Page 83 of Heart Breaker

Wes’s jaw flexes, a muscle ticking near his cheek. I nervously smooth a hand over my hip, beginning to question my outfit under his gaze.

“Wes…”

His eyes slowly drop again, so deliberately it makes my pulse stumble. Heat creeps up my neck. His jaw flexes again like he’s having an argument with himself. “Fuck.”

I suck my bottom lip under my teeth. “Is that a good fuck or a bad fuck?”

His eyes take their time on their journey back up. “Let’s just say I’m starting to really regret the rules we made, Lottie, because if you weren’t off-limits, I’d skip the damn spa and push you up against those windows and bury my cock between your legs.”

This man and his mouth.

“You’re going to have a small problem in front of the masseuse if you keep looking at me like that,” I tease.

“There’s nothing small about it, but you already know that.”

I inhale sharply. The look he’s giving me right now isn’t helping. We’re only a few hours into this trip and I have no idea how we’re supposed to survive three entire days alone together.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Lottie.”

The teasing disappears from his voice entirely as heat rises in my cheeks.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

Wes’s eyes linger on mine for a second longer before he clears his throat. “Come on, Peach. We have a massage to get to.”

We ride the elevator down to the spa in silence. The scent of eucalyptus hits me the moment the doors open. Everything is soft lighting, stone, and quiet music. The woman at the reception desk checks us in and then directs us toward separate change rooms. I take off all of my clothes except for my panties and wrap myself in a plush white robe. The thing is so soft I briefly consider stealing it, but then I remember my husband is a millionaire and would probably buy me ten of them if I ask him nicely. The thought makes me smile.

A spa attendant opens the door to our treatment room and gestures me inside. When I step through the doorway, I immediately forget about the robe, the place, the massage. I can barely remember my own name.

Wes is standing beside one of the massage tables with his back to me wearing nothing but a pair of fitted black boxer briefs. Broad shoulders, powerful arms, and defined deltoids and biceps on display. The ridges of his triceps and the muscles in his shoulders shift beneath his skin as he adjusts the sheet.

As if sensing me, he turns, and our eyes meet. Having his eyes on me makes me lightheaded. They stay on mine as he settles onto the massage table, stretching out on his stomach, folding his arms under his head.

“We talked about this back in the room.” I warn, crossing my arms. “Remember what might happen if you keep staring at me like that?”

“I’m aware.” His gaze doesn’t waver. Not even a little.

“Yet you keep staring.”

He smiles. “I’m willing to take the risk.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” I ask, fighting a smile.

Wes nods, completely unbothered. The man doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact that he’s enjoying himself.

Shaking my head, I untie the belt of my robe until the fabric parts slightly. Wes’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but I catch it and judging by the way his gray eyes darken, he doesn’t particularly care that I did.

I turn my back to him, the movement automatic after having spent most of my life making sure people never see my scar. I let the robe slip from my shoulders until the fabric pools at my feet and I’m naked from the waist up.

I pull back the sheet and climb onto the massage table beside him, settling on my stomach and folding my arms beneath my chin just like him. Wes watches me with an intensity so fierce, it makes it difficult to remember how to breathe normally.

A slow smile tugs at his mouth. “You’re going to be the death of me this weekend, Peach.” The words are low and gravelly.

“That’s a lot of pressure for a girl to live with.”

By the time we leave the spa, I’m so relaxed I’m not entirely convinced I still have bones. My limbs feel loose, my skin warm, and whatever tension I’d been carrying around in my shoulders has packed its bag and left town. It felt good to relax and turn down the volume of the noise I’ve been living with for so long. My legs feel like overcooked noodles as we walk side by side back to our suite.

I turn my face toward Wes. “Do you do this all the time, or is it strictly a honeymoon thing?”