Ethan #3
“I get it. The names are… a choice. Bell’s gotten her fair share of comments growing up,” she says.
“Anyway, I promised my sister I’d try to have some fun here, so I bought the package.
I just got the confirmation email, so I’ll book the couple’s massage for us tomorrow.
As for your neck, I have another idea. While I was looking up the hotel’s spa hours, I browsed through their amenities and saw that they have a pool and a hot tub.
You can get a nice soak in tonight and a massage tomorrow. It might help.”
With a reluctant sigh, I plant my hands on my hips. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” I say, because a hot tub does sound pretty great right now. I’ll go along with anything just to subdue the crick in my neck.
On second thought, maybe I should embrace the pain.
Learn to live with it. Grow accustomed to it.
Despite how magical the hot water and the jets are.
And that the relief I’m experiencing is what nirvana has to feel like.
But I’m too busy praying to every Saint I’m aware of to preserve whatever remains of my strength.
Especially when Barbie pops her head out of the water after she completes another lap in the pool and shoves her hands through her hair, and I see her glistening, toned stomach. And a string bikini that leaves little to the imagination.
My eyes pinch closed, and I fight my groan. I know she’s not wearing the tiny two-piece to mess with me. But God help me, my thoughts are plagued with the little white triangles that barely cover anything to think of anything appropriate about my coworker.
I hear the sound of splashing water and barely open my eyes only to get a glimpse of toned, slender legs while she saunters over and wrings her wet hair. “You calling it a day?”
“Huh?” Her brow lifts while she extends a foot over the hot tub. From this angle, I catch sight of her ass, and I’m begging the Saints to throw me a bone and preserve the one ounce of strength I have left in my system. “I want to stew with you for a bit before I hit the shower.”
I snort, and she grins while she slips into the hot tub. “Stew with me?”
“Yeah. Stew with you,” she says. “I haven’t swum in forever, and now I’m feeling a bit sore.” She extends her arms above her head, and I bite back a groan at the swells of her breasts emerging over the water.
“Hey, God? Why are you testing me?” I mutter under my breath, praying for the last shred of my dignity to remain intact.
She throws her head back and dissolves into a burst of laughter. “You think I’m testing you? Why? Because I want to stew with you in the hot tub?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “You got me. I wanted some peace and quiet.”
She sighs. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be here, relaxing for a bit. Operation Ethan will be on pause until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Operation Ethan?” I echo.
“Mmhmm. Operation Ethan,” she says. “Edging This Hiker As Needed.”
“Edging this what?” I splutter, and I’m hacking water out of my lungs moments later before I send a disbelieving stare her way.
“Oh, please, Ethan,” she says. “I felt your eyes on me the entire time I was swimming.”
“There’s no lifeguard on duty,” I say. “Who’s going to spend a week arguing with me over how incorporated is abbreviated if something were to happen to my chatbot?”
Her eyes narrow. “Oh, whoops.” She brings her hands behind her head. “The jets tore my bikini off. It was just so flimsy—”
“Yeah?” I resist the urge to swallow. “You don’t have to come up with excuses if you want to perform a little striptease for me.”
Like last night in the elevator, I know she’s trying to mess with me.
Like last night in the elevator, I won’t make it easy for her.
“I won’t object to a lap dance, either,” I tack on with an innocent smile.
Her glare is lethal. She doesn’t utter a single word as she leans forward and swims toward me, and I regret my sarcastic comment the moment she plants her hands on the edge of the hot tub, bracketing me.
My breath is held captive in my throat when she subtly skims her chest against mine.
It’s only a slight brush. The barest of touch.
The thin scrap of fabric preventing the skin-to-skin contact feels inches thick.
“As much as I’d love to make your year,” she murmurs, dropping her voice to a low, velvety register, “I’d hate to see you pull any more muscles, Ethan.”
She presses into me. I almost grip her hips when she pulls away, amusement curling the edges of her lips while her fingers dip between the valley of her breasts and toy with the string. “Enjoy the show, Ethan, because this is all you’re getting from me tonight.”
Then she turns her back to me with her bikini still intact, swims toward the ladder, and climbs out. I’ve got no idea what the show is supposed to be. Not until she winks over her shoulder and struts off, her hips swinging seductively the entire time.
It’s kind of hot. But it’s also a bit ridiculous, something we’re both well aware of because the moment a snort rips from my throat, she halts midstep, doubles over, and starts cackling.
“Stop laughing!” she protests between her fluttery giggles, slapping her knee. “You’re supposed to be so turned on, you’re rendered speechless.”
“I’m not laughing,” I snicker. I’m pleading the fifth on the latter.
“You are so laughing,” she says. “Just for that, I have the final say on the cover sheets.”
My laughter stops abruptly, but she’s already gone from my line of sight before I can say, Like hell you will.