out?”
“I work out six days and then take a day off. I do some pretty intense circuits, but I change it up a lot so I challenge myself and don’t get bored. For cardio, I run, bike, swim or paddle.”
“Paddle?”
“Standing on a surfboard and paddling.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve done that at the beach. Wouldn’t that be kind of easy for you?”
He grinned. “It helps me work on my balance. And variety is good. And on top of all that, I try to surf seven days a week, if I can.” He grimaced. After a few more crunches, he said, “You surf?”
“Sure. I’m not that great.”
“Like I am.” He grinned and relaxed onto the mat, hands behind his head.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, not like you, Mr. Modesty.”
“Oh come on. I know I’m good. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
She had to chuckle, the twinkle in his eye making light of his boasting. “I suppose.”
“I’m sure you’re good at your job too.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” If only Barrett would acknowledge that. Oh well. “I’m glad to hear you say that actually.”
“What? That you’re good at your job?”
“You said, ‘at your job too ’. Which means you consider surfing your job.”
“Of course it’s my job.”
Breathing was getting harder, but she continued. “Yes, it is. And that’s why you need to be more serious about it. Obviously, you take the physical part of it seriously.” She gave a short gesture to the gym. “You take your workouts seriously and you try to eat right.”
“Yeah.” He lifted his head and eyed her. “I do take it seriously.”
“You need to take the business part of it seriously too, though.”
“Fuuuuuck. Another lecture.” His head fell back to the mat.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry.”
He began to stretch and they finished their workouts amiably, but when they returned to her room together, she suddenly realized that she needed a shower, and probably so did he. And he had no room to go back to. Shit.
Inside her room, he appeared to have the same realization. He’d already stripped his damp T-shirt over his head when he paused. “Uh…you going to let me use your shower?”
She held back her smile. “You’ll owe me.”
He gave a slow sexy smile in return. “Oh yeah? Owe you what?” He moved closer.
“No more pushback about going back to San Amaro. As soon as the airport opens,” she added.
He rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“I know. Go on.”
“Wanna come too? We could be efficient…conserve water…”
She laughed. “No.”
“Fine.” He disappeared into the bathroom and she heard the shower start. She turned on the television to try to check for some kind of weather update, but all she got was a blank screen. Great. No TV now either. They’d have to go down to the lobby and check with hotel staff about what was happening with the storm.
He emerged from the bathroom a short time later in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his lean hips, dangerously low and not concealing the bulge at his groin. She dragged her gaze away and bolted into the bathroom for her own shower, locking the door behind her. How on earth had this happened? Here she was sharing a hotel room with Dylan Schell. This was nuts.
Her eyes fell on the small black toiletry bag sitting unzipped on the counter. With one finger, she tugged it open and peeked inside. Razor, antiperspirant, hairbrush…and a small bottle with a white plastic lid. Nibbling her lower lip, she carefully poked at it until she could see the label. Pantoloc. Probably what he said it was. That sounded familiar, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t a narcotic or something. But there was another bottle beneath it. Hating herself, she slipped the Pantoloc out of the way to read the other label. Effexor. Both bottles were nearly full, but the date on the Effexor was from almost a year ago whereas the Pantoloc was brand new. She’d need to do a Google search.
Guiltily, she pushed the bag
“I work out six days and then take a day off. I do some pretty intense circuits, but I change it up a lot so I challenge myself and don’t get bored. For cardio, I run, bike, swim or paddle.”
“Paddle?”
“Standing on a surfboard and paddling.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve done that at the beach. Wouldn’t that be kind of easy for you?”
He grinned. “It helps me work on my balance. And variety is good. And on top of all that, I try to surf seven days a week, if I can.” He grimaced. After a few more crunches, he said, “You surf?”
“Sure. I’m not that great.”
“Like I am.” He grinned and relaxed onto the mat, hands behind his head.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, not like you, Mr. Modesty.”
“Oh come on. I know I’m good. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
She had to chuckle, the twinkle in his eye making light of his boasting. “I suppose.”
“I’m sure you’re good at your job too.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” If only Barrett would acknowledge that. Oh well. “I’m glad to hear you say that actually.”
“What? That you’re good at your job?”
“You said, ‘at your job too ’. Which means you consider surfing your job.”
“Of course it’s my job.”
Breathing was getting harder, but she continued. “Yes, it is. And that’s why you need to be more serious about it. Obviously, you take the physical part of it seriously.” She gave a short gesture to the gym. “You take your workouts seriously and you try to eat right.”
“Yeah.” He lifted his head and eyed her. “I do take it seriously.”
“You need to take the business part of it seriously too, though.”
“Fuuuuuck. Another lecture.” His head fell back to the mat.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry.”
He began to stretch and they finished their workouts amiably, but when they returned to her room together, she suddenly realized that she needed a shower, and probably so did he. And he had no room to go back to. Shit.
Inside her room, he appeared to have the same realization. He’d already stripped his damp T-shirt over his head when he paused. “Uh…you going to let me use your shower?”
She held back her smile. “You’ll owe me.”
He gave a slow sexy smile in return. “Oh yeah? Owe you what?” He moved closer.
“No more pushback about going back to San Amaro. As soon as the airport opens,” she added.
He rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“I know. Go on.”
“Wanna come too? We could be efficient…conserve water…”
She laughed. “No.”
“Fine.” He disappeared into the bathroom and she heard the shower start. She turned on the television to try to check for some kind of weather update, but all she got was a blank screen. Great. No TV now either. They’d have to go down to the lobby and check with hotel staff about what was happening with the storm.
He emerged from the bathroom a short time later in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his lean hips, dangerously low and not concealing the bulge at his groin. She dragged her gaze away and bolted into the bathroom for her own shower, locking the door behind her. How on earth had this happened? Here she was sharing a hotel room with Dylan Schell. This was nuts.
Her eyes fell on the small black toiletry bag sitting unzipped on the counter. With one finger, she tugged it open and peeked inside. Razor, antiperspirant, hairbrush…and a small bottle with a white plastic lid. Nibbling her lower lip, she carefully poked at it until she could see the label. Pantoloc. Probably what he said it was. That sounded familiar, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t a narcotic or something. But there was another bottle beneath it. Hating herself, she slipped the Pantoloc out of the way to read the other label. Effexor. Both bottles were nearly full, but the date on the Effexor was from almost a year ago whereas the Pantoloc was brand new. She’d need to do a Google search.
Guiltily, she pushed the bag
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