His eyes locked onto my face. “Liar. Get your sorry ass in here. If you pull a muscle, the coaches will have my hide.”
Beau Moreau in a hot tub.
Beau Moreau in a hot tub, asking me to join him in that hot tub.
Me turning that down.
“I will later. I have to get a few things done first.”
Seeing him wet and smirking at me, did strange things to my lower belly. That man was far too handsome for words.
Flashes of what he’d looked like in the early days of his career jumped into my head. The tall, lean, idealistic boy from Montreal was gone. Beau was all man now.
He had a hardness not only to his body, but also to how he spoke and acted. Perhaps it had something to do with age and experience.
Maybe it was his soul.
Whatever it was—it was freaking hot.
“Martin. Get your ass in here.”
My poor brain scrambled. Try as I might, I couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea to get into a hot tub with the man I’d had a crush on for longer than a decade. Once again, those feelings I’d had for Beau took over and turned my brain into mush.
It was like that sexy smile of his caused some kind of instant amnesia to occur. Why shouldn’t I get into a hot tub with a half naked Beau? It was a free country, right?
He asked.
It would be rude to refuse.
Right?
As I undid my sarong and tossed it onto a nearby chair, I could practically feel Beau’s eyes on me. Then I figured it could just be my insecurity with wearing a bikini.
Living in Vegas, I’d have to get accustomed to showing more skin than usual. “My legs have been killing me. I’ve been on a steady ibuprofen drip for three days now,” I said as I closed my eyes and let my body dip down slowly into the heavenly water.
Instantly, my calves and thighs thanked me for the break.
A slow, deep, alluring chuckle made me open my eyes. “I’ve asked you every day if you were sore or not.”
My hands itched to reach out and touch his chiseled jaw—currently covered in the most divine five o’clock shadow. “I didn’t want you to stop our sessions,” I replied, my eyes drifting down to his smiling lips.
“Gigi, let’s face it. You need my help.”
I took the opportunity to splash his handsome face with water. He laughed and went to return the favor. As quickly as I could, I stood up, suddenly remembering the stupid curlers in my hair.
Freaking Jillian. I was going to kill her for humiliating me like this. I’d totally forgotten about my damn hair. “No, no, no, I can’t get these wet,” I said, covering my head with my hands.
Beau’s eyes dropped right to my chest before they hit my eyes again. “What the hell is in your hair, anyway?” he asked, his eyes on mine now.
I sat back down, feeling like I’d possibly invented a new shade of embarrassment. “Jillian has a lifestyle blog and she tests out products. Sometimes that means she tests them out on us.”
“A lifestyle blog?” he asked, seeming a bit confused at the concept.
“You know, where she posts about different makeups, hair dyes, clothes, stuff like that.”
“And crazy ass hair shit?”
“And crazy ass hair shit. Some of it’s pretty cool and her sponsors ship all kinds of things for her to show on social media and her live channel.”