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I tossed a stainless-steel water bottle to Remy and peeled off my T-shirt, leaving me in my shorts and a sports bra.
His eyes widened when I dropped my tee on the porch steps, but I did my best to ignore it. We needed to stay in the zone.
“Take off your shirt,” I ordered.
With his hands on his hips, he cocked his head to the side. “Why?”
“Because we need to feel each other. We need to learn how to move as one. When you shift or move, I have to move with you. Otherwise, we lose balance and fall.”
He raised one brow and stared at me. It was warming up outside, yet my nipples hardened under his gaze. I liked the way his attention on my body felt, even though tiny bubbles of insecurity popped up in my brain.
“This is the best way to train.,” I explained, blowing out a breath and taking control of the situation. “It’s important that we be perfectly in sync in the way that we move as you run uphill, downhill, and around the obstacles. I was watching videos of the World Championships from last year…”
I was getting breathless just looking at him looking at me.Focus, Hazel. Focus. “And granted, I don’t speak Finnish, but Google translate did a pretty good job. One of the keys they emphasized is really being able to feel each other. So we’re going to train skin to skin.”
He bit his lip and nodded, scanning me from head to toe. “So that’s why you’re wearing just a sports bra.” He spoke slowly and deliberately.
I tried to remain scientific despite the urge to clench my thighs. “Yes. The less between us, the more we can feel one another’s bodies and muscles. It’ll help me learn how you move and vice versa.”
He stood up and shrugged. “Okay, boss.” Then he slowly peeled off his damp T-shirt.
And the clouds parted and angels sang and I almost passed out, practically suffocating on the testosterone emanating from every pore.
I had seen Remy shirtless plenty of times when we were kids, and he had always been athletic. But now he was all man. Recently, I had become very familiar with his body, since he seemed allergic to wearing shirts in our cabin. Chest hair, rippling muscles, and a farmer’s tan that revved my engine more than I ever thought it could.
Beard, pecs, abs, and a happy trail leading right to the elastic waistband of his gym shorts. And he was already sweating from carrying me around. No, not sweating. That was too pedestrian for someone who looked like he had been carved from rare Italian marble. No, Remy glistened. And once I’d given him a far too thorough perusal, I regretted my whole “train shirtless” scheme. No amount of competitive advantage was worth whatever was happening to my body and brain.
My thoughts were suddenly hazy and my body was buzzing and my brain’s ability to send signals to my eyes to stop staring was temporarily malfunctioning.
“Hazel?” Remy asked, his hands on his hips. “What do we do next?”
Finally, I forced my attention to his face, but with one look at his dark eyes, I almost swallowed my tongue. Next time I got fake married, I’d definitely choose someone I hadn’t been lusting after since puberty.
“Right,” I croaked. “Let’s try running a bit.”
He nodded and strode toward me. He crouched low, and before I could process it, I was on his back. And now, instead of obsessing over his ass, I was obsessing over the feel of his back muscles against my skin. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on how his body felt moving as he took off at a jog.
“You okay?” he hollered over his shoulder, picking up his pace.
My hands were wrapped around his stomach, so I gave him a thumbs up.
“Okay. I’m going to head downhill.”
I should have warned him. All the videos claimed downhill was the hardest. But I was in a trance, soaking in the way his body moved and how his skin felt against my bare abdomen. I didn’t realize we were going down until my shoulder hit the ground.
I got my other arm free, and Remy caught one of my knees, pulling me onto him so my face didn’t hit the dirt.
“Hazel. Jesus, are you okay?”
I sat up in a daze, then dropped to the grass beside him, slowly dusting the dirt off my chest. “I think so.”
“This is crazy,” he said, gritting his teeth. “You just had surgery. We’re not doing this.”
I leveled him with a glare. “I had surgery weeks ago, and I’ve been cleared for all activity. Including vigorous exercise. Which, I may add, the doctor encouraged me to do more of. For my health.”
“You can go to the gym with Lydia or do yoga or something. You do not need me dropping you on the hard ground in the forest.”
I heaved myself to my feet and crossed my arms with a huff. It was one little fall. “I’m healthy now, remember? I eat my veggies and work out. And if this activity is enriching my health, then you really should keep your opinions to yourself.”
