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“You don't have to.”

He turns back to me.

I point at his face. “That face. Right there. That's exactly what I'm talking about.”

“Pick up the weights.”

“Yes, sir.” I salute him.

His eyes narrow.

I reach for the five-pound dumbbells.

Roman steps closer. “No.”

I freeze. “What?”

“Your form.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Several things.”

“So fix it.”

He starts explaining.

I immediately cut him off. “You've been telling me things for twenty minutes.”

“And you've ignored half of them.”

“Only the boring half.”

His jaw tightens.

I smile.

Roman exhales through his nose, then steps behind me. My pulse immediately kicks. His chest brushes my back. His hand closes around mine. His voice is low beside my ear. “Thumb here.”

I swallow. “Okay.”

He adjusts my grip. “Wrist straight.”

His other hand slides lightly along my forearm. Every thought in my head disappears until only he remains.

Roman smells like soap, sweat, and something warm I can't name. Danger, probably. Sexy, emotionally unavailable danger.

“There.”

I stare at our reflection.

His body behind mine. His hand over mine. His face near my temple. This is significantly better than Pilates.

Roman catches my gaze in the mirror. “Focus.”

“I am.”

“On the weight.”