It was only eight. I usually didn’t get up until past ten, but I couldn’t stay in that bed any longer.

I turned the shower as cold as it would go and washed away the remnants of the night.

It was just a stupid dream. I wasn’t going to let it ruin my trip, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to dig deeper into what it meant. Ignorance was bliss.

I scrubbed harder with the soap.

By the time I toweled off and threw on a shirt and pants, I’d corralled my unease to the back corners of my mind where it belonged.

I headed to the kitchen but stopped halfway when a flash of movement caught my eye.

I came to a dead halt.

Sloane was exercising on the back deck, wearing a tank top and yoga pants. Yoga pants.

It might seem normal to see someone wearing workout clothes to work out, but this was Sloane. I’d known her for three years and I had never, not once, seen her in anything other than an evening dress or business wear. I was convinced she slept in those knife-sharp suits she favored so much.

I walked closer, fascinated by the unnatural sight.

Sloane switched from one impossible-looking yoga pose to another. Sunlight gilded her lithe form and turned her golden hair into a halo. She hadn’t noticed me yet, which meant her expression didn’t hold disdain, frustration, or general annoyance.

It was…nice, but also a little alarming, like seeing a lioness stripped of her claws.

Her phone pinged with a new notification. My mouth twitched when she balanced herself so she could type out a reply with one hand before she resettled into her original position and closed her eyes.

“Impressive.” I couldn’t resist commenting. I leaned against the doorframe and pushed a hand into the pocket of my sweatpants. “But you know the point of yoga is to relax, right?”

Sloane’s eyes popped open again. Her head swiveled so she could glare at me. “How long have you been standing there?” she demanded.

Ah, there’s that comforting irritation. Let’s see if we can notch it higher, shall we?

“Long enough to see you answer your phone.” I tsked with disappointment. “It’s the first day, and you’re already breaking the rules. I expected more from you.”

My smile inched wider when she unfolded herself, stood, and came to a stop inches from me. This close, I could see flecks of gray in her blue eyes and smell a trace of her perfume. It was clean and light, like fresh linen with a hint of jasmine.

They were things I shouldn’t notice about a woman who tolerated me at best and despised me at worst. But I did, and once I noticed them, I couldn’t stop thinking about them.

“They weren’t rules,” Sloane said. “They were mutually agreed conditions. Plus, it wasn’t a work text. It was personal.”

“Let me guess. It was your date from the other night.”

“You’re strangely obsessed with that date.”

So it had been a date. I was unprepared for the little kick in my stomach, which I masked with a shrug. “Nothing strange about it. You’re notorious for turning down men.”

“Lucky me. Maybe they’ll get the hint and leave me alone.”

Sloane abandoned her yoga session and brushed past me into the living room.

I trailed after her. “So, your first vacation in years. What are your plans for the day?”

I’d made a wild guess about the last time she took off work, but she didn’t correct me, which was damn sad. People could scold me for “not living up to my potential,” but at least I wasn’t chained to my inbox and the whims of others.

“I haven’t decided yet. Perhaps I’ll finish my book.” Her eyes flicked around at our luxurious surroundings. The three-bedroom villa boasted an infinity pool, a Jacuzzi, and access to a private beach, but she seemed unimpressed by all of it.

“The book you were reading on the plane?” I asked in disbelief. “25 Principles of Crisis Communications? That book?”

Pink colored her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. “It’s the latest edition.”

“Jesus.” The CIA couldn’t torture me into reading that book, and she was doing it for fun.

I’d assumed that once she arrived in Mallorca, the island would work its magic and she’d automatically loosen up. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

If I wanted to see a different side of her, I had to coax it out of her; otherwise, she’d spend the week buried in some boring nonfiction book and the entire trip would go to waste.

The chances of me convincing Sloane to take off work again in the future were slim to none, which meant this was my one opportunity to drag her out of her comfort zone.

I chose not to examine why doing that was so important to me. Sometimes, it was better not to ask questions I wouldn’t like the answers to.

“Fuck that. You’re at the best resort in Mallorca. You need to take advantage of it.” An idea popped up in my head. “I have just the thing. Let’s go.”

Sloane didn’t budge. “I’m not day drinking with you.”

“Not everything I do involves partying.” My grin made a wicked return. “You’ll love this. I promise.”

“I do not love this.” The heat of Sloane’s glare rivaled the one-hundred-fifty-degree air billowing around us. “I do not love this at all.”

“See, that’s exactly the type of frustration we’re working on today.” I leaned back and laced my hands behind my head. “It’ll be tough, but we will pull that stick out of your ass.”

Sloane’s eyes narrowed, and I almost patted her down to ensure she hadn’t smuggled in a hair pin that she could fashion into a weapon. Since that would be rude, and I valued my life, I kept my hands to myself.

After I convinced her to leave her ridiculous nonfiction book in the villa, I dragged her to the resort’s restaurant for breakfast followed by a trip to the spa. If anyone needed a good massage, it was her.

Fortunately, the spa had one package available at the last minute. Unfortunately, it was a couples’ package, which was how Sloane and I ended up in a private igloo dry sauna together, kickstarting the first of many stops on our Signature Honeymoon Ritual.

Sloane had put up a hell of a fight, but between my irresistible charm and the spa concierge’s firm but gentle insistence, she’d reluctantly caved.

“Is this all you do with your days?” She glanced around the cedar-paneled room.

“No. I also eat, sleep, and fuck.” My lips curved when she stiffened at the word fuck. “If you tried it some time, you might be less uptight. Newsflash, Luna, your headaches aren’t from your hair.” Even now, her blond locks were slicked back in a bun tight enough to cut off circulation. “It’s from pent-up tension.”

“Wrong. My headaches are from dealing with you.” She shifted, and I tried not to notice the way her towel slipped the tiniest bit—not enough to reveal anything scandalous, but enough to make my imagination run wild. “Besides, I’m plenty happy with my sex life, which is more than your bedmates can say, I’m sure.” Something dark and unidentifiable stirred behind my ribcage.

Fucking breakfast. I should’ve known better than to eat the last piece of sausage at the buffet.

I better not have food poisoning, or I was suing the resort. “They’ve never had complaints, but is that any way to speak to a client?” I drawled.