Vivid and Unhidden

Swimming lessons (2)

Matteo stepped inside, still in his business attire, though his jacket was gone and his shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms rarely displayed. The narrow space seemed to shrink further with his presence.

"What was that about?" he asked without preamble.

Alessandra busied herself with her towel, avoiding his gaze. "What was what about?"

"Don't play naive, Alessandra. It doesn't suit you." He moved closer, his shoes clicking against the tiled floor. "Your little performance with Valentina. The Hotel Belvedere? Dinner suggestions?"

"I was being friendly," she said, still not looking at him. "She's attractive. You're single. It made sense."

"Did it?"

The coolness in his tone made her finally look up. He was closer than she'd realized, barely an arm's length away, his eyes darkened with something that made her pulse quicken.

"I thought you might enjoy her company," Alessandra offered, aiming for nonchalance but hearing the defensiveness in her own voice. "She's certainly enjoying yours."

"Is that so?" Matteo took another step forward, forcing her to retreat until her back pressed against the cedar-paneled wall. "And why are you suddenly so interested in my social life?"

The scent of his cologne mingled with chlorine in the humid air of the cabana. Droplets of water still clung to her skin, and she was acutely aware of how little her swimsuit covered compared to his formal attire. The contrast in their states of dress created an imbalance of power that made her heart race.

"I'm not," she insisted, though they both recognized the lie.

"No?" He placed one hand against the wall beside her head, effectively caging her. The move brought him close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Then why is this the third woman you've tried to pair me with in as many months?"

Alessandra swallowed hard. "Third?"

"Marco's aunt at the charity gala. Your literature teacher at the parent conference. Now your swimming instructor." His voice dropped lower, intimate in the confined space. "One might think you're testing something, Alessandra."

His proximity was overwhelming. Droplets of pool water still trailed down her skin, and she was suddenly conscious of how the damp fabric of her swimsuit clung to every curve of her body. Meanwhile, Matteo towered over her, fully clothed in his tailored shirt and trousers, the fabric doing little to disguise the powerful physique beneath. The contrast made her feel vulnerable in ways that had nothing to do with fear.

"I just thought—" she began, then faltered as his eyes held hers with uncomfortable intensity.

"You thought what?" he pressed, leaning closer. "That I need a sixteen-year-old arranging my romantic life? That I'm interested in women who parade themselves like merchandise?"

Despite the coolness of the water still clinging to her skin, heat rushed to her face. "She's closer to your age. And she's—"

"Not my concern," he interrupted. His free hand came up, a thumb brushing away a droplet of water that clung to her collarbone. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent a shock through her system. "My concern is you, attempting to play games you don't understand."

The touch lingered a fraction too long, his calloused thumb against her soft skin creating a contrast that made her breath catch. His eyes tracked the movement, then returned to her face with renewed intensity.

"Why are you so determined to see me with other women, Alessandra?"

The question hung between them, loaded with implications neither was prepared to voice aloud. She was suddenly, acutely aware of his physicality—the breadth of his shoulders blocking the light from the cabana's small window, the subtle expansion of his chest with each measured breath, the controlled power in the arm braced beside her head.

"I don't—I wasn't—" she stammered, her usual eloquence deserting her entirely.

"No?" Matteo leaned even closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Then tell me the truth. Is this what you truly want? To see me with women like Valentina?"

Her eyes betrayed her, dropping involuntarily to the open collar of his shirt, where she could see the strong column of his throat, the hint of collarbone, the suggestion of chest hair. She had seen him in swimming trunks before, of course—rare occasions when business was slow and the summer heat extreme—but never this close, never in a context so charged with unspoken tension.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted, her voice small but steady.

His eyes searched hers for a long moment, something shifting in their depths—a momentary vulnerability, quickly masked. The air between them seemed to crackle with electricity, the small space of the cabana suddenly too intimate, too confined.

"Figure it out," he said finally, his voice low and roughened at the edges. "Before you manipulate situations you can't control. Before someone gets hurt."

The implicit warning hung between them—but who was he warning? Her? Himself? Both of them?

His proximity was intoxicating, the heat of his body radiating through his clothes, warming her still-damp skin. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, slightly faster than his controlled demeanor would suggest. The realization that he wasn't as composed as he appeared sent a thrill through her.

Their eyes locked, and for one breathless moment, something electric and dangerous passed between them—an acknowledgment neither was ready to voice.

Then, abruptly, he pushed away from the wall, breaking the tension that had coiled around them. Without another word, he turned and left the cabana, the door closing behind him with quiet finality.

Alessandra stood frozen, her back still pressed against the cedar panels, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her skin tingled where his thumb had brushed her collarbone, the sensation lingering like a brand.

She slid down the wall until she sat on the tiled floor, hugging her knees to her chest, confused by her own actions and even more by her reactions to his confrontation. Only then, in the aftermath of his departure, did she allow herself to examine the uncomfortable truth: she hadn't been trying to bring Matteo and Valentina together.

She'd been testing his reaction, probing for confirmation of something she'd begun to suspect—that his eyes lingered on her in ways that had nothing to do with protective concern.

What terrified her most wasn't his reaction, but her own disappointment when he'd walked away.