I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re joking.”
He raises his brows, all mock innocence. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“No,” I say flatly, though I can’t quite fight my grin. “But you must be, because it’s an insane suggestion.”
“Not insane,” he argues, setting his glass down. “Don’t over think it, Mads. It’s a big tub. I’ll stay on my side; you stay on yours. No accidental footsie, nothing scandalous. We’ll be completely professional.”
I arch a brow at him over the rim of my glass. “Nothing about this seems professional.”
He lifts a shoulder in mock innocence. “Sure, it is. We’re just decompressing after a long week. It’s practically team building.”
I snort. “Team building?”
He nods his head, draining what’s left in his glass.
“Well, there’s no point talking about it because even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I don’t have a swimsuit.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “You have a bra and underwear, don’t you?”
“Jesse—”
“What?” He lifts a shoulder, walking toward the jacuzzi and flipping on the jets, the sound of the bubbling water filling the room. “I didn’t bring trunks either. But that’s what boxer-briefs are for.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh because one, I’m drunk and two, the thought of saying yes doesn’t sound as crazy as it should. I stare at him, waiting for him to give up on this ridiculous idea. He doesn’t. Instead, he leans over the edge of the tub, testing the water temperature with his hand, completely unbothered.
God, he’s actually serious. “I can’t believe you’re actually serious.”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes glinting with amusement. “Come on, Madeline. You’ve been overthinking everything since the day I met you. It’s just water. And bubbles. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I feel the blush that creeps up my cheeks at that. “Five minutes,” I warn, not quite believing I’m agreeing to this. “Then I’m out.”
His grin turns triumphant. “Deal.”
I grab my glass for courage and make my way to the bathroom, muttering under my breath the entire time.You’re out of your mind. You are not doing this. You are a grown woman with self-control and boundaries.
I close the door behind me and lean against the counter, staring at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed—champagne and bad decisions in full effect. I let out a groan, set my glass down, and start unbuttoning my blouse.
“It’s fine,” I tell myself, stripping down to my bra and underwear. “It’s basically a swimsuit. A very flimsy, very terrible swimsuit.”
I knot my hair into a loose bun, take one last deep breath for courage, and step back into the suite with a towel wrapped around me.
The sound of the bubbling jets fills the air. Jesse’s standing beside the tub now, back to me, bare from the waist up, wearing only black boxer briefs that ride low on his hips. Every muscle in his back flexes as he turns the water dial, broad shoulderstapering down to a lean, sculpted frame that looks unfairly perfect under the soft light.
He glances over his shoulder and grins, looking entirely too aware of my reaction. “Stop stressing. Look, it’s roomy.”
“Right,” I manage, my voice catching halfway out of my throat. “Very roomy.”
He turns, gesturing toward the opposite side of the tub, and my breath catches before I can stop it.
The front of him is just as devastating as the back. A hard chest with smooth skin, muscles cut and defined in all the right places, a dusting of dark hair covering his very sculpted pecs. A tattoo curls under his ribs, the ink drawing my eye before I can look away. Everything about him radiates strength and confidence, the kind that should come with a warning label. Heat floods my face when my gaze flicks lower to the imprint behind his briefs.Oh. There is no ignoring what’s right there.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Stop lusting over your boss.
“Are you okay?”
I groan cracking an eye open. “You have abs…”
He chuckles, way too pleased with himself. “Is that why you can’t look at me?”
