A faint roughness ran beneath his words, turning what should’ve been an innocent response into anything but.
Heat warmed the back of my neck. A brief image of Asher enjoying something sweet flashed through my mind before I crushed it with a determined fist.
I took another, deliberate step away from him as we walked deeper into the house. It didn’t stop the bolt of awareness streaking through my blood, but at least I was actively fighting back against my hormones.
Those traitors. I could never trust them.
Asher gave me an abbreviated tour of the mansion, which was even larger than it looked from the outside.
Original Picassos hung next to framed shirts signed by retired football legends; a state-of-the-art entertainment center faced a display case filled with trophies, medals, and sentimental items like the boots he wore in his first ever Premier League match. A forty-person screening room with a genuine concession stand occupied the same hall as an indoor bowling alley, and natural light spilled through dozens of giant windows overlooking the grounds.
It straddled that perfect line between cozy and luxurious, and I loved it.
“The basement is dedicated to all things fitness. It’s actually level with the lower tier of the back garden—the first floor of the house leads to the main tier—so there’s plenty of light,” Asher said, leading me down the stairs. “The sauna, steam room, and indoor pool are to the left. Gym and massage room are to the right.”
“So you basically have an at-home spa.” I twisted my neck to get a better look at the infrared sauna. I’d love a personal sauna. They helped a lot with my pain.
“Basically.” We stopped in front of a closed door. “You ready to see the latest addition to Spa Donovan?”
“I suppose.” I feigned a yawn to mask my curiosity. “Hopefully the inside is more inspired than the name.”
Asher rewarded me with a quick grin. “Hey, that’s why I’m a footballer, not a hospitality mogul. That being said…” He opened the door with a flourish. “Welcome to our new training center.”
I didn’t know what I’d expected. A standard room with mirrors, maybe, or gray concrete and a barre.
I should’ve known better; Asher Donovan didn’t do things halfway.
Instead of a basic workout area, I walked into a full-blown professional ballet studio.
Correction: it wasn’t a ballet studio; it was the ballet studio. As in, the ballet studio of my dreams, only even better.
RAB hadn’t spared any expense with its facilities, but this…this was everything I’d dreamed of.
A gleaming expanse of hardwood stretched across the vast space, its surface so polished it appeared to undulate with sunlight. It was a sprung floor, which meant it was designed to offer optimal shock absorption and minimize the stress on bones and joints.
Golden warmth poured through a wall of windows that opened onto an attached outdoor gym, and a double row of barres lined the perimeter of the room. They appeared to have been custom-built to accommodate for my and Asher’s different heights. A black Steinway piano and state-of-the-art sound system dominated one corner while potted plants added a welcome pop of greenery throughout the studio.
The floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected my shock back at me.
“I had it built according to the list you gave me about our training essentials, but I added a few flourishes.” Asher nodded at the outdoor gym. “If I missed anything, let me know.”
“How did you…” I spun slowly, taking in the details that elevated the studio from professional to exquisite. The line paintings of dancers by famed artist Marina Escrol; the unobtrusive camera setup that would allow us to film our sessions and monitor progress over time; the adaptive smart home resistance training system. He hadn’t missed a single thing. “It’s only been three weeks!”
“Money is a great motivator.” Mischief sparked in Asher’s eyes. “I may also have added VIP season tickets for the entire crew as an incentive if they got it done in under a month.”
Of course the contractors were football fans.
However, as much as I loved the studio and newfound privacy, there was one problem.
“It took us almost an hour to get here by car,” I pointed out. “The tube doesn’t run here, which means I’d have to take a cab, and we meet three times a week. That’s not sustainable.”
My schedule didn’t leave room for such a long commute. I had other classes I needed to teach.
“You don’t have to take the tube. Earl will be your chauffeur,” Asher said. “I had him drive us today so you can get a sense of his style. If you’re comfortable with him, I’ll cover the cost since I’m the reason we’re in this predicament in the first place.” He shrugged. “The car is basically a tank, so you don’t have to worry about safety either.”
A knot of emotion formed in my throat.
The most unexpected thing I’d encountered today wasn’t our impromptu trip to Asher’s house or the contents of the new studio; it was his thoughtfulness.
Careful. Remember what happened the last time you got sucked in by a handsome face and “thoughtfulness.”
“And my schedule?” I asked. “I have a class right before our sessions.”
“I’m fine pushing our sessions back, and I’m sure Lavinia won’t object to a schedule change. ”
Our sessions already took place late in the afternoon. If we pushed them back any further, they’d veer dangerously close to evening time.
Being alone in a beautiful, private studio with Asher after the sun set?
Apprehension fluttered through my body like a thousand tiny butterflies.
Absolutely not.
“Fine.” I turned to retrieve a resistance band from its rack. The warmth from Asher’s gaze burned between my shoulder blades, and the flutters multiplied into an unruly swarm. “Let’s get started, shall we? We’ve wasted enough time.”
CHAPTER 9ASHER
