Cruel Summer Read Online Free Page B

6/18/05

Chapter Three
    C all me Lala,” Adelaida Famosa intoned seductively. “That’s what the children say…Nanny Lala.”
    Dante struggled to maintain his trademark cool. Ordinarily, hot girls were no big deal. Treat them that way and you could have your pick. But Lala was gorgeous to a degree that defied all reason. Salma Hayek could be her ugly sister. That’s how fine she was.
    So this was crazy luck on top of crazy luck. And he owed it all to SafeSplash, an agency that employed instructors to teach at-home swim lessons to rich kids in Miami.
    Lala leaned in to clutch Dante’s arm as she dipped her pink-polished toes into the cerulean waters of the sky terrace pool. “Ooh!” she squealed, pressing closer as she giggled and expressed alarm about how cold it was.
    Dante experienced a stiffening where it counted. Suddenly, he crouched down to test the temperature himself. The truth was, a blast of something cold could only do him good right now.
    Any minute, the man who hired him, Simon St. John, megamillionaire, music mogul, rags-to-riches dream maker, could step into view. And catching the new swim coach making a tent out of his trunks on account of the young and nubile nanny was not the first impression that Dante wanted to make. Besides, there was no way St. John would have a live-in that looked like this and not be hitting it on a regular basis. Best to stay clear.
    Just as Dante began gliding his left hand through the water, he felt the pinch of Lala’s nails dig into his back, then a firm shove sent him tumbling into the pool. He went down. He came up. He shook his head to free the chlorine from his eyes.
    Lala stood there laughing hysterically, her considerable attributes bouncing up and down, coming close to escaping the bikini halter that barely contained them. But in the end, the tiny string held firm. A minor miracle. And one of God’s crueler special effects.
    Dante’s mind began to drift. Those sensible thoughts from mere moments ago turned to dirty ones. Feeling cocky—and getting no relief from the cold water—he peeled off his drenched Hollister T-shirt and tossed it onto the deck with a loud plop. “Now it’s your turn.” He smiled at her. “Jump in.”
    Lala giggled, inching away from the edge. “I can’t swim.”
    “That’s why I’m here,” Dante said. “To teach you.”
    “Can I hold on to you?”
    He grinned. “Absolutely.”
    “Maybe you should just start by giving her mouth to mouth,” a female voice said sharply. “Apparently, that’s what she really wants.”
    Dante spun around to find Vanity St. John standing on the opposite side of the pool, a beach beauty fantasy in her white bikini and sheer sarong.
    “I didn’t think girls like you got up before the crack of noon,” Dante teased.
    Even with her eyes eclipsed by huge Chanel sunglasses, Vanity looked anything but amused. She shifted the small stack of celebrity magazines in her hands. “And I didn’t think boys like you could find a job that didn’t require a polyester uniform and a name tag.”
    “Burger King was last summer’s gig,” Dante said matter-of-factly. “This one pays better. And you can’t beat the scenery.” He purposefully dropped the line with heavy ambiguity. Was he referring to Vanity, Lala, or both of them?
    Vanity beamed a disapproving glare across the pool to the Cuban caregiver. “Lala, here’s a news flash: The twins’ art camp ended about fifteen minutes ago. Do you expect two three-year-olds to just take a cab home?”
    Lala murmured some unintelligible Spanish as she went scrambling inside.
    Vanity rolled her eyes and made a beeline for an expansive, white terry cloth-covered chaise lounge. She walked with the sprocket-hipped gait of a supermodel navigating the runway of the hottest fashion show on earth—confident, predatory, like a sleek panther juiced up on Red Bull.
    Dante found himself mesmerized. So few girls played hard to get with him, and when they did, the instant