“Relax,” he commanded again, using that same authoritative tone.
A moment later, I didn’t have a choice.
A warm tingling sensation radiated out from my neck, shivering down the rest of my skin. Like there were little magical lights coming out of his hands. His body—much warmer than mine, and still only wearing a towel from his shower—hovered just an inch or two behind my back. I could feel the heat from it on my bare shoulders as he leaned in to press harder.
“Oh my gosh,” a little moan escaped my lips as my head fell forward, “how the hell are you doing this? Did you take a class or something I don’t know about?”
His fingers laced up through my hair and I could practically hear the smile.
“Anya.”
Of course. His flawless, visa-less, statuesque ‘Pilates’ instructor. The one who’d showed up out of nowhere on his doorstep—hailing from somewhere in Eastern Ukraine. Her accent was so thick, that for the life of me, I couldn’t understand what she was saying. But she and Nick had always found a way to see...eye to eye. A minute after meeting her, he put her on the payroll.
“Ah yes, Anya.” A little smile snaked up my face as his hands continued working. “Is this one of those Pilates moves you two have been working on? Taking the hands-on approach?”
“Practice makes perfect. I intend to be a Pilates master one day.”
I snorted. “I’m sure you do.”
We didn’t talk for a while, simply stood there in silence as his skillful hands effectively erased all the tension from my fretful neck. An occasional shiver would rocket down my spine whenever he leaned in too close, but other than that, it was remarkably soothing.
But no mat
ter how skilled his magical fingers might be...there was some tension they couldn’t coax away.
“Nick...we really do have to talk about what your dad said.”
Still standing behind me, I felt him sigh. His voice tightened with a hint of frustration, but his hands never lost their rhythm.
“We really don’t.”
“It’s just...he has a good point.” I stepped free of his hands and turned around to face him. In the close confines of the linen closet, we were both remarkably close. Close enough that I could see every dot of water still clinging to his lashes from the shower. Every cloud of steam that rose off his bare chest. “There’s a lot riding on this merger for the company.”
His eyes narrowed, but I knew him well enough by now, to know that none of the anger was directed at me. It was rarely, if ever, directed at me.
“And why should my social life have anything to do with my father’s company?”
It was a naïve question. One that both of us knew he didn’t really mean.
To start, it wasn’t his father’s company—it was the family’s company. Meaning that one day, like it or not, it was going to be his.
On that note—image and perception were everything. Nick had grown up in the spotlight long enough to have learned that lesson better than anyone. Long enough to see the wisdom in what his father was saying now.
Of course, that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“How are you not on my side with this?” he demanded quietly. “A fake relationship? He really wants to bank his big merger on me having a fake relationship with some random—”
“I’ve snuck you into palaces pretending to be a foreign prince. Last summer, you claimed to have ‘unique diving experience’ just so an insurance company would let you explore those underwater caves. You once snuck into a royal polo match under the guise of being the Duke of Sorbinshire—which I swear, Nick—I think is a completely made-up place.”
“...you wouldn’t be wrong.”
“The point is, this isn’t about the truth of the matter. You’ve played so many parts in the past, I know for a fact this doesn’t bother you now.” I hesitated, knowing I was approaching a line that even I was not permitted to cross. “This is about your father.”
His eyes flashed, and another chill ran down my spine. One that felt entirely different from the warm, tingly ones that had done so before.
“Listen to me very closely Abigail, you may have worked for my family a few years now, and for families like mine before. But that does not mean, even for a moment, that you have any idea what it’s like to be a part of one.”
I flinched back, stung by every word. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d called me Abigail. But he wasn’t finished yet.