Cole flushed. “I never said I wouldn’t,” he argued. “It should be the other way around. I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have known better.”

“Just what did you think, anyway?” Debbie asked.

Cole shrugged. “Nothing much, and it doesn’t matter now.” He waited for her reaction. When there was nothing but a look he didn’t want to interpret, he asked, “So, do you want company or not?”

“If it’s you, I always want company,” she replied softly.

“I’ll get my suit.”

“Don’t on my account,” she said, and laughed as his face flushed two shades or red.

“If I had any sense, I’d go to bed,” he muttered.

“You’re the boss,” Debbie teased. “If you don’t swim, then bed it is. In fact, that sounds much more interesting than—”

“Get in the damn water, woman,” he warned. “Get in and get wet before I change my mind…and yours.”

This time, it was Debbie who blushed. She headed for the door.

*  *  *

“Ooh,” Debbie sighed. “Now I know how Morgan feels when he does his water therapy. It hurts so good.”

Cole’s eyes darkened. He’d just put an entirely different connotation on what it took to hurt good. And it had nothing to do with swimming. He stood at the side of the pool and watched the measured control of her movements.

“Are you very stiff?” His question was gruff, but Debbie heard the concern.

“It’s not so bad now. The bruises are fading pretty fast.”

“Take off the shirt,” Cole said.

“But I look so…spotty,” she objected, trying to laugh away her embarrassment.

“Spotty is my favorite color,” Cole said. “There’s no one else around. Be comfortable. You can’t enjoy your swim with that long, wet shirt wrapped around your legs.”

It didn’t take any more urging. Debbie paddled across the pool until she could touch bottom. Then she began fighting the water’s pull against the wet, clingy jersey knit. She was fighting a losing battle.

“I need help.”

Cole kicked off his deck shoes and slipped into the pool. His long, lithe body cut a silent wake through the clear blue water. Debbie watched, fascinated.

“Don’t fight it,” Cole said as he reached beneath the surface and grasped the hem of the shirt. “Let me do all the work.”

Debbie nodded and tried not to wince as he maneuvered her arm out of the clinging sleeve.

“Sorry, Little Red,” Cole whispered. “One more sleeve does it.” He pulled at the fabric, stretching it as much as possible before pulling it over her head. “There,” he said. “Now you’re free.”

She wanted to laugh, but tears were too close to the surface. Free? I’ll never be free again as long as I live, Cole. “Thanks,” she managed to say. “That feels much better.”