Free Best Man's Conquest by Michelle Celmer Page B

around her legs. She looked up and saw a pair of booted feet and blue jeans and the lower half of a male torso. The rest of him was out of the water.
    And he was very much alive.
    She heard a muffled noise above her and realized it was laughter. He was laughing.
    He was okay. All this time he’d been okay, and now he was laughing at her.
    She pushed off the bottom of the pool and sailed to the surface, her lungs screaming for air.
    A minute ago all she could think about was saving his sorry behind. Now she wanted to kill him.
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    Dillon hoisted himself up onto the pool edge beside the ladder, wiping water from his eyes and sweeping his dripping hair back from his forehead. His wet jeans clung to him like a cloying second skin, his boots were toast and his lungs burned like the devil from holding his breath for too long. But it would be worth it. Worth the look on Ivy’s face when she re-surfaced.
    Would she never learn? No matter how dirty she played, he always sank an inch lower. He always won.
    Ivy popped up out of the water, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes. Her auburn ponytail hung lopsided and limp and one side of her tank top drooped down her arm.
    She looked like a drowned rat.
    He smiled and said, “Gottcha.”
    She didn’t yell, didn’t call him a jerk. She didn’t even look at him. She just swam to the ladder in a few long, easy strokes and grabbed the rail. For a second he thought she might try to dunk him, but she only pulled herself up from the water. Her wet skirt stuck to her legs and was considerably more transparent than it had been before.
    Was that a pink thong she was wearing?
    Her eyes were rimmed with red, her mouth pulled into a rigid line.
    â€œHey.” He reached out and grabbed her arm but she jerked it away. Without a word she walked across the patio to the house, wet feet slapping, clothes dripping.
    He knew every one of Ivy’s expressions and he could swear he’d just seen her on-the-verge-of-tears face.
    Of all the reactions she could have possibly had, why would she cry? Anger he could understand. He’d expected her to be furious. But tears?
    Or May be she was crying because he hadn’t drowned.
    No. If she’d wanted him dead, she wouldn’t have jumped in to rescue him. May be she was just embarrassed that once again he had bested her. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to apologize, even though she’d started it, then May be rub it in her a face one more time for good measure.
    He jumped up and went after her, his feet squishing in his sodden boots. “Ivy, hold up.”
    But she didn’t stop moving. If anything, she walked faster. She flung open the door, but, thanks to a much longer stride, he caught her just inside the threshold.
    â€œCome on, Ivy, stop.” He reached for her, wrapping his hand around her wrist. Once again she jerked free and marched through the living room. She wasn’t just a little angry that he’d gotten the best of her. She was seriously peeved.
    â€œCome on, Ivy, it was a joke. Lighten up.”
    She stopped abruptly and swung around to face him. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face pale, and tears hovered just inside her eyelids.
    â€œA joke?” she asked incredulously. Her lower lip quivered and her hands were trembling. “You call that a joke?”
    He shrugged. “I was just fooling around.”
    â€œFooling around?” She took a step toward him, raising both her arms. For a second he thought she was going to deck him, or wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze. Instead she planted both hands on his chest and gave him a good, hard shove. Because he was prepared and outweighed her by almost half, he didn’t go very far.
    â€œFooling around?” she repeated. Then she gave him another shove, harder this time, knocking him back a couple of inches and darn near forcing the air from his lungs. “You scared me to death, you idiot! I thought you drowned!