The Billionaire and the Runaway Bride by Nadia Lee
Chapter Twenty-Four
Yuna
Counting isn’t rocket science. I mean, some animals can do it. Plus anyone studying music learns to count beats. So I should be an expert.
But holy shit. My brain’s mushy. And it isn’t because I’ve been drinking.
I run my fingers along my mouth, just to be sure I’m not drooling like an idiot.
Nope. The skin is dry.Yay. A win.
Neither Nike nor Under Armour must’ve offered Declan enough to wear their stuff, because he’s working out topless. The only thing he has on is a pair of black shorts whose logo I didn’t see—or care about—and gray athletic shoes.
A stack of weight moves steadily up and down as Declan pulls on a bar attached to an overhead pulley. I don’t know what this exercise is called, but it showcases the gorgeous muscles in his back and arms. I also like how wide his shoulders are while his waist is so damn trim. Bet I wouldn’t be able to pinch anything but a bit of skin on his side. He’s that lean.
Beads of sweat trail down the strong lines, and I’m too busy tracing them with my eyes to concentrate on some number. Damn. Him topless in his home gym is even hotter than him in his underwear outside Eugene’s office.
“How many so far?” he asks, pausing with the bar hovering in the air. The position pulls his arms up, elbows slightly bent, his back flexed. Sweat rolls down the deep gorge formed between the well-developed lats I want to bite, just to see if they’re as hard as they look.
“Ten,” I say, although I haven’t been counting at all. It just seems like the right number, because he’s been at it long enough. “But if you want, you can keep going. Nobody’s stopping you.”
“Ten means I’m done with this set. Time for a break.”
Nooo, don’t break now. Disappointment floods me. He should’ve told me that before we started. I would’ve said four.
He releases the bar and glances at me over a shoulder. He wipes his forehead with a towel he left on the bench nearby.
“Is it also hydration time?” I ask, proffering the lime-green Gatorade bottle.
“Yeah, sure.”
I hand it to him. He tilts his head back, and his throat works as he swallows. Holy cow. That’s hot, too. How can he make drinking sexy? I never found an Adam’s apple interesting until now.
You have it bad.
No kidding.
He gives me the bottle and goes back to the machine to do more of that erotic back exercise. All right, the exercise itself probably isn’t considered erotic, but it looks erotic to me, so I’m calling it erotic.
Declan does eleven reps.
“Ten,” I call out. “You’re done with that set.”
“You sure it was ten?”
“Yes.” I give him my most trustworthy smile.
The eleventh rep is a bonus for my leg wound from yesterday. Workers’ comp because his naked torso flexing is going to help lessen my stress, which in turn will help me heal faster.
While he’s resting, I pull out my phone and group-text my friends.
–Me: Hey, how can I get a guy to exercise totally nude?
–Jo: Are you watching your boss work out?
–Me: Cannot confirm or deny. NDA. Anyway, any ideas?
–Ivy: I want pictures.
–Evie: Videos. I think they’ll help me with peace of mind and cankles.
–Nate: I’ll exercise nude for you, sweetie. Live, too.
I giggle a little. Nate would roll on an anthill covered in honey to make Evie happy. But no matter what he does, it’s not going to come close to Declan when it comes to sexiness. I steal a glance at my boss, who’s taking another swig of his sports drink. Look at that sweat rolling down his chest. Damn. Even his sweat is sexy.
–Pascal: He isn’t running, is he? Nude would involve dangling…
The image that puts in my head is ridiculous, but I don’t know if it’s going to be like that if Declan does it. He makes drinking look hotter than stripping.
–Court: Ugh. I didn’t need that.
–Edgar: I don’t recommend running or weightlifting in the nude.
–Jo: How come?
–Edgar: Ball control.
–Tony: Exactly. What if something gets caught? You risk permanent damage.
–Nate: Ow.
–Court: No organ transplants for nads.
I picture Nate and Court shuddering dramatically and burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Declan asks.
“Just something my friends are saying.”
“About what?”
“Organ transplants.”
He looks utterly confused. I just smile because I am not going to discuss genitalia transplants with him. “Are you done now?”
“One more set.”
“Want me to wipe the sweat off you?” I’m not trying to put my hands on him. It doesn’t count because it’ll be too indirect—through a towel.
“No, but you can dry my hair after I shower if you want.” He winks before going back to his back machine.
Ooh. Freshly shampooed hair to play with.“Deal.”