My hands shake a little as I get undressed. This is insane. I’m about to get half-naked with a fictional character who somehow materialized in my house, and charged a spa experience to my credit card.
The black bikini I packed suddenly feels too small and revealing. It’s a simple two-piece, nothing too scandalous, but when I catch my reflection in the full length mirror tucked into the alcove, I realize it shows more skin than I’ve revealed to anyone in months.
“You okay in there?” Ryder’s voice carries over the sound of water lapping against stone.
“Fine,” I answer, sounding unsure even to myself. Wrapping one of the plush robes tightly around my body, I clear my throat. “Just... need a minute.”
When I step out from behind the screen, Ryder is already lounging in the largest pool, arms stretched across the stone ledge, water lapping at his chest. Head tilted toward the ceiling,his dark hair is slicked back. Steam rises around him as rivulets run down his shoulders and the tattoos covering his torso, like he’s some sort of mythical sex god.
He looks up at me and his eyes go molten. “You planning to swim in that robe?”
“Maybe.” I clutch the terry cloth tight. “This was your idea, remember? I never agreed to getting in the water.”
“Come on, kitten,” he growls, voice low and coaxing. “The water’s perfect. And those mineral properties our guide told us about? They’re supposed to ease tension.”
“I don’t have any tension.”
He snorts. “Right. And I’m not sitting here waiting with bated breath to see what you’re hiding from me underneath that fluffy robe.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Ryder...”
“Just get in the damn water, Noia. I promise to behave.”
His gruff but gentle tone makes me pause. When was the last time I actually did something that scared me? Or let myself be vulnerable with someone?
Before I lose my nerve, I drop the robe.
Ryder goes completely still, his eyes traveling slowly from my face down to my toes and back up again, lingering on the curves of my hips, and the swell of my breasts barely contained by the tiny swatch of black fabric.
“Fuck me,” he breathes before squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if to clear it.
I quickly slip into the water, grateful when the hot mineral-rich liquid covers me up to my shoulders. The temperature is perfect—hot enough to make my muscles relax instantly, but not so hot I can’t breathe.
“Better?” Ryder asks, his voice sounding strained.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The pool is smaller than it looked from the outside, and even though we’re sitting onopposite sides, it feels almost as if the heat is radiating from his body alone.
We sit in silence, relaxing, for about ten minutes before I speak up.
“So,” I say, desperate to break the tension. “What happens now? Do we just... sit here?”
“We could talk.” He leans back against the stone edge, arms spread wide. “Get to know each other better.” His eyes are hooded but focused, like a predator stalking its prey. “Ask me anything.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”
“Yup. I’m an open book.”
“Ha, ha. Okay...” I take a deep breath, the steam making my head feel a little fuzzy. “What’s it feel like? Being fictional and then suddenly... not?”
He considers, jaw working as he thinks. “It’s like waking up from a dream you didn’t know you were having. Everything that happened before feels... hazy. Like memories that aren’t quite mine. But every moment since I showed up in your living room? Crystal clear.”
I watch the water ripple around his shoulders as he shifts, moving a fraction closer to me, then he pauses, running a hand through his wet hair. “I’m starting to remember things. Things you didn’t write.”
My heart skips a beat. “Like what?”
“Like my apartment above a tattoo shop and the smell of coffee from the café next door. My motorcycle—a 1976 Triumph Bonneville that I rebuilt myself.” His eyes grow distant. “I remember a woman named Claire who taught me how to ink my first tattoo. A dog named Rookie I had as a kid.”
“That sounds impossible,” I whisper. “I never wrote any of that.”
