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She immediately berated herself for the appalling lack of self-esteem that thought had betrayed. She’d worked very hard on her body positivity, and on loving herself and the way she looked. She’d be damned if she’d let one scathing put-down from a man with unrealistic beauty standards undo years of hard work.
She frowned as she stared at him, with his stupid beard and his big body and his beautiful eyes and face, and acknowledged that—those beauty standards were unrealistic for 99% of humankind. Trystan Abbott, however, could date any of those otherworldly goddess-like creatures if he wanted. Well, he had dated very many of them. A gorgeous array of supermodels, actresses, athletes, even a frikking princess—the man’s only real criteria seemed to be that his sexual partners be as beautiful as he.
“What’s going through that complicated, crazy brain of yours right now?” he asked, and her eyes widened at his almost affectionate question.
“I was thinking that I’m happy I brought this bathing suit. No matter how unsuitable it may seem to you. Since it’s coming in handy right now.” She tilted her head defiantly and stepped into the blissfully warm water, and when she sat down she was submerged up to her neck. Her long sigh was filled with sheer contentment.
He watched her with an odd, indecipherable expression on his face before he turned to stride to a panel in the wall next to the sauna.
Iris made a delighted sound when the water bubbled to life, the jets exactly what she needed for her sore muscles.
She was shocked and a little horrified when Trystan—yes, he was back to Trystan again—joined her at the hot tub and shucked out of his clothes to reveal black board shorts beneath his sweatpants.
Iris tried not to gawk at the veritable feast of male perfection on display in front of her right now. Tight butt with long, strong, muscular legs and thighs combined with washboard abs, broad shoulders, chest and back. He had beautifully veined forearms and bulging biceps and triceps. There was zero fat on him. Everything was muscle, bone, and sinew.
She’d seen him wearing even less in movies, but nothing could prepare any human being for the reality of seeing Trystan Abbott in the flesh, so to speak. It was like seeing pictures of the painted ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in books and on the Internet all your life, and then finally witnessing the real deal with your own eyes. There was just no comparison.
Iris had not expected him to join her, but he sank into the water with his own version of a blissed-out sigh—a harsh, broken groan—and sat down across from her. He was far enough away for them to not even accidentally brush against each other, but it still felt too close. And too intimate. Way, way, way too intimate.
She studied him carefully, not sure what—if anything—to say. His head was tilted back and his eyes were shut, and she was happy to have a few moments of relative privacy to have a minor freak-out about her current bizarre reality.
She was in a hot tub with TRYSTAN ABBOTT! How was this her life right now?
All too soon, he lifted his head and opened his eyes, pinning her to the spot with his interrogative gaze. He’d caught her staring, but didn’t seem to think anything of it. And Iris recognized that this was a man who was probably used to being gawked at on a daily basis. She was just being like everyone else on the planet.
The only people who wouldn’t stare were those he worked with and those with whom he was intimately acquainted. Family, friends, familiars… Iris wasn’t even an acquaintance. She didn’t matter to him. And she never would.
“Are those aggressively pink splotches meant to be lips?” His question was confusing and unexpected, and she wasn’t sure what the hell he meant.
“What?”
“On your bikini?”
Why was he asking about her bikini? In fact, why was he thinking about it at all?
“They’re lipstick kisses.”
“Right.”
“They’re cute.”
“Right. Lipstick kisses all over your tits and ass. Cute. Got it.”
She gritted her teeth—she really had to stop doing that—and refrained from asking him what that was supposed to mean.
Because his voice had been dripping with… something. Disdain? Sarcasm? Mockery? Whatever it was, it hadn’t been anything positive.
“Thank you,” she said instead, surprising and confusing him, if his expression was anything to go by.
“For what?”
“This,” she said, idly waving her hand through the water. “It’s heavenly.”
He made a noncommittal grunting sound.
“So, I can’t ask you anything because you’d lose your shit and accuse me of spying or some other unreasonable thing… but, I mean, you could ask me something. A few questions to ease your mind about who I am.”
“I have absolutely no interest in finding out anything more than I already know about you.”
