Chapter 91

Ashton had never sprinted that fast in his life. Still, by the time he dragged Mirabelle out of the water, her lips were blue, her body limp in his arms. He was too fucking slow. He knew it the moment her head lolled back and she didn’t open her eyes. He laid her down on the poolside tiles, soaking wet and ice-cold. Tilted her head, checked her airway, locked his hands over her sternum and pumped. Fast. Hard. A sick, ugly rhythm that scared the hell out of him. Then mouth-to-mouth—his breath into hers, again and again, his heart hammering so loud it drowned out everything else. Come on, Mirabelle. Finally, she jerked. Coughed. Water poured from her mouth and splattered against his chest. Her eyes stayed shut, but her breathing started. Shallow, ragged, each gasp like it hurt. Ashton scooped her up, holding her tight against him, and tore back into the house. The party noise hit him like a slap—laughing, music, chatter. He didn’t slow down. Took the stairs three at a time, ignoring the