fifteen, my body is screaming at me to stop. But I push it. There’s fire in my lungs. I want to give up. With a loud groan, I push up again. At nineteen, with only one more to go, I give a loud cry, wobbling my way down and then with all the strength I can muster, pushing myself up. Twenty.

  Finished, I sit there on the bench and think back to the meeting I had with Rick and the guys. Their enthusiasm was inspiring. Whereas I left the house yesterday with the feeling of panic at my declining fortune, I returned with renewed hope.

  Of course, I told everyone that it’s about making money. It’s about being useful and not just languishing in joblessness after a successful, wealthy career. But, to me, this is about saving my skin. It’s about retaining my lifestyle, perhaps even my youth if I want to be honest.

  Now that the first stage is over; now that I have their backing … and their funding, too, I still have the problem of staff.

  House of Stars has to run on beautiful, sexy women—as all strip clubs do. If they’re not beautiful or sexy, people won’t come. It’s as simple as that. I’m sure as hell not going to pay top dollar to come to watch some ugly-ass woman writhe up and down a pole. How do I find these women and get them to work for a new business that hasn’t proven itself yet? My friends in Las Vegas may have
connections?

  Driving back from the meet with the guys, I thought long and hard about the issue. I’d hoped that before I arrived in Henderson, the answer would present itself to me. But no matter how carefully I considered the problem, I still came up empty.

  Don’t get me wrong. I was happy that I had the funding. I was pleased that there was now a fifty percent chance I was going to bounce back from my declining financial fortune, whereas before the meeting there was no such chance. Even though I wasn’t able to solve the new issue at hand, I thought, one win at a time. I decided that this morning, I was going to go all out finding my one Star. Should I place an ad for dancers, go on Facebook? I’m not sure, but I need to act fast.

  That’s what I intend to do right after I finish my workout.

  A buzzing sound somewhere rouses me, and I realize that I got lost in my own thoughts.

  All I want to do is continue lying there, but the buzz is insistent, and I drag myself to my feet. I make my way through the house to the front door. From there, I can see the gate.

  It’s the delivery guy from the nearby diner. As soon as he sees me, he waves.

  I don’t wave back. I press a button on a panel on the wall beside the door. The gate makes a clicking sound as it’s parted right at the center.

  The delivery guy opens it and passes through.

  “Sorry, it came late,” the guy says in a cheery tone. He’s wearing a T-shirt over shorts and a red cap with an insignia on it.

  “No problem,” I reply. I take the package from the boy’s hands. This is another decision I made the moment I returned. Since House of Stars is a go, there’s no need to be frugal with the way I spend. There’s certainly no need to begin cooking or taking similar steps to cut expenses. I already have funding. Before long, I’ll be swimming in money.

  And with the way I envision this business, maybe more money than I could have ever made as an adult film actor. More money than Mark makes with the production company he fired me from.

  “Do you need something?” I ask, noticing that the boy keeps standing there, looking me up and down and then sneaking glances behind me into my house. He’s already voiced the desire to be given a tour during a previous encounter.

  I’m not sure that’s exactly professional of him, but I haven’t complained or anything. After all, he’s just a boy. A wide-eyed, nosy boy. He doesn’t look old enough to drive.

  “Any tip, sir?” he asks with a smile.

  Shit! Why did I forget that? I wonder at myself. I dip my hand into my pocket and pull out a hundred-dollar bill. I’m about to put it back in and look for a lower denomination when he snatches the money out of my hand. Before I can complain or snatch it back, he’s skipping to the gate.

  “Hey!” I call.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Roberts,” he calls, not even looking back.

  “Fuck,” I spit. I watch the boy shut the gate and hop on down the road. He must have parked his bike at the junction. I shrug. Well, it’s just a hundred-dollar bill, after all. And he’s going to be back, so I determine that that’ll be his tip for the next nine deliveries. If anything, he deserves it.

  I shut the door. I’m in the process of locking the gate via the panel next to the door when I remember that someone from the pool maintenance company I called yesterday will be here any moment. I decide to leave the gate open because I’m about to go up to my room on the third floor. I don’t want to have to come down just because some dude is here to fix the pool. I hope the guy takes the hint and lets himself in. The pool is just beside the house. He doesn’t need me to show him around.

  I go up to my room to shower. After that, I enter my study, where I eat and begin to map out some details about the business. Before long, I’m immersed in numbers and figures. Time seems to lose meaning while I’m thinking about this business. I began surfing the Internet for the kinds of materials I’ll need to purchase and their prices. I’ve already placed some orders and am taking down a number to call later when I hear a loud sound that startles me and drives a wedge into my concentration. I frown, wondering what it was.

  I make my way down to the ground floor and check around the house for the source of the noise. Finding no one and nothing, I recall that I left the gate open for the pool maintenance guy. The noise must have come from the pool.

  Is it in that bad of shape? I head towards the kitchen, where there’s a huge window that overlooks the pool area. As I glance through the window to see if I can catch sight of the pool maintenance guy, but instead I see a female figure in white coveralls, I stop in my tracks. “What’s this? A pool girl?” I say under my breath, not believing what I’m seeing. I lean closer to the window to get a better look. It’s not a pool guy at all. It’s a woman. A girl.

  My breath sort of catches in my lungs when she starts to unzip her coveralls and takes them off. I can’t see her face yet because she’s facing away from me. She bends down to remove her boots, and all I can think about is that beautiful heart-shaped ass in the air. What I wouldn’t give to be those shorts. She turns, so I see her profile. She runs her hands through her brown hair. I look in amazement as I admire her curves, those tits. She’s beautiful.

  As I stare, I realize she’s moving towards the steps. Is she going to get in? I momentarily think that she seems familiar, but there’s no way I wouldn’t remember a girl with a body like that.

  I look out the window in amazement at the raw beauty swimming in my pool. She is the epitome of sexy, I think to myself. She’s perfect.

  Her tank top clings to her body like a second skin. I can see the curve of her tits and the outline of her dark areola. Her nipples are jutting out through the thin, wet material. Her face is young and beautiful, her lips full and sensuous, puckered into a full pout. All the blood in my body rushes down to my cock. As I watch her, my dick starts to throb. I’ve got to have her, whoever she is.

  I lean forward to get a better look and inadvertently knock over the wine bottle and glass sitting on the counter. They fall to the tile floor and shatter. Even the neighbors must’ve heard the crash.

  I am startled out of my trance, backing away from the window, and the noise as though I’m a 10-year-old caught spying on someone.

  I decide quickly to approach the girl, make like nothing happened – see who she is. Nothing’s going to come of me hiding here in the kitchen. I walk through the doorway leading to the adjacent room, but I stop short when I run into someone right on the other side.

  We’re both startled, but I react faster and steady myself. She trips backward, but before she falls to the ground, I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her towards me. I don’t have to, but I held her tightly, feeling the hard press of my rock-solid dick against her thigh and the cool of her wet tank top pressed against my bare chest.

  Her breathing hitches. I can’t help but notice her large nipples standing tall through the now translucent fabric, and it drives me a little crazy.

  A powerful feeling of lust descends upon me, and I am ready to slam her against the wall and fuck her hard. But then I get a good look at her face. She looks so young. She looks like she’s barely eighteen.

  She really looks familiar. Then, it dawns on me. The girl on the road.

  “Gemma?”

  I don’t wait for her to reply.

  I let her go.

  Chapter Seven: Gemma

  He lets me go. But not before making me feel something I’ve never felt before. Something powerful, raw and animalistic. Something so good, yet so bad.

  I glance up at him and can’t help but feel a surge between us. He is bare-chested, the hair on his chest curling slightly. His belly is well-muscled. His arms are huge. His face is a bit weathered, very mature. He’s got to be in his forties, but he’s incredibly hot and handsome.

  My nipples are erect because of this cool, wet tank top. Or is it because of him? I can’t help but envision him tearing my top off and caressing my breasts. Sucking my nipples. Flicking his tongue around them.

  I wa
nt to get down on my knees. I want to beg for him to have his way with me. In that split second, I’m not thinking. All I want is him. My mind is swimming.

  I forget to breathe, but when I do the one lungful of his scent just makes me want him more. As I grasp his arms to steady myself, my hands feel so small against him, the sheer power in them sparks a fire deep in my core.

  I feel something very long and very hard digging into my thigh. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it’s his manhood. But instead of rearing back in shock and disgust, as would be a typical response to feeling a strange man’s erection against me, I’m consumed with the desire to explore what he can do to me with it. The sun must have gotten to me.

  I look deeper into his eyes, and at that moment, I see that we want the same thing. I know it. He knows it. We both want it. At that moment, it’s clear what should follow. I’m okay with it. Hell, I’m more than ready for it. I don’t care how crazy that sounds. I want it. I want him.

  But he lets me go.

  He lets me go.

  I’m not one to curse. But when he lets me go, all I can think is: Shit! I’m in trouble now!

  I stagger back, putting as much distance as I can between him and me. Then I realize I’m still not breathing, so I start sucking air in. I probably look crazy, and I’m now burning with embarrassment, heat torching my cheeks. Did he feel it too or did I imagine it?

  He has a smug but charming smile on his face.

  I soon realize that I am staring and I look away. I’m a distance away from him, but just being in his presence, I’m not imagining the electricity between us. I begin to fan myself with my hand.

  The awkward silence begins to stretch between us.

  “Uh…” I start, as it occurs to me that I should probably explain myself. He’s probably wondering what a half-naked, wet stranger is doing in his house.