He was standing there with a yoga mat dangling from his shoulder, his usual confidence marred slightly by a hint of hesitation that played across his face. He studied her with an intensity that froze her in place, an almost defensive edge to the way he held his jaw. But that made no sense. What did he have to be defensive about? This was her studio. He was the intruder.

In the next instant, the intensity, defensiveness, and hesitation were all gone, as if she’d imagined them in the first place.

“You know,” he said in his casual LA drawl, “you don’t have to say my full name every time.” He rolled out a yoga mat next to hers and began stretching his arms, his shirt lifting up to expose a patch of tan, flat stomach and a happy trail that disappeared into his shorts. Annika looked away hurriedly, before he could catch her staring and laugh at her. Ugh. Why was the dude always so self-satisfied? More important, how had she ever thought he was attractive?

Sure, Hudson was conventionally—some might say Chris Hemsworth–level—handsome. He could play Thor in any remakes Hollywood might be considering. But Annika now automatically distrusted men that handsome. People with faces and bodies like that usually came with major issues. And Hudson came with a plethora, that was for damn sure.

Annika blamed her previous weakness at the conference on the margaritas. Or on Vegas. It was one of life’s secret truths that almost all evil could be blamed on Vegas, margaritas, and gorgeous men.

“How’s your eye, you big liar?” The words shot out before she could stop herself. “And where’s your bodyguard?”

Hudson grinned, arching his back and reaching for his toes, the ridge of his rhomboid muscle visible through his shirt. Show-off. “I didn’t think you liked Blaire that much.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” She was irritated beyond reason that she couldn’t seem to ruffle his feathers like he ruffled hers, and she couldn’t tone down her annoyance. Hudson was interfering with all her signals, scrambling them until she couldn’t think straight. “It’s not enough that you move into my office building—you have to take over my yoga studio, too?”

“Your yoga studio?” Hudson smirked. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Tree. Or can I call you Breathing?”

Annika glowered at him, vaguely aware the class had filled with people.

He held his hands up. “Look, it was a coincidence. Both the moving-into-your-office-building part and the yoga thing. I lost a bet with Ziggy and his terms were that I take a few yoga classes. This was the closest studio to work.”

Annika scoffed. “What was the bet?”