I nodded, escaping into the bathroom before I could do something stupid like tell her how beautiful she looked.
The shower did nothing to cool the heat under my skin. If anything, the solitude gave my mind too much freedom to replay the events of the day. Not only the massage class, but the way Olivia had looked at me during breakfast, uncertain and hopeful. The way she'd absently twisted her hair into a messy bun while we'd listened to the retreat coordinator outline the day's activities. The split second when her fingers had brushed mine as we'd both reached for the same coffee carafe.
I stayed under the water until my fingers pruned, and my thoughts were slightly less dangerous. When I finally emerged, a towel wrapped around my waist and another draped over my shoulders, Olivia was sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up, her eyes widening slightly before dropping back to her screen. "Feel better?"
"Yeah," I lied, running a hand through my damp hair. "Mind if I...?" I gestured vaguely toward my duffel bag.
"Oh! No, go ahead." She stood quickly. "I'll just... wait on the balcony."
I dressed in record time, pulling on jeans and a clean black t-shirt. "All clear," I called.
She slipped back inside, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. While I’d been in the shower, she'd changed into a simple sundress, the kind of thing she wore around Mustang Mountain in the summer. Nothing fancy, nothing revealing, but somehow it made my mouth go dry.
"Dinner's not for another hour," she said, fiddling with her hair tie. "I was thinking maybe we could explore a little bit more. See if we can find anything else about those property listings?"
Work. Focus on the reason we were here. Not on how the late afternoon light was turning her hair to liquid gold, or how her bare feet made her seem vulnerable.
"Sure," I agreed, reaching for my boots. "Lead the way."
We wandered the resort grounds, maintaining our couple disguise with casual hand holding and the occasional arm around shoulders. Each touch was a small electric shock. Each time she leaned into me to whisper an observation about a staff member or a suspicious-looking door, I had to remind myself this was all for show.
But as the sun began to set and we made our way to the dining room, something in the air had changed. The pretense of our fake marriage was wearing thin, eroding with each glance, each brief touch.
Dinner was a blur of forced small talk with the other couples and picking at a five-star meal I couldn't even taste. Olivia kept twisting her napkin in her lap, her eyes meeting mine then darting away. Under the table, our knees touched occasionally, neither of us pulling away.
Back in our room, we moved around each other like awkward strangers, both reaching for the same light switch, both apologizing when our hands collided reaching for the TV remote.
"We should probably..." Olivia gestured toward the bed.
"Right," I agreed. "Long day tomorrow."
We took turns in the bathroom again, the domestic routine somehow more intimate than the massage had been. When I came out in my usual pajamas, sweats and a worn t-shirt, Olivia was already under the covers, her back to my side of the bed.
I slid in carefully, maintaining the same invisible boundary we'd established the night before.
"Garner?" Her voice was so quiet I almost thought I'd imagined it.
"Yeah?"
She rolled over, her eyes finding mine in the dim light. "Today was..."
"I know," I said, because I did. Because whatever she was struggling to put into words, I felt it too.
She nodded, a small movement against the pillow. Then, with deliberate care, she reached across the space between us and touched my face. Her fingers were cool against my stubbled jaw.
I caught her hand in mine, pressing it more firmly to my cheek. Her breath caught.
"Liv," I whispered, not sure what I wanted to say next.
She moved closer, erasing the careful gap between us. "I don't want to pretend right now," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
The last thread of my restraint snapped. I pulled her against me, one hand sliding into her hair as my mouth found hers. She made a small, desperate sound against my lips, her body melting into mine like she'd been waiting for this her entire life.
Maybe she had. Maybe we both had.
The kiss deepened, years of unspoken longing pouring out in a rush of hands and lips and moans. Her fingers slid under my shirt, tracing the tattoos she'd seen a hundred times but never touched. I mapped the curve of her waist, the arch of her spine, committing every inch to memory.
