Crush On You Page 4

  “Ah, ah….” I hold up a hand in the air. “You can test gift shop merchandise to your heart’s content, Miss London, but you can’t get out of taking the grand tour.” A pleasant pink color comes to her cheeks. I never thought I’d feel any sense of triumph at making Genevieve Starlight blush. “Get changed. I’ll meet you in the lobby in five.”

  I turn away from the desk before she can argue and head back out into the lobby. I left rather abruptly before. Greg probably needs some reassurance that he’s not going to get let go before the trial period is out, and if I get any closer to her in that skirt suit, I don’t know what’ll happen. If she shimmies out of it while I’m standing here….

  All I know is that it will be one hundred percent inappropriate for the office.

  “But I have work….” The protest coming over my shoulder is weak.

  I wave it off. “Get changed.”

  * * *

  Out in the golden sunrise light of morning, Jenny walks next to me with her head held high.

  She looks dynamite in the yoga outfit I chose for her to wear.

  It’s not from the gift shop, though the sight of her in the curve-hugging spandex makes me think we should start stocking it. I had it delivered from an exercise boutique in town, and it was worth every penny.

  Her dark hair is twisted into a low knot at the back of her neck, and she has a yoga mat in its holder slung over her right shoulder. “I take it we’re not swimming, then?” She cuts her eyes across at me, and I catch an impish sparkle playing there.

  “After yesterday? I don’t think so.”

  She sniffs. “I thought yesterday was quite successful.”

  “I thought yesterday was—” I stop myself before the words unbearably sexy slip from my mouth. It was unbearable, but I wouldn’t call the erection that strained the front of the swim trunks sexy. “I thought yesterday put us on uneven footing.”

  Jenny looks at me like she has no idea what I mean. “You want me in front of the camera?”

  “No. I want me calling the shots. That’s why we’re going to take a class of my choosing. You need to get acquainted with the resort and all it has to offer before you start making decisions that are going to affect our brand image.”

  “I see.” I’ll be damned if I don’t see a satisfied smile punctuating her lips. Maybe it’s a product of my imagination, because before I know it, she’s turned a serious eye to the path ahead of us. “Is this beach yoga?”

  “Yes. We offer morning sessions five days a week.”

  She nods as we reach the end of the wooden walkway and head out onto the sand. A couple of years ago, I had a section of rubberized flooring installed about forty feet from the water so nobody twisted their ankle in the sand, and the classes have been a hit.

  Today, the crowd looks bigger than usual. There are already ten people out there, which is…unexpected. As we approach the practice surface, the instructor, a woman named Azalea, bounces over with a delighted expression. “Mr. Bliss!” She claps her hands in front of her. “I didn’t think I’d see you here today.” There’s nothing remotely cautionary in her tone, but there’s something about her expression….

  “It’s a gorgeous morning. I thought I’d bring my new social media manager to experience the class for herself.”

  Azalea looks between the two of us with an even wider grin, then sticks her hand out for Jenny to shake. “I’m Azalea, the instructor for most of the morning classes. So, you’re playing up the romance angle for the resort?”

  Jenny smiles back, wrinkling her nose in a way that’s utterly…adorable. That’s not a word I thought I’d ever use to describe her, but here we are. “I’ll certainly use that strategy at some point.” She cocks her head to the side and lets Azalea’s hand go. “Is this…a particularly romantic yoga class?”

  Azalea laughs. “I guess it doesn’t have to be, but I always see a little more…connection in these kinds of classes. With the sun radiating down, tan skin on the beach….” She shrugs. “It makes you appreciate your partner all the more.”

  “What kind of class is it?” Somehow, Jenny sounds absolutely at ease, as if it couldn’t matter less what kind of class this is.

  “I thought I mentioned it at the very beginning.” Azalea lets out another confident laugh. “It’s couples yoga.”

  7

  Jenny

  My very first instinct when the words “couples yoga” come spilling out of Azalea’s mouth is to run.

  I can sashay out of a pool in front of Roman, sure, but there was a reason I was never in the drama club’s musicals in high school. The reason was that they always involved dance numbers, and they always, always involved dancing with a partner. That kind of intimate touch is on another plane from what I was prepared to deal with this morning.

  A hell of a lot of tension in the office since I pulled the stunt with the bikini? Yes. Roman’s hands on me in some sensual exercise scenario? No, no, no, a thousand times no.

  That devious, sly bastard.

  It’s like he knows I spent all last night in my employee bungalow using a cold compress to lower the temperature in my cheeks. I was a firework that burned too bright. I used up all my sexy energy yesterday in order to get the upper hand.

  The thing about getting the upper hand is that you have to do something with it. It’s not unlike a game of hot potato with an actual hot potato. I’m serious. I still haven’t quite recovered. Plus, I thought the smartest move would be to pull the old switcheroo on Roman. I had my brief, shining moment as the ultra-confident bikini-wearing goddess, and then I transformed back into the real me, wearing my skirt suit like a shield of armor.

  I should have know Roman Bliss was not so easily bested. When he showed up with that gift basket—

  Running. I was thinking about running, but Roman is still chatting easily with Azalea as though the prospect of couples yoga doesn’t faze him at all. Meanwhile, the most I’ve done is take a tiny step backward. It’s hardly a full-on sprint.

  “—started in a couple minutes, okay? By the way, I love your outfit. You’ll have to tell me where you got it,” Azalea is saying to me. She gives me a casual wink, which I didn’t think was possible until this moment, and blessedly heads back toward the giant sand mat to gather herself before the class. At least I don’t have to say my boss gave me this outfit in a gift basket to get back at me.

  “You ready?” Roman says. He has brought along his own mat in a holder, slung over his shoulder just like mine, and it reminds me of a quiver when he stretches his glorious biceps above his head. “Azalea’s one of the best-rated instructors we’ve ever had at Bliss, so that’s probably something you’ll want to include in your social media campaigns.”

  “Sure. Of course.” His eyes are so blue. They’re a mix of sunlight and shadow, a mix of dusk and dawn, and I honestly can’t tell what he’s hoping to get out of this. He can’t possibly be getting revenge for yesterday.

  No. He absolutely can be doing that.

  “I think I’ve time-traveled,” he says. I’m staring at him like he’s a mystery egg about to hatch, though of course Roman is giving no sign of revealing his secrets.

  Stand up straight—confident women don’t slouch. I pull myself upright and plaster on the winning smile I practiced so many times in the mirror after my high school exit interview. It took almost two years of college, but I shaped myself into the opposite of what I used to be, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to slip back into those old habits just because we’re about to touch each other’s...hands and waists during couples yoga.

  “To when?” I reach up and pat at my bun, the movement designed to show off the best angle of my chin. “Ah—I know. You miss your time in the pool yesterday. Don’t worry too much. We can plan another shoot.” To my immense pride, my voice doesn’t quiver at all.

  Roman cracks a broad grin. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a model. But I do miss one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Let’s
all gather round and set out our mats,” Azalea calls.

  He turns toward the sand mat, with all the other couples, and it’s not until he’s a few steps away that he answers. “The view.”

  *****

  “Take a deep breath in. Inhale peace. Exhale worry,” Azalea intones.

  I inhale the clean scent of Roman’s skin and try to exhale the fact of his manly sexiness.

  I fail.

  “Plant your feet and spread your toes. Ground yourself in the earth and its energy. Imagine you are a puppet, with a string extending from the top of your head to the outer limits of the sky. Stand tall, palms forward. This is mountain pose.”

  I can guarantee that real mountains do not vibrate with the closeness of Roman Bliss.

  On second thought, maybe they do.

  But I’m pretty sure most mountains haven’t had his hands on their hipbones during a half-headstand or whatever it was I tried to do earlier. Most mountains haven’t stood palm to palm with Roman, looking easily into the eyes of another human treasure. At least, that’s what I think Azalea said. I had partially blacked out from sheer proximity and from the fact of doing downward dog in front of him multiple times, extending my hips toward the resort.

  And, by extension, toward Roman’s face.

  “Partners in the second row, step forward and place your hands on the waist of your partner.”

  Roman doesn’t even hesitate. His hands are on my waist almost instantly, those big, strong hands.

  “Add your encouragement to your partner’s pose with gentle intention. You are both grounding them and raising them to the sky, as the earth—”

  Her voice fades out, a staticky radio, as Roman’s breath brushes the back of my neck.

  “Feel free to lean into the hands of your partner as you would lean into the earth,” Azalea says, and God help me, I do it. Just a little. Just to see what it’s like. I may never get another chance to do something like this before I die, and I would hate to—

  Something skitters across the top of my foot.

  With a strangled screech, I jump a few inches into the air. What is it, what is it, what is it? I pick up my left foot and brush it over my right. Even in abject terror, I try to maintain the palms forward pose, and in the process of trying to brush both feet with the other foot I find myself tipping fully into Roman’s arms.

  “I’m fine,” I call breathlessly, raising my gaze to discover that Azalea is looking at me with a healthy dose of concern while the rest of the class is struggling to ignore me like an impassive mountain range.

  “Everything all right?” She’s so genuinely worried.

  “Yeah,” Roman says, and I swear to God that he’s laughing. Not outright, but I hear the amusement in his voice. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes.” It’s the last thing I want to do in the world, but I push myself away from the steady embrace of his arms and resume mountain pose, closing my eyes as gently as possible.

  “Take a deep breath in,” Azalea says. “Exhale doubt.”

  Roman puts his hands back on my waist, and I exhale a shuddering breath instead of doubt.

  “It was a miniature tumbleweed,” he murmurs into my ear.

  “What?” I hiss back.

  “The thing that rolled over your foot. It was a miniature tumbleweed, made out of the tendrils of some beach grass.”

  Heat rushes to my face. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I just want you to know that you’re in good hands at Bliss Resort.”

  I have to stifle a snort, and I’m partially unsuccessful. “You can prevent insects from crawling on your sand mat? That’s impressive.”

  “Not as impressive as you.” He says this with such warmth that I almost fall for it. I almost fall into it. Would it be so bad if I turned around and put my arms around his neck? I need a breather from the intensity of this yoga class. “I can’t wait to see how you position this on our social media accounts.”

  Yes. Work. I detach myself from the steadying influence of his hands on my waist and clear my throat. “Speaking of social media, I’d better get some pictures.” Roman brought the camera, and we put it on the edge of the mat. I can feel his eyes on me as I go to get it, but by the time I’ve turned back to the class, he’s in mountain pose, eyes straight ahead.

  I snap a few shots of the sunrise, then grab a few back up down the beach to get some anonymous shots of the class. By the time I’ve finished, Azalea is giving us the old namaste and setting us free.

  The rest of the couples scatter, and after a minute, Roman’s the only one left. He’s gathered up both of our mats and bags, and I get the sense he’s watching me very carefully.

  “So,” he says, as we make our way back toward the office. “What did you think?”

  “It was good.” I keep it neutral.

  We continue walking, accompanied only by our weighted silence, to the hotel and through the lobby.

  “I hope you’re not embarrassed about the tumbleweed,” he says, as we pass by my office.

  “I hope you’re not embarrassed about the pool,” I shoot back, then wink and blow him a kiss before closing the door in his face.

  8

  Roman

  Jenny shuts herself in her office for the rest of the morning, and I’m left to wonder how Genevieve Starlight grew into a woman with that killer instinct.

  I swear I had her during that yoga class. Her cheeks were on fire and she bit at her lip in such a pretty fashion that I knew I was getting under her skin. Turnabout is fair play. She got under mine, I got under hers, and then....

  I hope you’re not embarrassed about the pool.

  That could only mean one thing. She must have been paying careful attention to the fit of my suit when I climbed out of the pool.

  I’m sure as hell not embarrassed about that. I’m hardly the only man who would react to that bathing suit—and that dive—the way I did.

  A knock at the door of my office saves me from a repeat performance of my reaction to the red bikini.

  “Word on the street is that the new social media manager dresses exclusively in beachwear,” Beau proclaims from the door, grinning. He’s brought Charlie with him. They’re identical twins, but they couldn’t be more opposite in personality.

  I wave them both into the office and stand up from my chair to stretch. “Did you come here just to gawk? I’m sorry to disappoint you, but our new hire is busy working at this time. And her attire is of no concern to you.”

  Beau raises his eyebrows. “I shall never inquire again, your highness.”

  I give him a look. “If that’s all you came to see me for—”

  “That might be all he came here for.” Charlie sounds exasperated, as usual. “But I came to discuss financials.”

  “God, Charles. Could you be any more boring?” Beau mouths the word right? and rolls his eyes dramatically.

  Charlie doesn’t react to his twin’s reaction, but instead opens the folder he’s carrying and flips through the pages stacked neatly inside. “Aren’t you late for your standing appointment?”

  “What standing appointment?” Beau picks up the stapler from my desk and playfully chomps it at Charlie until he takes a half step backwards.

  “The one at the bar,” Charlie says, and his delivery is so deadpan that it’s actually funny.

  For an instant, a dark expression flashes across Beau’s face that makes me think the flippant joke stings, but it disappears so fast that I’m tricked into thinking it was a product of my imagination. “I don’t have an event planned, no,” Beau shoots back in an icy tone but accompanied with his classic grin. “And, if you must know, I did come here looking for Jenny.” He leans back against the wall next to the door. “She’s not in her office.”

  I shrug as if I couldn’t care less, but a quick stab of disappointment flares in my gut. “She’s probably getting more photos of the resort.”

  “You don’t know?” Beau says with a little gasp. “What kind of manager d
oesn’t keep tabs on the whereabouts of—?”

  “What did you want with her?” I try to keep my tone light, but the truth is that I do want to know where she went. The desire isn’t entirely work-appropriate.

  “Whoa, boy.” Beau raises both hands in the air. “It’s not for any nefarious purposes, I can assure you of that.”

  I settle back down into my chair, trying to appear completely casual. He’s right. I’ve never once pretended to be so possessive over one of my employees. “Something to do with an event?’

  His expression settles, his forehead wrinkling. “Actually, yeah. I know she’s only been here a couple of days, but I think we should coordinate.”

  “Coordinate?’

  “For my events. It makes sense to have someone with photography experience in attendance. We could hire someone from the outside, but that would mean—”

  “That would mean it’s a hard no,” Charlie pipes in.

  Both of us stop to look at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps peering down at the pages he’s sorting through in his folder. “What do you mean, Charlie?”

  He glances up at me. “Only that I came here to recommend that we start tightening our belts.”

  That phrase causes a tightening in my chest. “When it comes to photography, or...?”

  “When it comes to the resort.” Charlie meets my eyes for the first time. “Our father was many things, but one of his talents was running this property on a razor-thin margin. In my opinion, it’s entirely too thin. We don’t have enough wiggle room to continue spending on frivolous expenses.”

  “It’s not a frivolous expense to promote my events,” Beau says, sounding not the least bit bewildered by Charlie’s comment. “They’re the social centerpiece of—”