Page 28 of Slapshot Bride

One: My grand plan to return to society after this scandal eventually blows over.

Two: My family, and how I’ll eventually get the truth across to them.

I only spend a minute considering these when I decide it’s too early to drown in that storm. So, I go for option three.

My book.

I grab it off the counter and beeline for the sofa, but something catches my eye.

The hallway Easton has just disappeared into. I glance around.

The house is quiet. Easton will be gone for another hour or two.

A little sightseeing never hurt anyone, right?

Besides, he’s been telling me to explore and make myself at home since I got here. Technically, I’m just following instructions.

My legs have made a decision before my brain catches up, and I’m heading for the hallway.

This is the first time I've walked through the house without him in it. I touch things. I don't really know what I'm looking for.

I am a woman who finally has a quiet house to wander in for the first time in years, and I'm taking advantage of it.

And yes, in years because living with Preston, you never really have the house to yourself. There’s always a housekeeper all up in your hair, when Preston isn’t there to take on the mighty responsibility.

The hallway Easton disappeared down winds toward the back of the house. There’s a small reading nook with a chair nobody has sat in. I know this because it smells brand new when I reach it. My fingers skate across the seat, and I continue.

A door at the end is half open, and through the gap I can see weights on a rubber floor, and I hear the low sound of music.

I stop in the doorway.

He hasn’t seen me.

Easton is in the middle of the room with his back to me. Shirtless.

Oh. My. God. He must work out A LOT.

There is a barbell on the floor in front of him. I watch him reach for the horizontal bar hanging from the ceiling, both arms wrap around it, and he pushes himself up. The muscles down his back move with him, the broad shoulders shifting and resetting, the dark geometric ink curling from one shoulder around his side. Sweat between his shoulder blades catches the light.

His back… the tattoos, and the way he lifts his weight… It’s art. My eyes trail and eat up every little detail, curve and movement, and a feeling runs through me that I can’t name.

It’s a sight I could watch all day.

Oh, dear lord. Not like that. More like a photograph. A very nice one.

Of a shirtless good-looking man with rippling muscles. My brain adds.

I know it’s time to move on with my quest because if another minute passes, I’ll be tempted to take him up on his offer, just to have an unlimited front seat at this sinful show.

Just before I leave, he sets the bar down, and I see him turning. I quickly scurry away, not wanting to make things awkward.

It’s one thing to wander around his house. It’s another to spy on my host while having deeply inappropriate thoughts about his pectoral muscles.

I take a hard left into another hallway, the long one with the windows, and that’s how I end up in front of a wall I haven’t noticed before.

There is a framed magazine cover on it.

I stop.