Page 49 of Risky Match
Fifteen minutes early, I slip quietly out of my room and head downstairs to make sure everything is ready for step two of my plan.
As I step onto the patio, the scene stops me in my tracks. It’s beautiful, peaceful, and secluded. I wish we had more time to enjoy this place, but at least Blake and I will make use of it tonight.
Soft music plays in the background as I follow a candlelit path to the bubbling hot tub. A woven basket is filled with rolled, plush white towels. A small table holds a silver tray of chocolate-covered strawberries. Two champagne flutes sit beside a wine chiller. The only thing missing is champagne. Instead, a bottle of sparkling water is nestled into the ice.
The scene is perfect—actually, it’s too perfect.
I asked Fausto for a spa-like setup, but he clearly misunderstood. This looks less like a relaxation spot and more like a stage for seduction. No wonder Fausto raised an eyebrow when I made the request. He thinks I’m going to fuck Blake in the hot tub.
And when Blake sees this display and the skimpy red bikini I’m wearing, he’s going to think the same thing.
Bloody hell, I’ve mucked this up. The goal was to relax Blake, not turn him on, or worse, scare him off.
As I try to think of last-minute changes, footsteps sound behind me. I turn just as Blake approaches. His arms are spread wide, and his gaze sweeps the area, silently questioning the setup. Finally, his hooded eyes land on me. “What’s all this?” he asks with a knowing smirk.
Seeing him look at me that way makes me melt.
Heat radiates from his bare chest, and I can’t help noticing the growing bulge in his swim trunks. I’d love to let him wrap his hard body around me and remind me of all the things his talented hands and cock can do.
Did I subconsciously want to send the wrong signal? How could I, knowing he may be a criminal. No, it’s even worse. Based on what I found in his room, he’slikelya criminal.
But my body just doesn’t seem to care. I’m so screwed.
Mustering all the self-control possible, I say, “Fausto set this up for us. He felt bad about the crème brûlée and wanted us to celebrate your win today while relaxing.”
That’s technically true. I just left out the part where I asked for Fausto’s help.
“Fausto’s idea of a healthy, high protein dessert was rather funny,” Blake chuckles.
I’m relieved at the lighter topic.
“When he first said high protein dessert, all I could picture was a steak covered in sugar.”
We both laugh at the image. Soon I’m laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my face.
Finally, catching my breath, I wipe my face, saying, “It’s not even that funny, but if we don’t talk about something else, I’m never going to stop laughing.”
“I know. I should be more upset about the challenges in communicating my food needs during the tournament, but I’msure Fausto means well. Besides, having you around calms me,” he says, closing the distance between us.
He stops so close to me that I feel his breath on my lips as I stare into his eyes. The sexual tension between us is palpable. I can’t let him kiss me no matter how good it would feel.
I really can’t.
Gathering my wits, I say, “I’m freezing. Let’s get in the hot tub.”
I step backward, drop my robe, and slide into the warm bubbles.
Blake pours two glasses of sparkling water and climbs in beside me. Our fingers brush as he hands me a glass, sending a tingling sensation up my arm. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes tells me he felt it too.
I’m playing with fire. Slowly, I shift along the seat to put some space between us.
Raising my glass, I say, “Let’s toast. Here’s to your win today and to many more to come.”
“Thank you. I can only hope.”
“The jets feel so good.” I sigh, leaning my head against the side wall and closing my eyes.
“They do. This was a wonderful idea. The damp, cool weather here always factors into how fast my muscles recover after matches. This is the first time we’ve had a house with a hot tub.”
