Page 89 of Temporary Vows

Levi doesn’t let go of me until we’re in the corridor. Most likely for fear I’ll rush back into the break room and beat the shit out of Parker.

“You good?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Forget Parker and his shit. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying.”

“I said I’m good.”

I’m glad when he doesn’t press.

The shitty thing about Parker, the part that grates on my nerves the most, is that sometimes he’s fucking right.

Elodie knows enough about me to make this arrangement work, but if we were anything more than a contract, she’d see the extent of my darkness and run until her feet bled.

Thank God we’re not.

* * *

I make my way down the silent hallway, my footsteps echoing against the marble floors in a hurried rhythm that doesn’t belong in my home at this hour.

Fuck. It’s almost one in the morning, way too late to be returning from work. Even for me—the workaholic.

After the run-in with Parker, I worked like the fires of hell were up my ass. At this rate, I’m going to give myself a damn aneurysm.

Parker’s words still linger, grinding against my nerves. Of all the people who rile me up, he is the fucking worst. I loathe the fact that we share the same blood.

With a deep sigh, I climb the stairs to the second floor. I entered through the back of the house because I needed to park my Porsche in the other garage so Albert can get it serviced in the morning.

At night, this side of the house is always colder because of the glass walls that run along the poolside. It feels even colder now.

A glance down the corridor tells me why. The door has been left open.

I move faster to close it, but the subtle sound of splashing from the pool below catches my attention.

Someone is swimming.

None of my staff are still here, so unless my crazy neighbors broke in and decided to use my pool, my late-night swimmer can only be one person.

I move toward the wall and look down.

There she is—Elodie Harper gliding through the water in long, hypnotic strokes.

Moonlight reflects off her pale skin as she slices through the water, catching against the dim pool lights.

It would be wise to keep walking. Watching her when I’m trying to put distance between us isn’t the best idea.

But I find myself drifting closer to the wall, needing a better look.

Like everything with this woman, I’m captivated.

Elodie moves through the water as if it’s second nature. As effortless as breathing.

What in the hell are you doing up at this hour, Elodie? And swimming?

Doesn’t she have work in the morning?

Maybe our little arrangement is on her mind. I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. We’re getting married in three weeks.