“Which kiss was a mistake?” he wanted to know, knowing damn well she was full of it. “The one after the snake incident or the one against the wall?”

“Both.” Turning away from him she strode to the wash station. She was wearing another sundress, this one with thin straps crisscrossing over her slender, tanned back. She had a tiny infinity sign tattooed on the back of her right shoulder with the initials AD scripted inside.

Her sister’s initials.

Lily’s high-heeled sandals were strapped around her ankles and sexy as hell, and the thin, flimsy material of her dress flirted around her thighs as she moved. The entire outer package said fun sophistication.

A complete contradiction to her demeanor.

Once she’d been an open book. What you saw was what you got with her, nothing was a mystery. He’d loved that.

She’d changed.

But so had he.

“I don’t get it,” he said.

“What?”

“You.”

“You don’t have to get me,” she said, gesturing him to the chair. “Just lie back and accept that this is happening.”

In the same way he was supposed to accept that she was back in town for however long she planned to be here, no expectations, no ties?

Maybe she could pull that off, but he sure as hell couldn’t. Though he had to give her credit, she knew exactly how to make him sweat.

He sprawled out in the chair. When he was settled in, she said, “After this I’ve got you booked for a full-body mud wrap.”

He sat straight up, not even the hand she set on his chest deterring him. “Hell no,” he said, even though he had no idea what a full-body mud wrap was.

“You really need it, Aidan,” she said a little too earnestly.

He met her gaze in the mirror. Her eyes were filled with mischief. Yeah, she was most definitely messing with him. “Letting myself go, am I?” he asked.

“Terribly.”

They both knew this was a big, fat lie. He ran four or five miles in full gear every single morning: rain, snow, or shine. He was in the best shape of his life. “No full-body anything unless it’s your body on mine,” he said, and if they hadn’t been in a damn salon he might’ve grinned at the look on her face—a little shock, a lot of arousal.

“How about a facial?” she finally asked. “Or does that insult your manhood too?”

“At the risk of repeating myself,” he said. “Hell no.”

“Your pores really do need some work,” she said. “You’re too dry, which is going to age you. And your T-zone is crying for help.”

He paused. “Was any of that in English?”

“How about you just sit back, relax, and trust me?”

“With all these instruments of torture at your disposal?” he asked, looking around.