I cross the small room and reach for the door, my rationale justified again with Noah reaching for the handle and letting me pass through first. A perfect gentleman, indeed.
Back in the waiting room, the spa attendant mentions part of our package includes time in their common area. Ready to put a little more space between us, I follow her directions and find an open room with a hot tub, lounging chairs, and then doors to both a sauna and steam room.
I cross the stone floor, my spa-issued flip flops pattering with each step, and reach the steam room, where I step behind a partition and switch my robe for a towel wrap. Leaving the sandals in the designated cubby, I cinch the wrap tight at my chest and step into the humidity. The heat and moisture seem to pull every ounce of desire from me, leaving me to sweat out my arousal. I sink onto one of the stone benches and lean my head up against the wall.
It isn’t until a form of a person sits and grazes my thigh that I know Noah has followed me in. Suddenly self conscious in the towel wrap, I adjust and put an extra inch of space between us.
“I’m sorry about the credit card,” he murmurs. “You’ve expressed your discomfort, both broadly and with this specifically, and I dismissed it. Forgive me?”
I wave my hand. “Riley worked magic and pushed all my aggression out through my toes. I don’t think I could summon an ounce of anger if I tried.”
Noah laughs. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
He too, has a towel wrap, but his is cinched at the waist, his top half bare. His abs curve smoothly into the top of his towel, a faint trail of hair from his belly button disappearing beneath the soft fabric. Trying to remind myself of our roles, I wonder for amoment what it would be like to be sitting in a steam room with Spencer, or Ben, or any of the other people from work.
My awareness for Noah’s proximity heightens and I suck in a breath. The warm air swirls in my lungs, thick and suffocating. My head spins and I lean forward to grip the edge of the cedar bench.
“Woah,” I moan.
The lightheadedness intensifies and I stand up to get out of the heat. Noah follows, his hand at my elbow. My foot slips against the slick stone, but Noah wraps his arms around my waist and keeps me on my feet. He smells like his usual juniper musk mixed with eucalyptus, and I smile at how the combination of the steam and his essence leaves me loopy. His body is solid and warm, our skin slipping together where it touches. Greased up and godlike, indeed.
“Let’s get you out of here,” he mumbles, nudging me towards the door.
The outside air shocks my lungs and I stiffen, but Noah doesn’t release me. Instead, he ushers me towards a lounging chair, and by the time I lower onto it, I’m drenched in mortification. I sit with my head in my hands while he goes to retrieve a glass of spa water. He nudges my shoulder when he returns, and I stare at the condensation sticking to the plastic cup in his hand.
“Drink this. All of it.”
The command is so stern, I can’t help but obey. Noah sinks down onto the footrest and grabs my feet to place them next to him on the cushion. His fingertip traces the snake tattoo that wraps around my ankle and up my shin. The fantasy of him massaging me comes surging to the front of my mind and I take another gulp of water, trying hard not to spit it out when his hands don’t retreat right away.
“Do your tattoos have meaning, or are they just for fun?”
Focusing on the way he’s asking instead of assuming every tattoo has a story, I swallow hard.
“A little bit of both.”
He nods. “I’d like to hear about them sometime.”
While every other mention of a future friendship has been work related, this casual reference to something so personal brings back the intoxicated thrill of the steam room. He wants to know aboutme.
Cheryl and Tom stumble out of the dry sauna, their laughter breaking the moment. I curl my legs up and away from Noah’s hand, suddenly uncomfortable with the casual closeness being on display. While the act of him touching my leg wouldn’t have broken our charade, there is something about this exchange that’s too real to include in our public pretending.
“We have to apologize, “ Cheryl says. “But I don’t think we will be able to do dinner this evening. Tom is”—she pauses and giggles—“well, let’s just say it. Tom drank too much. I need to get him home and into bed before he does something stupid. We’ve already called Lance for you and he’ll be at the valet station whenever you two are ready to head home. Stay and have dinner if you’d like. The club has excellent food and we already have a reservation.”
Although part of me wants to go home and close myself into the bedroom far away from Noah’s gaze and feathery fingertips, a meal in public is probably a better line of defense.
“We’ll figure something out, no problem,” I say.
Noah stands and shakes Tom’s hand. “Thanks for the great round. You really showed me out there.”
Tom chuckles. “I think you let me win.”
Noah fakes a wound and smiles. “I would never.”
The older couple make their way to the far hallway and disappear towards the locker rooms. Once they are gone, Noah sinks back onto the chair.
“Are you up for dinner?”
I assume he’s talking about the near fainting spell and nod. “I’m better. I think it was just the steam.”
