Page 33 of Billion Dollar Revenge

He’s really here.

Does he realize how much this means to me? There’s no way Bobby would be caught dead here. And that’s when I realize, this is an advanced class. Shit. I’ll definitely have to modify his workout.

Evan’s jaw is set, brows drawn together, lips pressed firmly into a thin line, and his eyes—usually bright blue—are now intense, focused. The other students in the class have noticed him too, their conversations dropped to murmurs as they sneak glances in his direction.

His presence is commanding, the kind that has my body moving toward him, ignoring the buzz between us. He’s paused in the doorway, seeming like he’s ready to turn around and walk right out of here. His uneasiness is so different to the powerful and controlled Evan I’ve witnessed.

Standing directly in front of him, I move the mic away from my mouth. “Hi. I’m glad you came.”

“I wanted to support my girlfriend,” he marvels with wide-set eyes.

I smile as a blush creeps onto my skin. “Come on in, I’ll take care of you.”

His eyes drop over my body, and I know he hasn’t seen me in anything like this before. A sky-blue set of short shorts and a matching crop top. Yeah, there's nothing left to the imagination today. And because he’s in my space, I don’t feel self-conscious about it. The way he’s looking at me, I would say he’s not mad about my outfit either.

I point over to one of the few free beds. “Come over to this one.”

He drops his head and strides over to the bed, holding his wallet and drink bottle.

I go to the desk to grab him a towel and hand it to him. He frowns.

“Trust me, you’ll need it.” I thrust it toward him.

He takes the towel with a pinched expression and looks around the bed.

“Take a seat. I’ll start with a warm-up,” I whisper to him before moving the microphone back to my mouth and speaking into it. “Alright, class, please begin with a warm-up spring, extend your legs, and push the carriage out.”

I adjust Evan’s springs and get him to lie down. Seeing him on this carriage (Pilates bed) has my mind going places it shouldn’t go. All I can think about is straddling him. Naked.

What is wrong with me?I can’t remember the last time I felt this bothered over a guy. I’ve never had this problem with a client before. Shaking off those thoughts, I move to the other side of the room, helping other clients correct their form or push themselves.

After a few minutes of warm-up, I get their legs in the tabletop position and do some crunches with hands in straps.

Then, I wander back to Evan, his strong arms contracting during this exercise, and God the trickle of sweat glistening on his forehead nearly kills me. The fact he’s trying makes my heart swell.

I tell the class to do the side plank with rotation. Then I step over to Evan and tell him to just try a normal plank, but he follows the others in the class effortlessly. For someone who has never done Pilates before, he’s doing amazing.

I know he will be in pain tomorrow. Part of me wishes I was brave enough to offer him a private cool down.

We reach the end of class, and before I know it, I am on the last exercise.

I choose an exercise to test him.

“Alright, everyone, it’s time to feel the burn. Let’s go for those lean back bicep curls you love,” I call out, watching the class intently. Of course, he follows the advanced clients, refusing to give up.

As I pass by, I can’t help but notice the way his veins bulge on his arm, adding to my already flustered state. “Feeling strong today?” I tease, trying to keep my voice steady while adjusting the twisted strap. My hand brushes against his warm skin, sending a spark of electricity through me.

He grins, not missing a beat. “Always. Are you trying to make me quit?”

“Just making sure you’re getting your money’s worth,” I reply with a smirk, then move to the next person.

He chuckles. “Well, you’re doing a great job. I’ll need a nap after this.”

Glancing back at him, I raise an eyebrow. “A nap, huh?” My gaze slowly drops to those arms again and my tongue skims my bottom lip. “You look strong.”

“Strong, not Superman,” he retorts, a playful glint in his eye.

I laugh and shake my head. “Keep those curls going. You’ve got this.”

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