BAD WIFE

Chapter {30}

"Um..." Clarissa tucked her loose, damp waves behind her ears, forcing a casual tone as she glanced around. "Can you show me where the bathroom is?"

"I can show you," Gabby offered politely from nearby.

"Oh..." Clarissa stalled, her voice fluttering. Her plan had been simple—pull Jacob away from Beth, even for a moment. But now she was stuck, and visibly caught. She took a few hesitant steps backward.

"Watch where you're going..." Jacob warned, his voice calm but edged with a quiet authority.

Her eyes snapped to his. The way he looked at her made her breath pause—stern, alert, and oddly protective. That single look wrapped around her ribcage like a tightening cord. She blinked, momentarily stunned. What was that look? Why did it ignite something deep in her chest?

"Huh..." she muttered, still stepping back—right off the edge of the pool.

There was no ground beneath her foot. Her body tipped. Cold water rushed around her, stealing her breath before she had time to scream. She barely registered the sensation of falling before arms surged beneath her, powerful and sure, lifting her from the water as if she weighed nothing.

A hush fell over the backyard.

The kids froze mid-play. The adults silenced their conversations. All eyes turned toward the shimmering surface of the pool to see Jacob rising from the water with Clarissa cradled tightly in his arms. His soaked shirt clung to the muscular ridges of his chest, his jeans heavy and drenched. Her hands were clutched around his shoulders, her cheek pressed to the firmness of his chest, her breath trapped somewhere between disbelief and something far more dangerous.

"It's only four foot of water, bro..." Mark called out, snickering.

Laughter burst across the backyard, breaking the tension, but Jacob and Clarissa barely noticed. They looked at each other with dazed amusement, their bodies slick with water, their expressions caught between embarrassment and something unspoken—something alive.

Jacob carried her to the edge and gently set her on the tiles. His hand went instinctively to her cheek. "You okay?" he asked, his voice quiet now, intimate.

The warmth of his palm against her skin sent a rush of heat spiraling through her chest. Her lungs filled, her heart stumbled, and her voice caught before she managed a nod. He exhaled, visibly relieved, and climbed out beside her. Water poured off him as he stood, tall and striking in the sunlight. Then, wordlessly, he offered his hand. She took it without hesitation, and he helped her up.

Sara appeared, ushering them inside and handing them dry clothes. She guided them to the laundry room and then into a guest bedroom where they could change. Clarissa slipped into the bathroom first, her heart still racing.

She removed her wet dress and wrapped herself in the softness of a striped black-and-red romper, trying to ignore how fast her heart was still thudding. When she stepped out, Jacob was in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt.

Something took over her. "Let me help you," she offered, her voice low, steady.

He froze, his brows drawing together in confusion.

She walked toward him, her fingers finding his buttons. She undid them slowly, deliberately, each one revealing more of his skin, the memory of his body, his warmth. Her fingers lingered as she reached the last button, her gaze lifting—only to find his locked on her.

That stare.

It crashed over her like a wave, intense and unrelenting. His eyes roamed her face, studying every inch as if memorizing it all over again. She peeled the wet fabric from his shoulders, hands gliding up to his collar. The moment pulsed between them, thick with heat and silence.