“I can stay,” he said. “If you want.”
I pretended this was purely logistical. “That would be wise.”
We started walking, and I stuck to the convenient fiction that this was about safety, despite the fact that my pulse clearly had other opinions.
Chapter 4
Liam
The pathto the spa curved up into the rock, stone worn smooth by time and heat and people who knew a good thing when they found it. Pine Hollow had built the tub straight into the mountain, so the natural stone rose around it. Steam rolled low and steady, catching the light from the lanterns bolted into the rock face. The water glowed from the moon, bright and inviting. Quiet. Private.
Zoey stopped short when she saw it.
The lantern light caught the blue in her hair when she turned her head. I hadn’t noticed how bright it was before.
“Oh,” she said on a reverent breath. “Okay, I get it. It really is beautiful here.”
I checked the railing—secure—then the steps—dry. When I offered my arm, she took it without comment, which I decided counted as trust. She moved carefully, keeping her weight off her ankle, her attention split between the ground and the view. Overhead, the sky glittered with a myriad of stars, as if it was showing off for her.
“This is obscene,” she said. “In the best way.”
I smiled.
She sat on the edge and lowered her toes into the water. Her shoulders sagged, like her body had been waiting for permission to let go of tension. A few strands of blue slipped forward over her shoulder when she leaned down.
“Should I put my foot in with the bandage on?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I’ll rewrap it after. It won’t take long.”
She studied me for a second, nodded. “If you do it wrong, I’ll never let you forget it.”
“That seems excessive.”
“I’m very consistent,” she said.
I nodded. “Fair enough.”
I knelt beside her and unfastened the tape slowly, careful not to tug. The bandage came loose under my fingers, warm from her skin. I kept my focus on the task. Still, the pull was there just from the brief touches of skin against skin, sharp and unwelcome. I had not felt this in a long time.
She was a guest, and I worked here, which should have made the line between us clearer than it was.
“Do people usually behave themselves up here?” she asked.
“No,” I answered honestly. “They don’t even pretend to.”
She huffed a laugh. “Figures.”
Once the bandage was off, I stood and held out my hand. She braced herself on her good foot and rose, steady but cautious. Then she did something unexpected.
She gripped the hem of her shirt and lifted it with no visible rush and no sign she intended to spare me. I looked away immediately, counting lanterns and checking the waterline, trying my damnedest to remain professional.
By the time I looked back, she was standing in her bra and underwear, as calm as can be, as if this was a totally normal thing to do in the middle of the night and not a direct assault on my self-control. She held my gaze, daring me to look.
I did, and when I did, I was done for.
She was tall and lean with long, tan legs that seemed to go on for days. Her smooth, bare skin glistened in the moonlight, and my eyes tracked a path up to the dark fabric that sat low on her hips, concealing little.
My gaze dragged higher before I could stop it. Her breasts would be a perfect handful, perky and full. I could see the outline of her nipples through the fabric.
