Page 32 of Knot Your Sugar

I feel like a sponge cake fresh from the oven: light, airy, and perfectly tender.

I practically float out of the room, wrapped in my fluffy robe, limbs loose and pliant… only to find James emerging from his, looking relaxed and unfairly handsome with his hair slightly mussed. If he looked good in a robe before, now he looks… edible. His usual sharp edges have softened, his skin glows, hiseyes are relaxed, and that infuriating smirk has been replaced by a blissful, almost dopey smile. It’s a surprisingly vulnerable look on him—less calculating alpha competitor, more just… James. A very, very sexy, very relaxed James whose alpha scent has mellowed into a soft, alluring musk.

"Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty," he murmurs, his voice husky and languid. "Or should I say, Snoring Beauty?"

My cheeks flush, but I manage a playful swat at his arm. "Hey! I do not snore. That was the sound ofunadulterated relaxation."

He chuckles, a low, warm sound that does funny things to my newly relaxed nerve endings. He stretches like a cat, and I get an entirely inappropriate glimpse of well-defined pectoral muscle and abs under the robe. My mouth goes a little dry. "Damn, that was good though. I think my spine just realigned itself with the cosmos."

"Tell me about it," I sigh contentedly. "I might actually be able to touch my toes again."

"Well," James says, his eyes glinting with a familiar spark of mischief, though softened by his current state. "According to the very nice masseuse who handed me this delightful cucumber water, we still have this little slice of paradise to ourselves until nine. And I believe there are some pretty famous hot springs calling our names. What do you say, Elena? Care to continue this arduous process of 'relaxing and recharging'?"

* * *

The hot springs area is even more breathtaking than the spa building itself. A series of natural rock pools are terraced into the mountainside, steaming gently in the cool evening air.

We stand in front of the uppermost pool, the most private, partially enclosed by natural rock formations and surrounded by pine trees that frame the panoramic view.

The sun is beginning its descent, painting the sky in watercolor strokes of pink and gold. The lake below mirrors thedisplay, doubling its beauty. In the far distance, mountains rise in coral silhouette, completing a scene so perfect it barely looks real. It's almost too romantic for a fake relationship.Almost.

"This doesn't suck," James says eloquently, which might be the biggest understatement I've ever heard.

I slip off my robe, suddenly self-conscious in my swimsuit. James does the same, and my breath catches. He’s lean, but powerfully built: broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, with the kind of defined core and strong thighs that speak of disciplined strength, not just gym-rat vanity. His body seems built for both power and precision, and my omega brain is humming a little appreciation song.

"Enjoying the view?" he asks, that infuriating smirk making a comeback, though his eyes are warm as he catches me looking.

"The landscape is stunning," I deflect.

"It certainly is," he replies, his eyes very muchnoton the horizon, but on me.

We slide into the hot mineral water, the silky heat seeping into our relaxed muscles. Steam rises around us, golden in the sunset light, creating an otherworldly, intimate atmosphere.

For a while, we just soak in comfortable silence, watching the sunset paint the sky in fiery shades.

"Your idea saved our gingerbread today," James says suddenly. "The stained glass. That was brilliant."

"We did it together," I say, surprised by the genuine compliment.

He shakes his head. "I was ready to scrap the whole thing. You saw a solution where I only saw failure." He looks down, swirling the water. "My father would have thrown the whole batch out and started over, well, if he was a baker. 'Reynolds men don't salvage, they succeed,' he used to say."

The admission startles me. "Sounds like a tough critic."

"And an even tougher construction worker," James replies, looking out toward the horizon. "Built durable things. When I first showed interest in baking, he thought it was just a phase. When it wasn't..." He trails off, then straightens. "Well, nothing motivates like having something to prove, right?"

"Is that why you're so hungry for success?" I ask. "To prove something to him?"

"Maybe," James says after a beat. "He’s old school. Thinks alphas should hunt, build, lead corporate takeovers. Not… 'faff about with fondant and fripperies'." There's a hint of old hurt in his tone. "I guess I just… want him to respect my calling, you know?" He pauses, then turns to me. “Anyway, enough about me. What about you? What’s your big, bad motivation?"

I hesitate, then find myself telling him about Mom, Pierre, my dream of my own little bakery. He listens intently, his gaze never leaving my face.

This is… nice. Unexpectedly so.

As I finish, a gentle hush settles. The water laps gently with the wind, the air cools as the last sliver of sun dips below the horizon, and the first stars begin to prick the darkening sky.

"You know," James says, his voice a low murmur, his eyes dark and focused on me in the twilight, "I’m pretty sure you’re already missing that massage."

He's not wrong. I smile and, feeling bold in this steamy water, turn, presenting my back to him. His hands land on my shoulders, his strong fingers finding those spots Maya worked, kneading with surprising skill. Goosebumps, entirely unrelated to the cooling air, dance down my spine.

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