Page 46 of No More Heartbreakers

I didn’t speak, and Aric stayed relaxed in his chair, loose-limbed, his eyes closed. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him.

He looked almost asleep, his brow smooth, his lips slightly parted, so full and soft-looking.

What do you know? I’d discovered ananti-relaxation exercise—staring at Aric. My heartbeat, which had been slow and steady minutes ago, launched into a tumbling routine.

I probably should’ve said something, should’ve let him know I was out of the exercise. But my mouth wouldn’t open.

Instead I took advantage of the opportunity, letting my eyes roam the length of his body, from his slightly mussed golden hair—too bad he’d have to fix it before air-time—across his broad shoulders, down his tight torso and miles-long legs to those size thirteens then back up to his tranquil expression.

His eyelids were open.Oops.Bad. Very bad. The tumbling routine in my chest turned into a frenzied triple-spinning dismount.

My face flamed. “Hi,” I whispered. So busted.

He gave me a slow grin. “Hi.” The grin widened. “All relaxed now?”

“Um, sort of. It was working, but I ruined it.”

“It’s okay. It takes practice.” His voice was rough and sleepy-sounding. “Where were you?”

“The beach. Where were you?”

“Bathtub. Scalding water, ice cold beer.”

I jumped up as if my chair had become electrified. “Sounds… nice. I’ve got to go. To the set. Now. Thanks.”

My words came out at machine gun speed. I nearly ran from the sports area, though there were still twelve minutes left until the show started.

It had almost worked. If I’d been able to hold onto the peaceful feeling a bit longer, it might have.

Sadly, I did end up dashing for the bathroom at five till ten, but I could see how the technique might eventually help me win my battle with performance anxiety.

As long as the exercise wasn’t followed by a slow perusal of the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen and a mental image of him soaking in a bathtub.

Aric came out to the set during the final commercial break, as usual. Flashed me his usual charming grin. But nothing else was normal. I felt almost starved to see his face, to have the opportunity to study him at close range again.

When he unfastened a couple of buttons to thread his microphone through his shirt, I caught a glimpse of his chest and thought I might pass out from the arrhythmia it caused.

Maybe he had hypnotized me after all. Or maybe I’d finally admitted to myself… I liked him.

Sugar. Not again.

I couldn’t imagine a fate worse than falling for a guy like him—the guy everyone falls for, the guy whoknowsit.

Fixing my eyes on the monitor in front of me, I pretended to watch the sports highlights and Aric’s brief on-camera segments.

In actuality, my peripheral vision was working hard, gathering details about him, the way he tapped one long, tan finger on the glass desktop as he read the prompter, the way he spread his legs under the desk, stretching his expensive-looking dark suit pants over muscled thighs, the way he raked a hand through his hair every time the show went to video, trying to tame a lock that refused to stop falling onto his forehead.

Maybe Ineededto see a hypnotist who’d convince me to… Just. Stop. It. My plan to work with Aric and remain unaffected by him was failing miserably.

After the show he approached my desk. “Hey. So… I guess it didn’t really help you.”

“No, it was good. It did work for a few minutes, and like you said, I need to practice. I think it’s actually going to help a lot. I appreciate it. You… you’ve been really nice to me.”

“I like you Heidi. You’re a nice person—a little uptight, but nice.”

“Hey,” I protested.

“You’re not uptight?” He raised both brows and dipped his chin.

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