I stare straight ahead. Shit . . . Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look at him.
“I didn’t know you used the gym at work?” he replies casually.
“Uh-huh.” I smile awkwardly as I keep my eyes straight to the front. What is the correct etiquette for saunas? I mean, I’ve been in here a few times already and never once have I had to concentrate on not looking at anyone.
The air is thick and hot and I find a piece of wood on the back of the door and stare at it. Elliot’s presence is all-consuming and taking up the small space; I can almost feel his nakedness under that towel from here.
Look straight ahead, I remind myself.
Don’t give him the satisfaction of drooling over his muscles. Dammit, why does he have to have them?
“How was your day?” he asks.
“Fine thanks.” I smile. “How was yours?”
“It just got a lot better, thank you.”
My brow furrows, what does that mean? Does that mean it got better when he got in here with me? I run my finger in a circle on the wood on the bench beside me, unsure what to say or where to look.
Or what to think.
My mind wants to go to a dark place and glance over at the golden muscles that I can feel taunting me from my peripheral vision.
But I won’t, I’ll continue to stare straight ahead.
“Do you come to the gym often?” I ask to try and fill the awkward void between us.
“Not often enough,” he says. “I have a gym at home and usually run there at night. But it’s late tonight and I know once I get there I will want to relax. I did a quick half an hour on the treadmill.”
I get a vision of him running, and the sweat dripping down his . . .
I grip the seat beneath me with white-knuckle force. “Oh” is all I can force out of my mouth. I glance down at myself: my black bikini top is covering all my bits.
Just.
What must he think?
“Do you always stare at the wall in the sauna?” Elliot asks.
“Well, it’s a square wooden box.” I shrug. “What am I supposed to look at?”
Elliot lets out a low chuckle and I bite my lip to hide my embarrassed smile. He knows that I’m avoiding looking at him with all my might.
“I don’t know, perhaps the person you’re talking to?” he replies.
I drag my eyes over to him.
“That’s better.” His eyes hold mine and then he gives me a slow, sexy smile.
I feel it in the pit of my stomach as the butterflies flutter.
What the hell is going on here? I swear to God he’s different, but I can’t put my finger on why.
If I didn’t know better, I would even say he’s more than friendly, perhaps a tad flirty. It’s like I’ve missed part of the conversation, but I’m really not sure what it is.
“Why would you like me to look at you, Elliot?” I ask as I focus on looking at his face.
It’s been a long time between drinks for me, and by drinks, I mean sex. I hate to admit it, but after seeing Elliot Miles in his black dinner suit last week, he’s run naked through my mind more than once.
Unable to help it, my gaze drops. Just as I suspected, a thick, broad chest with a scattering of dark hair, chiseled shoulders, and a fifty-pack of stomach muscles. His skin is a beautiful glowing tan. It makes the towel look fluorescent white.
We sit in silence for a few minutes. While he seems perfectly happy with the situation, I just want the earth to swallow me up so I can die. If I stand to leave he gets a full bird’s-eye view of my body.
Warts and all.
I mean, I have a towel, but it’s freaking tiny. Why did I have to be saving space in my damn gym bag?
He leans back and rests against the wall, his stomach muscles contracting as they catch the light.
Don’t look down, whatever you do, don’t fucking look down.
Well, this is just great. I come in here to relax, and instead get a bird’s-eye view of my asshole boss’s hot body.
“How long have you known Daniel?” he asks.
I frown, how does he even remember his name? “Not very long. Why do you ask?”
Elliot’s eyes hold mine and he gives a gentle shrug. “No reason. You said that you were just friends-”
I cut him off. “We are just friends.”
He raises an eyebrow. “He’s very touchy.”
“What? No he isn’t. That’s just his personality. He’s very affectionate.”
“I noticed,” he says dryly.
I stare at him as my brain malfunctions. “Why would you notice that?” I ask. “And more importantly, why would it matter to you?”
“It doesn’t,” he fires back way too fast. “Merely an observation.”
This is bizarre.
If I didn’t know better, I would say he’s a little jealous. But that’s ridiculous and we both know he couldn’t be.
I stare at him as I try to unravel the puzzle. “What’s your problem?” I ask.
“No problem,” he snaps. He stands in a rush, and for the first time I get a full view of his Adonis physique.
Jeez.
Elliot Miles may be a lot of things, but I can confirm with certainty that he looks good in a towel.
Not that I care, of course.
“So, I’ve been thinking about you,” Daniel says as we walk down the street on our way to pick up our Thai takeout, his arm linked through mine.
“What about me?” I ask.
“Don’t take offense at this.”
I roll my eyes. “When someone says don’t take offense, it means they’re going to say something offensive.”
He smiles and his eyes come over to me. “What were you like before your parents died?”
“What do you mean?”
“What were you like? Did you dress different? Did you have hobbies, were you social?”
I drop my head as we walk; nobody has ever asked me this before. “I guess I was . . .” My voice trails off as I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Did you make an effort to look pretty every day?”
I think back and I nod. “Yes.”
“Were you focused on work all the time?”
I shake my head sadly. “Not in the least.”
“Did you have a boyfriend?”
“I did, but we broke up not long after they died.”
“And you haven’t had a long-term relationship since?”
I shrug.
“Baby.” He leans down and kisses my shoulder. “I’ve been wondering why someone as beautiful as you . . . acts the way you do.”
I frown in a question.
“You hide behind your grief, don’t you?”
My eyes well with tears and I drop my head. To hear someone say it out loud . . .
I haven’t been the same since that day, I know I haven’t.
I miss my parents, I miss their unconditional love. And their deaths shouldn’t be about me, but why did they leave me here all alone?
I get a lump in my throat.
I angrily wipe a lone tear away as it escapes. “Stop it, I don’t want to talk about this.”
Daniel kisses my shoulder again. “Okay. We won’t. I should have got the spring rolls, I’m fucking starving,” he says to change the subject. He squeezes my arm.
I fake a smile, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like someone gets me.
I twist the ring around my finger as I stare into space; I’m on the train and on my way home from work, and I’m trying to analyze the last few days. I’ve been busy and preoccupied, but for the life of me, I can’t stop thinking about what Daniel said about me hiding behind my grief.
Is that why I’m so anal at work, because the alternative is to fall apart and lose my job?
If I don’t look pretty, nobody will notice me . . . and my heart can never get broken again.
My mind is a clusterfuck of confusion and, through it all, I can’t get the vision of Elliot Miles in a towel out of my head.
I think about those muscles when I wake up, I think about them when I go to work, I think about them when I go to sleep. In the shower, in the gym, alone in bed . . . you name it, I’ve thunk it. And trust me, the things I’m thinking are going to get me sent straight to hell. Let’s just say that in my dreams Elliot Miles has spent a lot of time with his head between my legs, and boy is his tongue strong. I can almost see my arousal glistening on his lips as he looks up at me, feel the burn of his stubble on my inner thighs.
I keep fantasizing about being summonsed to his office and getting bent over his desk while he has his wicked way with me, and it’s hot and hard and sweaty.
And it goes on and on and on.