Shopping for a CEO (Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book 7) (39 page)

“Huh?”

“I was a competitive swimmer. We trained in weighted clothes. I knew the second you jumped in you were doomed. And my heart just about died on the spot, Amanda.” He presses his forehead against mine. “I ran out and dove in on pure instinct.”

“Just like me jumping in to save the animals.”

So many thoughts race through my mind as I float, his body protecting me, keeping me anchored to the pool wall so I can find my breath. Except I can’t feel the difference between my own air and Andrew’s, between the water and my body, for I’m bathed in the warmth of his proximity. What he just did tells me I do get to pick him, after all.

He didn’t just save me.

He saved
himself
.

A slow golf clap starts in the distance, then gets louder as Jessica Coffin begins it, other people joining in, not realizing the smirk on her face means the applause is born of sarcasm, not an invitation to celebrate. She holds up her cell phone and snaps photos the entire time.

Chuckles rubs against her leg, now free of all his human clothing and the basket.

And he pees on her lace-up high heels.

She screams.

I don’t care.

My chin starts to chatter against the backs of my hands.

“Thank you for the Yes album,” I say under my breath, as if talking to the water. “And, you know, for saving my life.” 

“You’re welcome for both,” he says with a disbelieving sound of amusement. “But I don’t need your thanks. Just promise me you’ll never do that again.” He pulls me into the closest embrace you can manage while treading water. He smells like salt and pain, his scent a beacon for me to follow.

“I can’t promise I’ll never listen to ‘Roundabout’.” I shake my head.

He bites his lower lip as he holds me, my words muffled against his wet shoulder, his cheek scratching against my face.

“I see you’re recovering,” he says drolly. “Let’s get you out of here,” Andrew says softly, strong hand urging my own away from the pool’s edge, nudging me towards the set of stairs to ascend. 

“I’m naked,” I whisper. “In public.” Most people among the wedding guests have the decency not to stare, but I can feel plenty of eyes on me, and the murmurs and titters of the crowd sound like bees buzzing in the distance. 

“I know,” he says, low and sweet. His voice aches with a kind of modesty on my behalf that is winsome. “I felt so bad for you when I saw your dress rip. Your worst nightmare.” 

I reach up and run my fingers through his wet hair, our eyes locked. In his smile I see the remnants of his fast action. Those worried eyes are hollow, carrying echoes of the receding panic that drove him to override his own instinct, too. 

For
me
.

“Your worst nightmare, too,” I say, looking pointedly at the cake, the flowers, the whole garden. 

“No.” 

“No
what
?” 

“Being outside like this and at risk for a wasp sting isn’t my worst nightmare anymore, Amanda.”

“Then what is?”

“Losing you.”

My breathing quickens at his words, the heat from his touch and the gentle relief that comes from being with him now, in such a dark moment, buoying me. I’m floating on his sacrifice, on my freedom, the sense that I’ve faced my entrenched fear and lived in spite of it.

I’m being loved because of it.

He cradles my cheek with one hand, still kicking, the water brushing against my stockinged legs. “Amanda, I—”

“If you two are done with your—” Marie waves her hand “—whatever you call this, we’d like to resume the, you know, giant wedding that is taking place right here with the thousand people who are all staring at you two, the heroine and the hero!”

People tap camera phones. The professional photographers use flashes here and there.

Great.

I’m naked in public
and
on camera.

And I don’t care.

I turn back to Andrew.

“Remember that first date at Consuela’s rooftop garden?”

“Yes.”

“You asked me what my biggest fear was.”

“Yes.”

“I lied,” I confess. 

Unless I’m mistaken, Mr. Andrew James McCormick, CEO of Anterdec Industries and competitive swimmer, has tears in his eyes. The sunlight makes them shine, his brown irises shimmering beneath.

“And?”

“My biggest fear was that being with you wasn’t real.”

“Oh,” he says, the word like a pained sigh, as if I’ve punctured his heart. “I want to be real with you, Amanda. More than anything in the world. I thought bowing out of the wedding would save everyone from risk. I never wanted to put Declan in the position of having my life in his hands. Never wanted to put you in a place where you’d experience the—” His words break off, segmented by a harsh sound of being overcome by intensity. “Where you’d know what it’s like to watch your world turn out to be more fragile than you expected, and to see it all fall apart without being able to stop it.” 

Fragile.

“I know.” I’m crying now, my words unfiltered, my thoughts racing as everything I feel for him rushes out of me. “I know why you walked away. I just didn’t know how to fix it.”

“Watching you risk everything just now and seeing you—oh, God—it made me understand that the biggest risk isn’t dying. It isn’t even being left behind to pick up the pieces.” He smooths my hair away from my face, his thumb on my cheekbone, his hand steadying me. “It’s the mistake of never trying.”

I start to shiver uncontrollably.

Andrew peels off his shirt, bobbing in the water and dipping beneath the surface. As he comes up, he urges me back from the side of the pool by an inch, and then guides one of my hands into the wet armhole. 

“Ow!” I cry out.

I look at my hand. It’s swollen, covered in nasty welts from the scratches, and the spot he touched has two clear puncture marks.

Horror fills his face, his hair wet and plastered against his forehead. “You fought to free the animals underwater while they did this to you?” he asks in a voice filled with disbelief.

I shrug. But because I’m shivering, I just look like I’m twitching. All his words run through my mind in a blur, and I want to talk and touch and feel and spend every waking minute with him, but all my energy is leaking out of me so fast. Too fast. 

He takes the shirt and drapes it over my front. Gently, he moves me off the side of the pool and clasps me in an embrace, my breasts mashed up against his wet shirt. Warmth pours out of him like melted love, heated to just the right temperature. I stop shivering and let out a long, grateful sigh of relief. 

Andrew laughs, his throat working hard, his eyes so full of—dare I say it?—love. “Is this,” he says, looking pointedly at my wet, cotton-covered top, “real enough for you?”

And then he kisses me so hard he makes me really,
truly
real.

“I love you,” he rasps against my neck. “I never thought I could feel this way about anyone in my life, and I’ve been such an ass thinking that I was somehow saving you from the pain of risk with me. What I didn’t realize was that the pain of not being together was worse than the pain of losing you. I wasn’t saving you anything by walking away. I was just making life agony for us both.” 

He looks at me, his face filled with a dawning earnestness.

“I love you too, Andrew. I truly do,” I whisper, amazed at how real the words feel.

When he kisses me, there is a stillness like I felt minutes ago underwater, but instead of struggling not to breathe, I feel like I have inhaled all the air in the world and absorbed every bit of love.

“There goes the maid of honor,” Marie howls. “She’s useless now! Carol, you’re her understudy. Get over there!”

Carol looks completely confused and Andrew moves us to the edge of the lily pond pool where a set of stairs leads up. Shannon’s standing next to Declan, and both them wave, Shannon’s face split into a grin of pure joy that reflects into the courtyard like a lighthouse beam. She splits from him, walking toward me. 

“Follow me,” he says, keeping my front pressed against him, walking with a smooth, steady series of steps until we’re out of the water, where the paramedic runs over, throwing a thick fleece and wool blanket over my shoulders, finally giving me some modesty.

“I can’t lose you again, Amanda. I’m so sorry,” Andrew says as the paramedic asks me questions and tends to the bites and scratches all over my arms. The antiseptic he spreads liberally stings, but compared to the salt water pool, it’s heaven. 

“You won’t lose me. Ever.” We share a smile I’ve been waiting to give my whole life.

“Amanda!” Mom crushes me with a side hug. “I can’t believe how brave you were!” She turns to Andrew, her eyes red from crying. “And you!” She forces Andrew to let her hug him. He waggles his eyebrows at me over her shoulder, but he takes the embrace, giving it right back.

Spritzy is at my feet, licking my stocking-covered toes.

“Mr. McCormick! Mr. McCormick!” shouts Jordan, who is running over, cradling a wet wool sock. 

Wait.

That’s Muffin.

Andrew, James, Declan and Terry all turn toward the little man, who approaches James.

“Thank you so, so much, Mr. McCormick, for saving my precious Muffin! You were so brave to use that pool skimmer and to pluck her out of her watery grave. I am forever in your debt.”

And then he bows and actually takes James’ hand, kissing his ring.

“What?!” I am about to blow a gasket. Jordan must hear me going nuclear, because he slowly cranes his neck toward me, eyes bulging out with the hard look of sanctimony.

Andrew tries not to laugh, but I can feel his body bouncing with mirth. “Hashtag doghater,” he whispers in my ear, giving me an affectionate squeeze.

I growl back.

“You!” Jordan’s fingers are long, like a surgeon’s, and when he points at me I feel like an accused witch in a seventeenth century Salem trial. “You tried to kill my Muffin again.”

“Oh, brother,” I mutter. “OW!” I squeal as the paramedic puts something that stings all over a bite. The physical pain doesn’t distract me from the indignity of being unfairly accused yet again.

He turns to James, red-faced and righteous. “When we went on our date, she threw rocks at my mama’s little dog! And now she she tried to drown Muffin!”

“She
saved
your dog!” Andrew says, starting to stand up and confront Jordan, who is shaking as hard as his mama’s teacup chihuahua now.

I reach up with my good hand and pull Andrew back to the chair next to mine. “Not worth it. Don’t even try to reason with him.”

“Hold on,” Andrew says, halting. “Date? Did he say
date
? You dated
him
?” 

“Yes. For work.”

Whatever laughter Andrew has been holding back comes rushing out, his body bent in half, his gloriously unclothed chest and back on display as he lets it
all
out.  

“And—” Andrew gasps “—I was worried about...” He’s so amused by all of it that I can’t help but join in, our laughter more than just relief. We’re joyfully celebrating the unspoken brilliance of living each minute and taking what life throws our way. No more guessing. No more fear.

Not when we’re together.

And then he sweeps in for an exuberant kiss that is so nakedly passionate and marvelously delicious that whatever pain I’m in fades away in the presence of his whole self.

In the sunlight.

In July.

As Jordan shakes James’ hand and bows again, I overhear him say, “I’m happy to do your next son’s wedding as a thank you to you for your courage, but you’ll have to keep
her
away from my Muffin.”

I’m about to give Jordan a piece of my mind when a great
shhh-shhh-shhh
begins in the distance in the sky. We all stare up, following the source of the sound. 

The black helicopter has no markings of any kind as it descends onto the lawn, the whoop-whoop-whoop of the blades making the air feel like it’s sliced into pieces, as if sound itself were being chopped. The helicopter pilot’s face is obscured as he comes into focus. This is not an Anterdec helicopter, and yet in all the images I’ve seen of the President of the United States of America’s helicopter, there’s always been a circular seal. A sign.

A marker.

Declan excuses himself from a talk with his dad and my mom and marches with determination toward us, Marie wending her way through the crowd to intervene.

“What is going on?” she shouts. You have to raise your voice, because the chopper is so close, engines still on.

Declan cups his hand and bends to her, saying something in her ear.

Her eyes go wide with exhilaration and her hands clap over her mouth.

“No!”

“Yes!” he calls back.

“You—he—
he
is here?” Marie screams, giddy. “This will save the wedding! No one will remember naked Amanda now!” 

“I will,” Andrew shouts.

My mom blushes.

“But they’ll remember that the President of the United States came to my—er, your—wedding! Everyone! Everyone!” Marie shouts, trying to get the crowd’s attention. “The President of the United States is in that helicopter! He’s a guest at the wedding!” 

“We need to go talk to him first!” Declan shouts to Marie, his voice loud enough for me to hear over the blades. He pulls Shannon out from the cluster of people hovering around the pool. 

They do not stop. Shannon’s dress is swept up in the rush of air, her train heavy and twisting, her tartan plaid accents ruined by the blast of air flow. Shannon and Declan share a look of anticipation, an
Are you sure?
interlude that they both confirm with twin nods of determination. 

Marie shoos them, her wrists flicking like shotguns. “Go! Go! Of course you need to greet him. My goodness!” She turns to me with a look of exaltation. “Please tell me Jessica Coffin is seeing this!” she begs. “And Monica Raleigh!”

“Monica who?’

“Steve’s mother!”

“Oh.”

“Bet she’ll never have the President of the United States at Steve’s wedding! She brags about knowing a state senator. Hah!” 

Shannon and Declan have put me in the worst position possible right now. As they both make their way to the helicopter, I know what they’re about to do.