She’d always assumed one-piece bathing suits were less revealing than bikinis, but not this one. Or maybe it was just that her shape wasn’t designed for it. And instead of sober black, the color that denoted seriousness in all things, it was red.

Red for danger, Emily thought, which pretty much described her situation right now. Not just because of the water, but because of the man. Still, Ryan had made it clear he didn’t want to take their relationship further, so she didn’t need to worry about how she looked in the damn swimsuit. She could focus on the water itself.

Fighting the urge to change her mind, she undressed in the changing room, pushed her clothes into a locker and wrapped herself in a towel.

Ryan was alone in the pool, cutting through the water with powerful strokes that suggested an above-average athletic ability.

Remembering what he’d told her about his shoulder, she wondered if he’d used the pool as part of his recovery from his injuries.

When he reached the edge, he pulled himself out of the water in a lithe, fluid movement. His muscles bunched, and water streamed off those broad shoulders, droplets clinging to the dark hair that shadowed his chest. He was all sleek planes and streamlined power. Dazed by the vision of raw male strength, Emily blinked, reflecting on the unsettling discovery that apparently the mere sight of a man’s half-naked body could turn a thinking woman stupid. Everything around them faded, and she could see nothing except the glitter of his eyes as he scanned her from head to foot.

Mouth dry, she tightened her grip on the towel.

Her physical awareness was so acute she wondered how on earth she was supposed to concentrate on swimming with him in the pool.

Even without her fear issues, she’d drown.

“Hi.” He barely glanced at her before turning to pick up a towel from the bench near the water. In that moment she saw the vicious scars that curved over his shoulder and down his back. It looked as if he’d been mauled by a tiger.

Those scars told her everything he hadn’t and filled in details he’d omitted in his sparse recounting of the incident that had killed his friend and left him severely injured.

She wanted to ask him about it, but he’d already made it clear the subject was off-limits, so she stayed silent while he wiped his face and looped the towel around his neck. Leaning forward, he picked up a long float shaped like a fat piece of spaghetti and bent it in half.

“We’re going to put this around your middle until you’re confident.”

She was pretty sure that was going to be never, but she kept that thought to herself.

“All right.”

He strolled across to her. “You’re planning on swimming in a towel?”