"I replied," I say, pushing the wet hair from my face. "I told you you didn't have to come."
Vega doesn't move. He's standing at the very edge of the pool, the light framing him like a spotlight. He's dressed in a sharp, slim-fit shirt that hugs his chest, clearly outlining the muscular form beneath. The sleeves are rolled up precisely to his elbows, revealing strong veiny forearms.
A sliver of light catches the expensive metal of his watch, flashing a momentary signal. Below the casual perfection of his shirt are formal pants and leather shoes, a bizarrely compelling look for someone at standing by the pool.
His dark hair is ruffled, a few strands brushing his forehead, emphasizing his entrancing dark eyes, eyes that are currently fixed solely on me. His entire presence is an interruption, an aura of intense, palpable allure that seems to shimmer in the heat.
