Page 102 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

Smiling, I roll out of the bed and join him.

An hour or so later, I sigh when we emerge from the shower. Nate, in only a towel slung dangerously low on his hip.

“So much for our beach run.” I grimace, glancing at the window and seeing the raindrops race down the glass.

“We could always go back to bed,” he suggests with a look that makes my toes curl.

“Or...” I walk to my suitcase. “We could do yoga.”

“Yoga.” I pull out my favorite set of yoga pants and matching sports bra. “It’s great for flexibility, stress relief, mental clarity—“

“I can think of better ways to improve flexibility,” he drawls, dropping onto the bed to watch me change with unabashed appreciation.

I ignore the heat his gaze sparks under my skin. “Come on, it’ll be fun! I’ll teach you the basics.”

I unroll my mat in the spacious living room, positioning myself so he has a clear view from his perch on the couch, a mug of coffee in one hand. “I’m good right here.”

I arch a brow. “So, you’re just going to watch?”

His gaze darkens. “Yes.”

I shake my head but don’t argue. Instead, I press play on my playlist and start moving into my first position. At first, I pretend not to notice the way he’s watching me.

The way his eyes track every movement.

The way his grip tightens around his coffee mug when I stretch my arms overhead, arching my back.

But when I shift into downward dog, his breath audibly hitches. I peek at him upside-down through my legs, and sure enough, he’s sitting there, coffee forgotten, his blue eyes locked on me.

His mouth parts slightly, and when I move just a little bit more—pushing deeper into the stretch, arching my back in a way that I know he enjoys—his jaw clenches.

His throat bobs as he swallows. Hard. His fingers flex against his thigh. The darkness in his eyes makes me forget all about proper form.

Slowly, so slowly, he sets his coffee down. Then, in one fluid motion, he’s off the couch with predatory grace and stalking toward me.

“Nate, you’re ruining my concentration,” I manage, though my voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.

He crouches beside me, fingers tilting my chin up, as one hand trails down my back, and I nearly collapse from my pose.

His blue eyes burn.

“You know exactly what you’re doing to me.” His voice is husky, rough.

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering. “Do I?”

His gaze drops to my lips. “Yes.”

My breath hitches, my heart slamming against my ribs as he leans in, his breath warm against my ear.

“Forget yoga, Lace.” His voice is a growl. “I can think of much better ways to loosen you up.”

And just like that, the rainy day takes a very different turn—and the weather is forgotten.

The next morning, my phone chirps with Rachel’s ringtone while I’m fixing coffee in Nate’s kitchen. He left early for a band meeting, leaving me with a sleepy kiss and promises of dinner later. I didn’t mind as after all of our love making yesterday, my body’s a little sore though I have no complaints.

“Lacey! Perfect timing.” Rachel’s voice has that particular tone that usually means she’s about to ask for something. “How quick can you get ready? We have an amazing opportunity.”

“What kind of opportunity?” I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder, adding cream to my coffee.

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