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“Same with Rafael. He’s… He sees kids as… He doesn’t want them.” She shakes her head dramatically then tosses back the rest of her drink. “I’m in a rush. I want a baby. You know, my Rafael, I’m his fourth wife. What about Damian?” I pause, tempted to change the background we’ve prepped, and she touches my shoulder. “You are not the first. He’s too damn hot. Oh, the things I’d like to do to…”
My mouth drops open, and I bark out a laugh. I can’t believe she’s telling me this. But then she laughs, and it’s all a big joke.
“Are you?” She’s right back to asking me about his status.
“I’m number two.” She nods with a smile. “Dos,” I add for good measure and her smile widens.
The glass door opens, and a woman in pale blue scrubs calls out, “Gemma Toro?”
“Oh, that’s me.”
“What treatment do you have?”
“Ah, I went big. Three-hour massage and body wrap. When Rafael gets back, my skin is going to be like butter, and I plan on spending the entire afternoon,” she rises from the water and leans closer to my ear, “fucking his brains out.”
“Good plan,” I tell her, holding a thumb up. She runs from the edge of the tub inside to her robe, wraps herself up, and the door closes.
Shit. I don’t have a plan to meet up with her. I toss back the rest of my mimosa, set it down, and spot my towel and robe. Ugh. Getting out of the tub is the worst part of hot tubbing. Thanks to the combination of alcohol and heat, a lightheadedness overtakes me.
The door cracks open and Gemma says, “Let’s do our privates together,sí?”
“I’d love to,” I shout and the door closes.
By the time I return to the suite, I’m nearly floating. We’ll spend the day together tomorrow. It’s perfect. And the funny thing is, I didn’t really need to make all these adjustments with nails and hair. Gemma and I really could be friends. I doubt she has any idea what kind of family she married into. After all, his father is an esteemed politician.
The hallway bathroom door opens, and steam wafts into the corridor. My gaze falls first to the white towel wrapped tightly below a chiseled abdomen and over a sculpted chest and shoulders. A smattering of dark hair sprinkled with a couple of gray hairs cover the well-muscled terrain, and I sort of want to run the tips of my fingers through the curls.
“You’re back early.”
I force my gaze up to his face because he’s a colleague, and that’s where my gaze should go. Damn. Gemma was right. My husband is fine. Maybe I should’ve complimented hers?
“Everything go okay?”
“Yeah.” His question reminds me of my victory. “I scored huge. Chatted in the hot tub with Gemma, and we’re going to meet up tomorrow.” I snap my fingers. “Which reminds me, I’ve got to get a private scheduled.” I pause, waiting for him to move farther down the hall so I don’t need to squeeze past him. “What’re you doing? Shower in the middle of the day?”
“Ah, went out for a few runs on the off chance I might run into Rafael or any of his friends.”
“Anything?”
“Nope. Didn’t run into anyone. Not even Trevor and Stella.” He turns, and my gaze falls to his sculpted ass, covered only by the towel.
That’s something I’ve got to nip, meaning I need to stop looking him over like he’s a tasty treat. Gemma is getting to me. And then there’s Lauren.Gah.
“What’s your plan for the afternoon?” Fisher asks. “You going to head back out to try to cross paths again today or—”
“There’s no point. We’re free to do whatever. Gemma plans on fucking Rafael’s brains out all afternoon.” Fisher’s pupils enlarge, and the darkening of his eyes somehow eviscerates the oxygen from my lungs. “Her words, not mine.”
I sidestep him and inhale wintergreen. My throat tightens as I reach my bedroom. Sure, he’s a good-looking man. Gemma’s correct. So is Lauren. I’m not blind. But he’s Fisher. And I am not a woman who gets tongue-tied or goes girly. Ever. And, with the rest of the day open, I have work to do.
CHAPTER9
FISHER
A few flurries descend from the milky white sky, thick enough to obscure the mountain peaks. When I left the suite, Sophia was camped out on the bed, engrossed in her laptop, working on what she called a personal project. I thought about asking her exactly what she’s working on but refrained. It’s not my business.
Playing the role of businessman, I continue down to the resort’s ground floor and along the hallway to the business center booths allocated for private meetings and internet access.
A glass pane covers the top half of the door, but the booths are soundproof. Few guests wander through this part of the resort. At this time of year, guests visiting the Whistler region are here for the winter wonderland, not for business conferences. I pull down the booth’s light shade and out of habit check below the desk and under the chair. All clear.
