“Weekly massages.” The words pop out and his brows go up.
“I’ll clear my schedule.”
“Oh god.” I laugh helplessly. “Not from you. Gio and his guys get them, and I want them for muscle soreness.”
He nods. I take one shaky step, my hands scraping along the ropes, barely releasing the death grip I have on them. My wrist twinges, and I wince.
“What else? More vacation?”
My foot slides, and I suck in air. My heart is thundering in my ears.
“Bailey,” he croons. “Eyes on me. Don’t forget, or I’ll dock your pay.”
Our gazes clash. He’s right at the edge of the platform,arms crossed but still waiting expectantly for me. He’s not scared.
“You and your games,” I say, but already something eases inside me as I watch him.
“You like my games.”
I do.I like his games and the way he showed up for me today, even if I’d never hope for anyone to be there. My stomach tumbles as I take another shaky step. Then another. “What would I do with more vacation?”
His lips purse. “Honestly, I’m not sure. It’s probably wasted on you.”
Two more steps. Our eyes meet. His are smiling. I take the last step, my legs shaking, and his arms close around me.
“Brave,” he whispers into my hair. “So brave.”
I sag. I can’t help it. “Don’t tell anyone,” I whisper. I wait for a joke or extortion. Instead, his hand tangles in my hair and presses my face into his shoulder.
“Never,” he says huskily. “I’ll never tell.”
I shiver and he clutches me closer.
He smells good. Like evergreens and a hint of sweat. He smells like he didn’t shower after stacking wood, andoh god, my body likes it. I want to press my face into his neck. I want—
No.
“Studies show that you’ll find me more attractive after crossing that bridge.” His voice rumbles under my cheek, and his arrogant words make me laugh weakly. I feel like a wet towel. Tristan’s arms are the only thing holding me up right now. “Is it working?”
“Definitely not.”
He pulls away to stare down at me. “Are you certain?” His gaze is gleaming with humor. “Should we send you back over just to be sure?”
“Hell no.” I shudder and check the wrap on my wrist while he watches me with an unreadable look on his face.
“Why are you so scared of heights?” he asks quietly.
My gaze jerks up to meet his. “A lot of people are scared of heights.”
He makes a sound of agreement, then takes my wrist in his hands. They’re warm, large, and capable, with long fingers and more calluses from his time spent at his distilleries. “But you were petrified.”
I swallow. “I’ve always been scared.”
“Will you be able to make it down the ladder?” He tips his head toward the thirty-foot climb down that waits for us.
I wince but nod. I’m shaky and weak from the adrenaline, but I can do it. I’ve done harder things.
“Stubborn woman.” He cups my jaw briefly, and his teasing words sound like a compliment. “Come on. I’ll go first so I can catch you.”
