The au pairs skinny-dipping by Melissa de La Cruz Read Free Book Online

himself. They'd joined him for a few hands of hearts before turning in early.
    Mara had spent most of yesterday evening skulking around the main house, hoping to catch Ryan, without any luck. Knowing he always got up early to surf before breakfast, she'd set the alarm and hoped to catch him on his way out. She was extra-careful to put on a cute outfit--a pale-green shrunken T-shirt that showed off her small waist, and Jessica Simpson--like cutoff jean shorts that showed off her legs. She put her long brown hair in a messy ponytail, taking care to frame a few loose tendrils around her face.
    Unfortunately, there was no sign of Ryan in his wet suit
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    checking the weather on the flat-screen TV in the kitchen, or waxing down his board in the driveway. Mara stared at the parked Aston Martin, as if willing Ryan to appear. Her shoulders slumped as she walked back into the house, wondering if he was avoiding her. Back in the kitchen, she helped herself to a cup of yogurt and heard voices coming from the patio. Her stomach clenched out of nervousness, and she opened the sliding door.
    Ryan was standing on the terrace, talking to a tall, blond girl. He looked up, startled, when he saw Mara. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and faded jeans, and was holding a sleeping bag under one arm and an Igloo cooler in the other. His hair was comically tousled, sticking out in every direction, and he had pillow creases on his cheek, but they only made him look more adorable. As usual, he was barefoot, and his toes were covered with sand.
    "Hey!" he said, and for an instant, Mara caught a glimpse of his open, dimpled smile, but it soon vanished into an embarrassed grimace. "Mara--I didn't know you were here."
    "I got in yesterday," she said, forcing a light tone. Who the hell was this girl? "Sorry for interrupting."
    Ryan dropped his things and walked toward her, his arms extended. "Not at all. It's great to see you," he said, making sure not to make contact with any part of her body other than her back, which he thumped as if she were one of his soccer teammates. She smelled the saltwater in his hair, which reminded her painfully of last summer.
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    "You too," she said, finding it difficult to breathe.
    He was even more gorgeous than she'd remembered. The sun had lightened his hair, and his green eyes sparkled in his darkly tanned face. He moved with the same easy grace, projected the same laid-back, down-to-earth vibe. The kind of guy who'd been born with everything and hadn't let that happy accident spoil him one bit. Mara had always thought he was way out of her league--but for one week last summer, he'd been blessedly, deliciously, gloriously hers. And now she wanted him back.
    "Allison was just giving me a ride home," Ryan explained, introducing the girls to each other. "Remember my friend Oz? He had a bonfire last night," he said, looping his arm around the six-foot-tall Charlize Theron clone. Allison was wearing a thin white tank top and drawstring pajamas. Her hair was messy and uncombed, but Mara noted how effortlessly sexy she looked. This was not a girl who took half an hour choosing just the right outfit and pulling tendrils out of her ponytail.
    "And this one was in no condition to drive!" Allison cooed, tickling Ryan's stomach.
    "Hey!" Ryan protested, smacking her hands away. They wrestled, and Allison pretended to get upset when Ryan caught her hands behind her back.
    Mara watched them flirt, her stomach tightening. Just a year ago she and Ryan had spent almost every night of the last week entwined in each other's arms and telling each other their deepest, darkest secrets. She remembered every scar on his body (the
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    one from when he blasted his knee skiing, the one down the side of his right calf from wiping out on his skateboard), every story he'd told her about growing up (Christmases in Maine, his Outward Bound safari in Kenya, how he still had lunch with his old Latin professor in New York), and especially the way his