The Debt

  When she comes back, she’s nervous, holding a totebag with white-knuckled hands. I keep my hand on her knee while the driver takes us to the Royal Commonwealth Swim Center, in the shadow of Arthur’s Seat, the rocky, green summit that towers over Edinburgh.

  The pool complex is the largest in the area, and it’s flooded with natural light. Because it’s the middle of the day during the middle of the work week, the place is hardly busy. There are some swimmers going hard out on the lanes, but the casual pool has no one in it. It’s perfect.

  We both go our separate ways into the changing rooms and appear out by the pool at the same time.

  My swim trunks are a little tight—it’s been a long time since I’ve worn them.

  She notices this, and her eyes go right to my crotch.

  I have to yell at my dick to play it cool for once, because she looks absolutely stunning in just a simple black one-piece. I haven’t seen her like this yet, in next to nothing, her leg bare of any cast or splint. Her limbs are pale, lean, and sculpted with muscle, while her hips and arse retain just the right amount of feminine curves.

  “You’re staring,” she says.

  “So are you,” I point out.

  She nods at my dick. “It’s hard not to.” She clears her throat. “Isn’t it time you got a larger pair?”

  “Just keep your eyes to yourself,” I tell her.

  “You keep your eyes to yourself.”

  I don’t say anything to that.

  I begin walking toward the pool, and when she doesn’t follow, I look back at her.

  “I’m not sure where to put my crutches,” she says, looking around her.

  I walk right back to her and take them from her. “Can you balance for a minute?” I ask her.

  She nods and does so like a pro as I tuck the crutches against the wall. It’s times like this that I remember she was a yoga instructor and probably pretty damn good at her job. It also has me wondering how limber she is in other ways.

  Stop it, dickhead, I remind myself. These swim shorts have no room for error.

  I come back to her, and before she can do anything, I crouch and scoop her up into my arms.

  She lets out a playful yelp that echoes throughout the tiled space and I carry her to the water’s edge, doing everything I can not to stare down at her cleavage, which is spectacular from this angle, where a few more faint freckles lead to hidden places.

  “Let’s see what kind of a mermaid you are,” I tell her.

  She clasps her hands around my neck and I’m reminded of the way she did that while we kissed last night. Everything is reminding me of sex right now.

  “Please don’t drop me,” she pleads into my chest.

  “I’m not dropping you,” I assure her. “I’m not that much of a savage.”

  I enter the pool slowly, carrying her light frame with ease as I walk down the steps, until the water is at my waist and just tickling the bottoms of her feet. “We’ll go down together, slowly.”

  “More innuendo,” she says.

  “It can be.”

  I keep walking forward, the tepid water rising until it’s at my chest and she’s nearly fully submerged.

  “You okay?” I murmur into the top of her head. Her hair smells like vanilla and roses. I breathe it in deeply.

  “I was until you smelled my hair,” she says, craning her head back to grin at me.

  “Maybe I’ll drop you after all,” I tease.

  She takes in a deep breath. “Do it. I’m ready.”

  “You sure?”

  She takes her hands away from my neck and I cautiously open my arms until she’s free and floating.

  She treads with her arms, keeping herself afloat, slowly moving back from me.

  “Guess it takes a lot to get someone to forget how to swim,” I tell her, watching as she moves further and further away. I know that she can’t drown even if her legs didn’t work at all—and I know they do—but even so, I keep a close eye on her, and then when she’s in the middle of the pool, I swim out to join her.

  “Do you want to flip over?” I ask. “I’ll help.”

  She nods, and as she rolls over, I place my arms underneath her stomach, acting as a flotation device. Carefully, she starts kicking out with her good leg, then her other one.

  “Any pain?” I ask, my own legs working overtime to keep me buoyant. I’d sink like a stone otherwise, a drawback of having low body fat and lots of muscle.

  She shakes her head, spitting out water briefly. “No. It feels weird, the water on the scar, and my leg doesn’t work well. Like it’s too lazy. But other than that it’s good.”

  “So you’re a mermaid after all.”

  “Just watch me,” she says, and starts swimming away.

  And I do watch her. I watch as she gets stronger, swims faster. I watch as her shy little kicks turn into loud splashes. I watch as she takes in a deep breath of air and then disappears underneath the water, going down, down, down, just like a mermaid would.

  When she pops up, her crimson hair slicked off her face, her eyes bright and wide like her smile, I’m completely captivated.

  She lets out a little laugh, obviously overjoyed as she splashes the water beside me. She doesn’t say anything, just smiles so broadly and beautifully at me, and I can feel her joy, her freedom. For once, she’s not tethered to something else; she’s free, she’s swimming like she would have swam before the accident. Here, she’s without limitations.

  She’s unstoppable.

  Then she splashes me right in the face, lets out a girlish giggle and dives under again.

  I dive under too in hot pursuit, careful not to grab her legs when I get close. I’m still a great swimmer and manage to pass her. The chlorine burns my eyes as I take her in, watching her move through the water like a mythical creature, her red hair flowing behind her.

  Down here we are weightless, we are free, different versions of ourselves. We circle around each other, enjoying the muffled hum of the water, the light spilling in from the windows that dance around us. We swim like we belong in the depths, as if we don’t need to breathe, and when we do, we shoot back up, take in a few gulps, and dive back under to this new world.

  She starts swimming toward the other end, her body limber and sinewy as it smoothly navigates the water. Something about this triggers an instinct in me, like I’m a predator at heart.

  I swim after her and catch up with ease. I grab her arm and pull her to me, kissing her hard, my mouth crashing against hers. Bubbles of air float up around us, catching the light like stars, her hair floating above us like crimson sea grass.

  My lungs burn. We break apart and rise toward the surface, breaking through with a gasp. Before she has a chance to say anything I pull her toward me, taking extra care as I grab the bottom of her thighs and make her wrap them around my waist.

  She’s breathing hard, staring at me with wide eyes as water droplets roll down her face. I watch one go from her forehead, down her nose, toward her mouth and then kiss it off her lips before it disappears.

  There’s something so erotic about making out in the water. It puts your senses on overdrive. Everything is so wet, so slippery, so soft. Her mouth against mine is pliable, her tongue lush and wanting. It’s easy to get carried away, and I am carried away.

  My fingers slide down the front of her suit, in between her legs, slipping deftly over the slick fabric until she lets out a soft moan. Her legs tighten around me, wanting more friction.

  I increase the pressure, pressing my fingers along her length as she bucks into me, her mouth now wild against mine, wanting, needing, devouring.

  I start to pull at the edge of her suit, wanting to slip my fingers in, to feel her from the inside, to make her feel me, but a cough brings me out of the haze and into reality.

  I break away from her wet mouth, her eyes heavily lidded with lust.

  Another cough.

  We both snap to attention and look over to see a lifeguard standing at the edge of
the water. She doesn’t say anything, just gives us the look and then walks off. I guess heavy petting isn’t allowed in a public pool. Though, to be honest, I was minutes from taking out my cock and slipping it inside her.

  “Well,” I say as Jessica carefully unwraps her legs from around me. “Where were we?”

  “I think we were getting kicked out of the pool,” she says, embarrassed, her cheeks turning light pink. She’s already flushed on her chest, but I think that was from me.

  “It was just a warning,” I tell her. “One that we’ll listen to for now.” I lick my lips, still tasting her mouth on mine. “Seems that you’re fully functional in the water, that’s for sure. Little red mermaid.”

  “I’m your mermaid.”

  “Which then means I’m the sailor you’re trying to lure to death with her siren song.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely luring you to something,” she says, and then starts swimming for the shallows.

  I grin and go after her. Effortlessly, I scoop my arms underneath her and lift her out of the water, feeling every bit the old-fashioned hero rescuing the drowning woman. Or maybe more like the swamp thing, carrying the screaming heroine off to bed. It’s hard to say at this point.

  I take her to her crutches, volunteering to help her in the changing room until she reminds me that me being in there would definitely get us banned from this place. I take a quick shower, grateful that the area is empty since my raging erection takes a bit to get under control. I almost contemplate getting myself off, but there’s a difference between being a savage and being completely vulgar. Then I change back into normal clothes that aren’t cutting off my circulation, and we get a cab.

  I tell the driver to take her home first, even though my place is technically on the way. Despite all the feelings she’s stirred up in me, I’m still on this balancing act of wanting more and needing to pull back. Yes, I nearly had my fingers inside her in the public pool, and who knows what else would have followed, but I’m not about to make assumptions.

  But when the car pulls up to her place in East Craig, I know I can’t let her go. Not now. We’re both wet and revived and fresh-faced, and too much has transpired between us over the last twenty-four hours to just let it fizzle away.

  I honestly want nothing more than to throw her on my bed and fuck the living hell out of her. Put myself so deep inside that I’ll imprint myself on her soul. I want to know her body inside and out. I want to make her feel so alive that she’ll realize she never knew what living was before me. I want all of that and anything else she can give me, like the greedy bastard that I am.

  “Would it be wrong to steal you for another night?” I ask her as she opens the door.

  She hesitates and looks back at the house, and for a moment I think she’ll say no, that she’s had enough.

  Then she shuts the door, staying in the cab.

  “It would be wrong if you didn’t,” she says with a shy smile.

  Something hot and raw passes between us, a mutual understanding that this night isn’t going to be like the others. Wild tension crackles in the air like an errant thunderstorm.

  With my pulse racing in my throat, I tell the cabbie to take me back to my place.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jessica

  I’m not sure if I’ve ever been so nervous before. I wasn’t this nervous when I shut the door to my parents’ place and started off on my own. I wasn’t this nervous when I went to my university’s graduation ceremony with the deep-seated fear that my father would somehow show up. I wasn’t this nervous when I moved to Scotland, knowing I had to face my past and start all over again.

  This is pure nerves. But it’s a good kind of anxiety, one that’s laced with excitement and promise.

  Keir is sitting next to me in the cab and I am so painfully aware of him. The spicy, subtle scent of his cologne, the warmth that radiates off his skin, how good his arms felt holding me as he carried me into the pool, the way his eyes bored into me, intense and heated, as his fingers rubbed my swollen sex to the edge.

  The way those same eyes are studying me now. It’s not even the evening and yet we’re heading back to his place to do nothing but fuck.

  At least, that’s my understanding of it.

  I could back out. But I don’t want to. I’ve had enough of restraining myself, of being my own cock-blocker. I want to know what those fingers feel like when there’s nothing between us but skin.

  The cab pulls up to his little place on Circus Lane, the red flowers on the flowerboxes still bright and unaware that autumn has arrived. Keir pays the driver, always generous, and helps me out of the cab then hands me my crutches.

  “With any luck she’s won’t hear us come in,” he whispers to me as the cab drives away, the tires making that rolling sound on the cobblestone that I always find strangely comforting.

  The comfort doesn’t last, though. I’m holding my breath as he opens the front door and we step into the hallway. My heart starts to thump against my chest, my body swimming in cold prickles. Even the journey up the stairs on crutches does nothing to distract me.

  “Have a seat,” he says when we enter his flat and he shuts the door behind him. “I’ll get us something to drink. I’ve got some nice Bordeaux if it’s too early for whisky.” He tosses the bag that holds his swim trunks and whatever he picked up at the drugstore onto his bed, then goes into the kitchen and starts rummaging through the cupboards.

  I go over to the couch and set my crutches against it. “Wine would be great,” I tell him, even though I secretly want a few fingers worth of Scotch to calm me down.

  And a few fingers worth of him. The thought makes me bite my lip in response.

  Keir comes back from the kitchen holding two glasses of red, eyeing me in such a way that I sit up straighter. His eyes are more personal than ever, searching me for some secret hidden part of my existence. I don’t think I deserve to be looked at in such a way, but I’m not complaining.

  He sits down beside me, his shoulder touching mine, and has a long sip of his wine. “Not bad,” he says after a moment.

  I have a mouthful. No it’s not bad, though I’m not much of a wine drinker. What I do like about it though is the way even a few swallows can relax me.

  Not going to lie, it’s a bit awkward. I’m not sure what to say. Talking to Keir has been so easy up until this point.

  What if you sleep with him and everything changes? What if it ruins what you have?

  I don’t want to listen to those thoughts, even though they carry a weight of truth. Whatever I have with Keir is good, so good, and I don’t want to fuck it up.

  But let’s be real here, the man whose shoulder is pressed against mine, watching my every move with this unabashed fascination couldn’t stay a platonic friend for long. I mean, fuck, we’ve already kissed, and he’s already touched me in ways I didn’t expect (definitely in a place I didn’t expect…hello public pool). That ship has sailed.

  It’s the next part that terrifies me.

  What if I’m bad at it? I never have been before, but Mark was one man and Keir…Keir is something else. A manly man. Someone I don’t want to disappoint.

  What if I can’t deal with the intimacy?

  What if he leaves me after this?

  “Are you okay?” he asks, that gorgeous brogue of his so low it unravels me further.

  I raise my glass an inch. “I will be. Thank you for today, by the way.”

  “What did I do?” he asks.

  “The swimming. It never occurred to me how it could make me feel.”

  “And how did it make you feel?”

  I close my eyes, recalling the sensation of being in the water, the way it caressed my limbs, almost like a lover. “Free. It made me feel free and…welcomed. Like I was home. Like I belonged.”

  He makes a murmur of agreement. “Maybe you really are a mermaid,” he says, placing his hand on my thigh, his skin so tan and rough compared to mine. “I told you before, I have a hard time thin
king you’re real. This would explain it.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t want to talk anymore.

  I think he knows this. Something smolders in his eyes, the intensity making them shine, and he takes another large gulp of his wine. “Stay right there,” he says gruffly. He gets up and disappears into the bedroom.

  I have no idea what he’s doing. Is he going to come back naked? Is he going to bring out some weird sex toy? Is he digging up a photo album and making me go through family pictures? Who knows?

  While I wait, I finish the rest of my glass and then I sneakily finish his. My body relaxes a touch more and even my brain is starting to fizzle a bit. It’s a relief.

  Then he comes out, holding the plastic bag from the drugstore.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  He gives me a sheepish grin. It looks positively boyish on him, and it’s such a contradiction to his brutish mass and rugged mannerisms. “This might be really weird so I apologize ahead of time if you think I’m fucked up. Er, more than I already am. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  Oh my god. He really is going to use some weird sex toy on me.

  I don’t want him to think I’m anti-kink though, so I do my best to keep a smile on my face.

  “Okay…” I say slowly.

  He pulls out a small bottle of tomato red nail polish and drops the bag onto the coffee table.

  “What?” I ask, having a hard time putting two and two together. “Nail polish? For what?”

  “For painting your nails.” He looks down at my feet, at my bare toes exposed through the splint. “I just want to make you feel beautiful.”

  This is both the sweetest and weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.

  “Okay,” I say again, still totally unsure. “My feet are kind of gross though. I mean, I did shave my leg and exfoliated and all that but…” I’m babbling.

  “Your feet are beautiful,” he says quickly, flashing me a placating smile. “So is your leg. I just thought it would be fun. Will you let me?”