Shopping for a CEO (Page 96)

“But I didn’t die. I didn’t die because of you,” I say, resting my forehead against the edge. If I had the energy, I would look at him. Say more. Adrenaline that kept me going underwater drains out of me as if osmosis were at work, the water sucking all my focus from me. I am wet and my hand throbs and I am naked in front of other people and oh, God, Andrew is here with me.

“He shot out of that glass door over there like a human rocket when you jumped in, Amanda.” Mom is holding a wet Spritzy while James feeds the dog a piece of cheese. “Only stopped to rip off his suit jacket and shoes, leaped into the air, launched off the black iron fence and—” Emotion overtakes her. “James plucked the animals out with the net and scooped them up just as Andrew dove in.”

“You’re outside,” I repeat. “In the sunlight. In July.” Andrew’s face is inches from mine and he’s clearly unnerved, body vibrating so fast he’s making the water radiate away from him in rippling waves. It’s warm, like bath water, and it’s not even four p.m., so I know he’s not cold.

“I knew that dress would keep you on the bottom of the pool. Drown you.” He can barely say those last two words.

“Huh?”

“I was a competitive swimmer. We trained in weighted clothes. I knew the second you jumped in you were doomed. And my heart just about died on the spot, Amanda.” He presses his forehead against mine. “I ran out and dove in on pure instinct.”

“Just like me jumping in to save the animals.”

So many thoughts race through my mind as I float, his body protecting me, keeping me anchored to the pool wall so I can find my breath. Except I can’t feel the difference between my own air and Andrew’s, between the water and my body, for I’m bathed in the warmth of his proximity. What he just did tells me I do get to pick him, after all.

He didn’t just save me.

He saved himself.

A slow golf clap starts in the distance, then gets louder as Jessica Coffin begins it, other people joining in, not realizing the smirk on her face means the applause is born of sarcasm, not an invitation to celebrate. She holds up her cell phone and snaps photos the entire time.

Chuckles rubs against her leg, now free of all his human clothing and the basket.

And he pees on her lace-up high heels.

She screams.

I don’t care.

My chin starts to chatter against the backs of my hands.

“Thank you for the Yes album,” I say under my breath, as if talking to the water. “And, you know, for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome for both,” he says with a disbelieving sound of amusement. “But I don’t need your thanks. Just promise me you’ll never do that again.” He pulls me into the closest embrace you can manage while treading water. He smells like salt and pain, his scent a beacon for me to follow.

“I can’t promise I’ll never listen to ‘Roundabout’.” I shake my head.

He bites his lower lip as he holds me, my words muffled against his wet shoulder, his cheek scratching against my face.

“I see you’re recovering,” he says drolly. “Let’s get you out of here,” Andrew says softly, strong hand urging my own away from the pool’s edge, nudging me towards the set of stairs to ascend.

“I’m naked,” I whisper. “In public.” Most people among the wedding guests have the decency not to stare, but I can feel plenty of eyes on me, and the murmurs and titters of the crowd sound like bees buzzing in the distance.

“I know,” he says, low and sweet. His voice aches with a kind of modesty on my behalf that is winsome. “I felt so bad for you when I saw your dress rip. Your worst nightmare.”

I reach up and run my fingers through his wet hair, our eyes locked. In his smile I see the remnants of his fast action. Those worried eyes are hollow, carrying echoes of the receding panic that drove him to override his own instinct, too.

For me.

“Your worst nightmare, too,” I say, looking pointedly at the cake, the flowers, the whole garden.

“No.”

“No what?”

“Being outside like this and at risk for a wasp sting isn’t my worst nightmare anymore, Amanda.”

“Then what is?”

“Losing you.”

My breathing quickens at his words, the heat from his touch and the gentle relief that comes from being with him now, in such a dark moment, buoying me. I’m floating on his sacrifice, on my freedom, the sense that I’ve faced my entrenched fear and lived in spite of it.

I’m being loved because of it.

He cradles my cheek with one hand, still kicking, the water brushing against my stockinged legs. “Amanda, I—”

“If you two are done with your—” Marie waves her hand “—whatever you call this, we’d like to resume the, you know, giant wedding that is taking place right here with the thousand people who are all staring at you two, the heroine and the hero!”

People tap camera phones. The professional photographers use flashes here and there.

Great.

I’m naked in public and on camera.

And I don’t care.

I turn back to Andrew.

“Remember that first date at Consuela’s rooftop garden?”

“Yes.”

“You asked me what my biggest fear was.”

“Yes.”

“I lied,” I confess.

Unless I’m mistaken, Mr. Andrew James McCormick, CEO of Anterdec Industries and competitive swimmer, has tears in his eyes. The sunlight makes them shine, his brown irises shimmering beneath.