Azalea looks between the two of us with an even wider grin, then sticks her hand out for Jenny to shake. “I’m Azalea, the instructor for most of the morning classes. So, you’re playing up the romance angle for the resort?”

Jenny smiles back, wrinkling her nose in a way that’s utterly…adorable. That’s not a word I thought I’d ever use to describe her, but here we are. “I’ll certainly use that strategy at some point.” She cocks her head to the side and lets Azalea’s hand go. “Is this…a particularly romantic yoga class?”

Azalea laughs. “I guess it doesn’t have to be, but I always see a little more…connection in these kinds of classes. With the sun radiating down, tan skin on the beach….” She shrugs. “It makes you appreciate your partner all the more.”

“What kind of class is it?” Somehow, Jenny sounds absolutely at ease, as if it couldn’t matter less what kind of class this is.

“I thought I mentioned it at the very beginning.” Azalea lets out another confident laugh. “It’s couples yoga.”

7

Jenny

My very first instinct when the words “couples yoga” come spilling out of Azalea’s mouth is to run.

I can sashay out of a pool in front of Roman, sure, but there was a reason I was never in the drama club’s musicals in high school. The reason was that they always involved dance numbers, and they always, always involved dancing with a partner. That kind of intimate touch is on another plane from what I was prepared to deal with this morning.

A hell of a lot of tension in the office since I pulled the stunt with the bikini? Yes. Roman’s hands on me in some sensual exercise scenario? No, no, no, a thousand times no.

That devious, sly bastard.

It’s like he knows I spent all last night in my employee bungalow using a cold compress to lower the temperature in my cheeks. I was a firework that burned too bright. I used up all my sexy energy yesterday in order to get the upper hand.

The thing about getting the upper hand is that you have to do something with it. It’s not unlike a game of hot potato with an actual hot potato. I’m serious. I still haven’t quite recovered. Plus, I thought the smartest move would be to pull the old switcheroo on Roman. I had my brief, shining moment as the ultra-confident bikini-wearing goddess, and then I transformed back into the real me, wearing my skirt suit like a shield of armor.

I should have known Roman Bliss was not so easily bested. When he showed up with that gift basket—