However, with the pap gone and air quiet once more, the anger slowly drained, leaving visible frustration behind.
“I need to upgrade my security.” Asher rubbed a hand over his face. He sounded tired, and a needle of sympathy pierced my gut. “I didn’t want to turn this place into a bloody surveillance state, but I can’t have people sneaking in like that. If we hadn’t caught him in time…”
A chill rippled over my skin. In one month, we’d had two close calls with the paparazzi. How long until our luck ran out?
“How did he get in?”
Breaking onto school grounds was one thing; breaking onto someone’s private property was another.
“My landscaping crew was in and out while we were training. He must’ve slipped in with them.” Asher’s jaw clenched. “People like him are fucking vultures, sniffing around for any scraps they can find.”
The needle of sympathy dug deeper. “Being in the public eye like that must be awful.”
Vincent dealt with the same thing to a certain degree, but no athlete sold headlines like Asher. The scrutiny and invasions of privacy he faced were on another level.
“I could handle it if they were just coming after me. I know what I signed up for,” Asher said. “But you’re getting caught up in this mess, and that’s not fucking okay.”
His words pulsed in my veins, filling them with uncomfortable warmth. “Oh. I…” I stumbled for a second before I regained my composure. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl. I can handle an out-of-shape pap.”
That brought forth a small curve in his lips. “Says the person panting like she just ran a marathon.”
“Give me a break. It’s been years since I ran like that.” My jelly-like legs confirmed my long break with cardio.
The hint of a smile vanished. “Shit. I forgot how high-impact running is. It’s not good for chronic pain, is it?”
The warmth in my veins melted into honey. Hell, everything melted. At this rate, they’d have to scrape me off the driveway with a spatula. “You looked up chronic pain?”
A wash of dull red colored Asher’s cheekbones. “Out of curiosity, that’s all,” he said. “I didn’t know much about it, so I figured I should learn the basics. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
Was it normal for a human heart to beat this fast? I had my annual checkup a few weeks ago. The doctor said everything looked normal, but maybe I needed a second opinion because something strange was going on inside my chest.
Asher’s eyes flickered with an array of emotions I couldn’t decipher. “Do you want to take a bath?”
The abrupt switch in subjects was so absurd, it jolted me back into normality. “Excuse me?”
“A bath. For inflammation. I take one after a particularly intense workout. It helps with recovery.”
“Inflammation. Right.” Of course he wasn’t asking if you wanted to take a bath with him, idiot. “It’s okay. I can take one at home.”
Except a bath did sound wonderful, and home was at least an hour away if I factored in afternoon traffic.
The remaining adrenaline drained from my limbs. I wanted to lie down on the driveway and let the sunbaked stone take away my soreness.
“Are you sure? I have a million guest baths. It’s not a big deal.” Asher’s frown suggested he’d picked up on my dip in energy. “Traffic is a nightmare at this time of day. If you’re not feeling well, I don’t want things getting worse while you’re stuck in Piccadilly.”
No. It would be too weird for me to take a bath at a trainee’s house, especially when said trainee was Asher Donovan.
I should absolutely, positively, 100 percent not accept his offer.
Except I was so tired, and my body hurt, and if I didn’t sit down right now, I might pass out for the second time in front of him and wouldn’t that be embarrassing?
“I…” Don’t do it. Suck it up. Wait until you’re home. “Okay. If you don’t mind.”
CHAPTER 11SCARLETT
This was the best worst decision of my life.
I sank deeper into the marble tub, certain the water here contained some sort of magic. Warm baths always soothed my pain, but the ones at home never worked this quickly or effectively.
I’d only been in here for—I checked my phone—seven minutes, and I already felt like a new person.
Maybe Asher imported his bathwater directly from a secret French mountain village and had it blessed by virgin nuns before he allowed it to pour out of the faucets. Or maybe his Epsom salts were higher quality than mine.
Whatever it was, I wasn’t complaining.
I leaned my head against the cushioned headrest and closed my eyes. The water jets, the classical music piping through hidden speakers, the scent of lavender and chamomile…my flat’s dinky little tub and the screams from the on-again, off-again couple next door seemed worlds away.
I didn’t care if bathing in Asher’s house was weird. I could stay in this tub forever.
Scarlett DuBois: the woman who sold her convictions for Epsom salts and a Jacuzzi bathtub.
Damn right I did. And it was worth it.
The only downside to my current situation was the lack of distractions. No distractions meant more time to think. More time to think meant my thoughts inevitably drifted toward a certain footballer. Trying to rein them in was like a novice trying to rein in a wild stallion—useless.
