Free The Australian (Crime Royalty Romance Book 2) by Lesley Young

in Niagara Falls. They had not made it through the summer. I suspected our neighbor’s poodle had urinated on them, but I never obtained the proof necessary to make an accusation.
    I heard someone splashing before I turned the bend in the path. A moment later I took in a long, narrow, azure lap pool. Mr. Knight was swimming, of course. I headed toward the two lounge chairs at the end and sat on the edge of one with my satchel on my lap.
    I could do this. Certainly I could do this. One hour—tops. I would simply listen and apply his advice. I had motor skills. And above average spatial reasoning. My high school guidance counselor even recommended air traffic control as a potential vocation, for Pete’s sake—
    Mr. Knight’s head popped up at my end of the pool. “Beautiful day, isn’t it, Charlie?” His black close-cropped hair glistened with water.
    “I suppose, Mr. Knight.” I was unsettled he had used my first name. It was unprofessional enough that we were here on a Saturday.
    “Glad you’re here,” he added, heaving himself out of the pool using his strong arms.
    “Strong” was perhaps too weak a word for his torso. In fact, the words that came to mind were a favorite of B’s: holy hotness. My breath grew shallow for all that glistening, bronzed, musculoskeletal perfection—because to be certain, this man and his trainers had identified every last substructure and worked it out to attain the ideal amount of strength and presence. Furthermore, his black swim trunks clung to him to such an extent that his penis was distinguishable: I estimated five inches long, positioned downward to the left. I wondered if it was erect, since Cosmopolitan magazine said the average penis size, erect , is 5.57 inches. No, his couldn’t be erect right now, I realized, since B said an erect penis points straight ahead or up. In that case, stunned, I wondered what the average distended penis length was based on the flaccid length. Was there a mathematical formula for that? Perhaps I would google that, strictly for research purposes. Above his genitalia, emerging from his trunks, was a line of black hair that led up to his belly button, though the rest of his chest was bare.
    He was standing in front of me. When I glanced into his eyes, they were alight. “Everything alright, Charlie?”
    “Yes. Fine.” I stewed in my own outrage. He was clearly inappropriately dressed. “Do you have a shirt you can put on?”
    His brows knitted together though he wore a large smile. “Why would I do that?”
    “As a professional courtesy.”
    “Charlie, you won’t learn anything if you don’t have the right attitude,” he scolded me gently, sitting down beside me on the lounger. I glanced over. He was still smiling. Long, shapely forearms (and biceps!) casually draped over his knees, elbows open to the side, he wiped away the water trickling down his face.
    “You don’t need to teach me anything, technically,” I told him, unable to control the resentful tone in my voice. “I know all the motions one must make to be buoyant and move in water.”
    His eyebrows shot up. “But you said you didn’t know how to swim!”
    “Yes, well, it was a partial truth. My mother started me out in lessons, but we were unable to finish. So I have solid grounding in theoretical knowledge.” (Which, in fact, I had brushed up on in advance of the flight to Australia in case we crash-landed in the ocean). “I lack the practical application.” I hugged my satchel to me.
    “Why’s that?” he asked quietly.
    I took a moment, resentful I was forced to provide this humiliating confession.
    “Because I was too frightened during the first experience, when I had to put my head under the water, to continue. My mother was unable to assist me further as my dislike of water rather overwhelmed her, which was perfectly understandable.”
    There. I had clarified things. Perhaps he would abandon the task now that he knew the parameters.
    “Do you miss your