CHAPTER 65

I'm lying on my back, the water lapping around my ears and the sun warming my body, when a shadow falls over me. I blink my eyes open and right myself, frowning as I look back over one shoulder toward the living room. No more heads of the lawyers poking above the sleek minimalist furniture. I turn back to the view, the carefully designed illusion that the pool edge hangs off the Hollywood Hills and looks down on the valley of West Hollywood. But it's not the view that has me hypnotized. It's the man standing at the top of the carved steps at one end of the pool. He's tall and strong, every part of him built with intention, from his carved torso and arms to his lean hips and the perfect ass I can't see from here but could draw from memory. From fifteen feet away, he feels my blatant perusal. He expects it. "Lawyers left for nap time?" I call. Timothy strips off his shirt in a single movement. His body is art. A canvas of lean muscle and tattoos I know as well as