Page 9 of You Can't Ruin Christmas

Chapter Five

Okay, so Sven is kind of a genius.

He wasn’t kidding when he said that he hadpersonalizedthe workout. He printed out a full-color picture of Sebastian’s face and placed it on the punching bag before giving me kickboxing lessons. He said horrible things about Sebastian to get me riled, up, and make me dig deep for energy and strength I didn’t know I had, in an effort to pummel the image of my ex into dust.

That first morning, I wasn’t at the top of my game. I was definitely feeling the effects of the hangover, and a little worried that Sven wouldn’t want to keep training with me once he saw how pathetic I was. The laws of physics dictate that a five-foot-four female is going to be able to lift significantly less weight than a six-foot-something male. Something I learned the hard way, going to the gym with my brother many years ago, where he tirelessly made fun of me.

But now that I’m older, I’m over it. I’m not trying to lift as much as Sven. I accept that it would be humanly impossible, unless I get bitten by a radioactive spider or something. I’m trying to lift as much as I possibly can, and become a stronger, better, healthier me. The early morning workouts were not the best time for peak energy levels, though, with my erratic schedule, and putting in some extra hours working on Sven’s website. We started fitting in workouts at all hours of the day, whenever we both had some spare time and energy.

I have been trying my best, and after drooling over his spandex-swathed package, I started mentally running over my closet in my mind, and thinking about the most seductive workout gear I own. It wasn’t much, so I actually went out and purchased extremely tight-fitting and curve-hugging, butt-lifting and boob-plumping workout gear, in an attempt to tease him as much as he was teasing me.

I believe it’s starting to work, because during one of our home-workout sessions, when he was correcting my posture as I was doing squats, he abruptly had to pause and turn to leave. I was confused when he walked into his bedroom and shut the door forcefully. But when he returned a moment later wearing baggy gym shorts, I felt a thrill of victory course through me. I think that maybe there was some kind ofreactionhe needed to conceal, if you know what I mean. Below the belt. Something that would have been way too visible through the spandex.

My huge smile betrays that I know anyway, and Sven frowns.

I wonder if that happens to him often during workouts? I mean, he wouldn’t wear the spandex on a regular basis if all his clients gave him raging boners, right? Would it be too presumptuous or arrogant to think that it’s rare for someone to have that effect on him, or that he only feels that way about me? Yes—I think that’s extremely wishful thinking, but it makes me happy anyway.

For the most part, Sven has been extremely professional. Too professional. So it is exciting to see a few cracks of humanity in the otherwise impenetrable armor of this gym god. My body has been starting to respond to the exercises, and after a few sore days when I could barely move, I’m starting to feel my muscles. I imagine I can start to see some more tone and shape underneath the softness of my skin, but it might be just my imagination. Either way, my confidence is already growing by leaps and bounds, and knowing that I’ve had this effect on Sven is only helping.

But he seems annoyed about it. He glares at me a little, as if to let me know that two can play that game. All of a sudden, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up over his head, revealing a set of washboard abs that you could probably grate cheese on. Is that why they call it being shredded?

I’m sure he catches me staring with my mouth slightly open in awe, because he smiles and casually stretches, while flexing at the same time. As if he needs to flex anything. That’s just not fair.

“I was getting a little hot in those clothes,” he explains, grinning at me. “We’re not at the gym, so maybe I can wear something a little more casual, if you don’t mind.”

“Uh, I don’t mind,” I say, trying to gather my composure and stop staring like I have never seen a shirtless man before in my life. My fingers twitch with the desire to touch him, and run my hands over the curve of every carefully sculpted muscle. And maybe press my body up against his and wrap my legs around him to feel the warmth of what was happening under that spandex…

He lifts a neon green piece of rubber. No, not that kind of rubber, although I wish it was. “Resistance bands,” he explains. “I figure that you’ve got some of the basic bodyweight exercises down pretty well, so we can add these for an extra challenge.”

“Sure,” I answer, dutifully lifting my feet so he can slide the green band over my ankles and up my legs, to rest around my knees. I’m sure he’s not intending to let his hands caress the sides of my calves like that, and rest a little too long pressed against my thighs.

“Try ten squats with the resistance band around your legs like this,” he says, stepping away.

I comply and try the exercise as he watches. He nods.

“Okay, now get onto your hands and knees,” he says.

I feel a shiver run through my stomach. “My hands and knees?”

“We’re going to do fire hydrants,” he explains, “to work your hip abductors.”

Trying to hide my reaction to being ordered around by him, I lower my body to the floor, bent over on all fours in a very vulnerable-feeling position.

“Raise your left leg away from your body,” he instructs, gently guiding my knee. “Here, let me adjust the position of the bands.”

When he kneels behind me, I can’t exactly see what he’s doing as he repositions the resistance bands properly for this exercise. But I can feel his hands on me, tantalizing everywhere he touches, and I can think of a few things Iwanthim to do to me in this position. I can feel his baggy shorts brush against me as he moves, and even that whisper of a touch awakens my nerves. I am tempted to move back a little to see if I can connect with his body and feel him against me, but I don’t know how I would possibly explain such wanton behavior.

When I feel his hand on the small of my back, it sends heat right through me. My breathing is getting a little heavy, and I try to conceal it, so he can’t see how flushed I am.

“Arch your back a little more to engage the muscles,” he says softly.

He’s telling me to arch my back. To stick my butt up in the air even more, and basically give him an excellent view ofeverythingI’ve got going on down there, underneath my tight, pale grey leggings.

Exhaling to gather my composure, I follow his instructions and complete the exercise, with his hand on my back the whole time. Imagining him staring atmycrotch while I’m moving my legs apart like this. My thighs are burning, and the workout is challenging, but the friction of the movement combined with the eroticism of the position is causing me to be more than a little turned on by this.

“Switch to the other side,” Sven tells me after a few more reps, and is it my imagination, or does his voice sound a little husky and low? Is that his bedroom voice? Does he still have an erection?

Because I am flexing all my muscles and arching my back and lifting my butt so hard that I feel like if I get any more aroused, it’s going to start soaking through the light-colored fabric of these workout pants. So he better have a raging boner—I have never had to work so hard to try to seduce someone in my life.

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