My wheelchair was parked beside my recliner and I pushed myself to standing. I took a moment to check the feeling in my legs. Did they feel weak? Could I get to the window and back without falling? I didn’t want to risk it. I lowered myself into the wheelchair and rolled to the window just to be on the safe side.

I pushed aside the curtain, just a few inches, to peer into the yard. My first glance was at the pool. It was lit up at night, a restful Caribbean shade of ocean blue. It was empty. My gaze swept the citrus trees that circled the pool. I didn’t see anyone. Then my gaze was caught by a movement coming from the hot tub.

There she was. Annabelle Martin. In a tiny scrap of a bathing suit, with a plastic cup sitting on the ledge of the hot tub, while she floated in the hot steaming water with her hair streaming out around her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. It hit me that this was what she’d look like during sex. The thought staggered me. Parts of my body that had been dormant to the point of me thinking they were broken reared to life. My breath was short and I had to close my eyes and try to think of something, anything, else. I thought of taxes and root canals and diarrhea. Nothing helped.

The sight of her, drifting in the steam, looking dreamy and sexy as hell, was now going to be imprinted on my brain forever. Shit!

I would never admit it to Jackson, but in this moment, the way she looked all honey skinned and wet from the water, Goddess was actually the perfect description. I shook my head. I blinked. I tried to rattle reason back into my brain.

This could not stand. I’d given her carefully detailed rules, pages of them. I had specifically said that the pool was for the exclusive use of the homeowner—i.e., me. And yet there she was, flaunting the rules and herself and—dayum!—she was a sight to behold. I was riveted.

I knew I should move away, punch myself in the face if necessary, but I didn’t do either of those things. Instead, I watched as she floated, finished her beverage, and then finally climbed out. This was a mistake. The sight of the water sluicing off her body in the violet light of the hot tub made my mouth dry, and I was making a weird raspy breathing noise in my throat. Not to mention the fact that I was essentially being a pervy Peeping Tom and I knew Jackson would slap me upside the head for it.