“What’s the rush?” he asks, his voice dropping lower. “You haven’t even finished your breakfast yet.”
I glance down at where he’s holding me, then back up to his face. “There’s no rush,” I murmur.
“Good,” his smirk deepens, eyes darkening just a fraction. “Then sit down, Sienna.”
I slowly lower myself back onto the chair, my cheeks burning. He doesn’t let go of my wrist right away. Instead, his thumb keeps tracing lazy circles, like he knows exactly what it’s doing to me.
I stab a piece of pineapple and pop it into my mouth, trying to play it cool even as heat pools low in my belly. Milo watches mewith that knowing look before he finally releases my wrist. He leans back in his chair and slowly lifts his mug to his mouth, his lip tilting up in a wicked smirk.
For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m not in a rush to run from the day… I’m living in the moment and enjoying it.
Chapter Fifteen
Milo
The spa receptionarea smells like lavender and mint—the kind of soothing scent that’s supposed to melt stress away but only makes me more aware of every nerve in my body.
The receptionist smiles as she hands over a clipboard of waivers. Sienna reads over it and then signs hers with a looping, dramatic flourish, doodling a heart on top of the “I” in her name.
She’s wearing a simple yellow sundress today that’s tight enough around her cleavage to remind me why I spent half the morning trying not to stare at her over breakfast.
Her hair’s braided down the middle of her head, still carrying the faint coconut scent of her shampoo, and she’s fidgeting—knee bouncing, fingers twisting the hem of her dress—the way she does when her brain is running faster than her body can keep up.
I sign my waiver without reading it. What’s the worst that can happen? A pulled muscle? Or maybe I finally snap and touch Sienna the way I’ve been imagining since that damn hot tub kiss last night. And now I’m expected to run my oily hands over her smooth skin and somehow not get hard?
Too damn late.
The receptionist leads us down a hallway lined with private rooms, the air growing warmer and heavier with the scent of essential oils. She opens the door at the end and gestures us inside. “Your therapist will be with you shortly to explain the session. Enjoy.”
We step inside and take a look around. There are two massage tables side by side, draped with white sheets. Between them stands a cart holding bottles of oil and a diffuser pumping out more lavender mist.
The soft lighting turns everything romantic. Almost dangerously so. Like the resort specifically designed this spa to test self-control.
My control is already being fucking tested with by the woman standing mere inches from me.
Sienna drops her bag on the chair and twirls around. “I’ve been to my fair share of spas over the years, but this feels… fancy.”
I close the door behind us. The click sounds louder than it should. “And intimate.”
She turns, eyebrow arched with a playful spark in her eyes. “It’s called a ‘couple’s massage’ for a reason. You nervous, Milo? Afraid you can’t handle touching me without losing your mind?”
I lean against the door and cross my arms to give my hands something to do. “I’m more worried about you. You might melt under my expert hands.”
She laughs. “Expert hands? I’ll believe that when they’re all over my body. You gonna have me moaning your name and all?”
I choke on literal air.
Before I can respond, there’s a soft knock, and the therapist enters, introducing herself as Lila. She explains the session: she’ll briefly demonstrate techniques for each of us, then we’ll take turns practicing.
“Focus on communication—ask what feels good, adjust pressure,” she says, eyes darting between us. “It’s about connection and relaxation. Any questions?”
We both shake our heads.
“Great,” Lila smiles. “I’ll give you some privacy while you decide who goes first. Undress to your comfort level—most prefer undergarments or nothing under the sheet—then lie face down on the table.”
The second the door clicks shut, Sienna doesn’t hesitate. She pulls the straps of her sundress down her shoulders until the fabric pools at her feet, leaving her in only a tiny pink bikini.
Before I can process anything, her hands go to the back of the bikini top, loosening the strings.
