I never thought I’d admit this, least of all to myself, but I’m man enough to realize…

I am head over heels in love. Like, a complete goner. Sprung over a girl. A gorgeous, sexy as hell, makes me wanna lose my mind girl who just about fucking slays me every single time I look at her.

And when I say she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, I’m not lying. Not even close. With her golden tan skin and long, dark brown hair that falls in glossy waves down her back. A body to freaking die for, with curves that look made for a man’s hands. My hands. A real woman’s curves, with flaring hips and full breasts and a narrow waist—a body she casually flaunts in a tiny string bikini that should be made freaking illegal. I could stare at her all day.

I do stare at her all day.

The problem?

I don’t even know her name.

“God, you perv, are you watching her again?”

My sister’s whiny voice pierces my eardrums and I turn to glare at her for a long, quiet moment before I resume my position. “Go away,” I mutter, sounding like I’m twelve. I used to tell Sydney exactly that when I was twelve. Back when she’d been a seven-year-old pest constantly trying to get up in my business.

Nothing much has changed. Only now, she’s an eighteen-year-old pest trying to get up in my business.

“Seriously, she’s going to call the cops if you keep this up.” She sits on the lounge chair next to mine, acting like she has nowhere else to be. Considering we’re both trapped in this elaborate fortress of a house that my parents have rented for us for the entire summer, I guess Sydney really doesn’t have anywhere to be. Not like we have any friends in Santa Barbara. We’ve gone out to dinners. We’ve gone to the beach. We’ve gone to the country club as guests of our parents and I chatted up a hot girl—not as hot as my newfound love but she was decent—until my father came along and cock-blocked me by saying it was time to go home. Making me look like a loser who still lives with his parents.

He’s definitely not what I would call a proper wingman.

We’ve been here almost three weeks and my sister and I are slowly going insane.

“Maybe I should be the one to dial 911 and end this stare fest once and for all,” Sydney says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She’s practically pouting, not that I can blame her. I’m climbing the walls here. I’m falling in love with a woman and I don’t even know who the hell she is.

Clearly I’m losing my mind. And irritable about it too.

“Are you purposely trying to be a bitch? Or does it just come naturally?” I glare at her again, just in time to see the hurt fill her eyes before she leaps to her feet and takes off without another word.

Sighing, I return my gaze to my newfound love interest. I’m sitting on the balcony of the second floor, gazing down at the backyard of the next-door neighbor’s. That’s where my girl hangs out every afternoon by her pool. Her curvy body stretched out on a lounge chair, sunglasses covering her eyes. She jumps in the water approximately every twenty minutes to cool off. Doesn’t bother drying herself with a towel, just lies back down, usually on her stomach, her skin glistening with little droplets of water, her ass absolute perfection and barely covered by the black bikini bottom that haunts me in my most perverted fantasies.

Yeah. So I’ve jacked off to thoughts of her late at night. Early in the morning. Sometimes in the shower. This is what happens when a healthy twenty-one-year old male is cooped up with his family for too long. He resorts to jerking himself off instead of gathering up the balls to go and talk to his temporary neighbor so he can get to know her.

I’ve turned into the world’s biggest weenie, I swear to God. I miss my friends. Shep and Tristan wouldn’t stand for this. They’d tell me to man up. Encourage me to go talk to her. Hell, they’d probably abduct me out of this hellhole and take me back home. This sterile mansion-slash-summer house sure as hell isn’t home.

Like clockwork I watch my girl take off her sunglasses and rise from the lounge chair. She reaches behind her, running her fingers beneath her bikini bottom, tugging the fabric as if she’s trying to cover her ass completely but it doesn’t work. The bottom curve of her ass cheeks hang out and my cock twitches at the sight.

I’m starting to believe she was put on this earth just to torture me.

She walks to the edge of the pool, her toes curling as she raises her arms above her head. It’s like a little ritual she performs with her every pool break. She goes into position. Pauses for a moment. Her chest rises as she takes a breath, drawing my attention to her full breasts and then she jumps. Executing a perfect dive into the pool. She barely makes a splash and I watch with a dry mouth as she streaks beneath the crystal clear water, popping up at the deep end as she slicks her hair back with both hands. Even from this distance I know little drops of water cling to her thick eyelashes and she blinks. Licks her lips and I stifle a groan.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous. I lean closer to the railing, the metal hot as I press my bare chest against it and I let out an unexpected yelp when I come into contact with the scorching metal.

The sound makes her whirl around and I go completely still, praying she doesn’t notice me.

Praying that she does.

She slowly turns in a circle, treading water, her expression one of quiet alarm. I swallow hard and ease back. Thankful she doesn’t look up. Wishing that she would look up, internally arguing with myself because I’m not one hundred percent sure if I want her to see me or not.

What if Sydney’s right and my neighbor does think I’m some sort of perv ogling her every chance I get? Because that’s basically the truth, as ashamed as I am to admit it. I’m not one to ogle. I see a girl I like I go talk to her. Get to know her. Eventually get in her panties. That’s how I roll. That’s how I’ve always rolled. There’s no point in falling. No point in dating. Ultimately I won’t be able to choose the one I want so why bother?

She lifts her head and our gazes clash. I freeze in place as I stare into her dark brown eyes, the air stuck in my lungs making it hard to breathe.

The seconds tick by as we continue to watch each other but they feel like minutes. Hours. My skin tightens. My blood runs hot and there’s a dull roar in my ears. I’m fully prepared for her to glare. Maybe even to yell and tell me to fuck off.

But then she smiles. A sensual curve of full lips, a dimple appearing on the right side of her mouth just before she tosses her head and floats on her back, her feet kicking, her breasts rising above the water that gently laps at her skin.

Fuck me, she is seriously the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.

Without thought I stand, letting my gaze linger on her for one more minute before I leave the balcony.

And go claim what I want.

Her.

He’s been staring at me for weeks. The pretty rich white boy has no shame, what with the way he’s been openly spying on my afternoon swim sessions. For the last week I’ve put on an extra show just for him. Lying out on the cushy lounge chair, wearing my skimpiest bikini, one I wouldn’t dare wear out in public but knowing he’s the only one watching me?

That dark thrill running down my spine every afternoon when I feel his hot gaze on my body is incredibly addicting.

Mama would have an absolute fit if she saw me flaunting my goods. She’d throw me a towel. Or a robe. Or a blanket. Demand that I cover myself up in that don’t-you-dare-argue-with-me tone of voice she does so well. She prefers one-piece swimsuits. Would probably like it best if I never wore one at all.