Page 21 of Moonlighter
I can’t stop glancing over there. I’m probably going to stumble and kill myself. It will be all Alex’s fault, too. She even moans once in a while, especially when he works on her feet.
It’s the moans that really kill me.
Note to self: it’s not easy to run with a semi. This is not relaxing. My body temperature is climbing to an unreasonable level, and I don’t know whether to blame all the weight training I did earlier, the Hawaiian sun, or the luscious woman on the massage table.
At the nine mile mark I slap the stop button on the treadmill and let it slow to a stop. I can’t take it any more.
“Quitting early?” Alex asks from the massage table.
I don’t even answer that insulting question. “Avert your eyes.”
“Why?”
I march over to the edge of that pool, my back to Alex and the masseuse, my front to the Hawaiian surf. I strip off my sweaty running shorts and jump into the narrow pool.
Ahhhhh. Cool water is just what I need.
“Where is your bathing suit?” Alex yelps. “It’s notthatprivate a terrace.”
“Where is yours?” I fire back.
The massage therapist laughs. “We’re done out here, anyway. I can’t do a pedicure in the sun; it makes the polish sticky. Here’s your robe.”
“It’s just as well,” Alex says. “There are snacks inside.”
“I thought we were having a late lunch?” I need a real meal after that workout.
“Oh, we are,” Alex assures me. “The snacks are just a warmup.”
She sits up, clutching a sheet to her luscious bosom while I suffer. It’s going to be a long week in Hawaii.
Max isn’t getting a Christmas present this year. Or ever again.
6
Alex
At first Ithought I was imagining it. But no—I called this. Eric Bayer is taunting me with his hot body. He wants me to feel bad about turning him down that time in April.
He wants revenge. And even worse? It’s working.
No man has ever had such an unruly effect on my hormones. Maybe it’s the pregnancy. Or the jet lag. Or the sunshine. But I can’t stop looking at the hunk of male glory that is Eric Bayer. Two-hundred-odd pounds of muscle and smirking.
I shouldn’t even be attracted to him. But I am. And it’s bad. Really bad. For example, I never thought much about a man’s gluteus maximus before now. But I’ve been treated to over an hour of those sculpted buns on the treadmill. They’re going to be jogging through my dreams forever. I can just tell.
Also, I never knew that a man’s back muscles could be so sexy. Or his calves…
This is going to be the longest week in paradiseever.
After my spa treatments, I take a cool shower and wash my hair. When I come out, Eric is seated on the sofa in nothing but a fresh pair of shorts and two days worth of scruff on his rugged jaw.
He’s sitting on his butt, thankfully. So I can’t ogle it. But, hell! That hard chest and that glorious set of abs? It’s killing me. Seriously? Does the man even own a shirt?
Pregnancy has turned me into a woman with a voracious appetite. And not just for food. I want to climb him like one of the trees we used to scale on the Vineyard.
Maybe I’ll have to order up that cot after all. Or change rooms? We could have adjacent rooms with an open door between them. And separate beds. That should do the trick.
Eric’s cool gray eyes flick up at me. “Hey. Lunch time?” He looks back down at his phone, but not before giving me a head to toe once-over.
