Page 45 of Plotting Summer

“Nope. It’s a matter of preference.” The woman flutters her eyelashes again and leans toward him ever so slightly. “Do whatever brings you the most pleasure.”

Geez, lady. Can we be any more obvious?

“What will bring you the most pleasure, Capri?” Tristan’s focused on me. “You’re the one I’m trying to impress with all of this.”

The woman’s gaze flicks to me, and I try to fight my smile but I can’t. I know exactly what he means—that we’re here for the competition—but she doesn’t know that. In her eyes, I went from being someone Tristan declared he isn’t in a relationship with to being the person he’s trying to impress. “How about we start with the … steamy room?” That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? Why doesn’t it sound right?

Tristan’s lips tick upward at the corner. “I won’t say no to that.” Again, Tristan’s hand goes to my back, and he gives a nod to the Belacourt spa employee. “Thanks for your help, Lisa. Oh—” He takes his phone out from his robe pocket. “Can you grab a quick picture of us?”

“Of course.” She manages a tight smile and takes his phone.

Unlike our awkward posing at the lighthouse, Tristan pulls me in close, wrapping both of his arms around me, and if pictures are evidence for the best outing, he just won with the size of my smile.

“There you are.” Miss Eyelashes hands the phone back to Tristan.

“Thanks again,” he says, taking his phone but allowing one of his arms to linger at my waist. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready for those mud baths.”

“Wonderful.” Her gaze slides to me for another brief moment as if she’s wondering why Tristan would ever attempt to impress me, then she turns and walks out the door.

I allow Tristan to guide me forward when my eye catches on the sign next to the door. “It’s steam room,” I say, blushing. “Not steamy room.”

“I like your name for it better.” I glance over to find Tristan removing his robe, his chiseled abs and defined pecs begging to be admired. But this time, I go with my protective instincts. Tristan with a robe on and his chest peeking through is one thing. Tristan shirtless requires a whole other level of self-discipline I don’t currently possess. At least if I want to continue functioning at an optimum level.

Averting my eyes from him, I quickly remove my robe to hang on one of the unoccupied hooks on the wall. I’m glad I settled on wearing Tala’s black one-piece again. With its low back but high neckline, I’ve never felt more confident in a swimsuit. Though I doubt Tristan has to avert his gaze from me for his own protection. That proves true when I look in his direction and Tristan’s eyes are on me. Well … on my body. And then, to my complete surprise, he diverts his gaze and rubs a hand behind his neck.

“Ready?” he asks, still not looking at me.

I smile, feeling giddy at the thought that maybe he’s not entirely unaffected by me. “Yep.”

Tristan opens the door, and a plume of steam escapes toward us. I mentally pat myself on the back for making the call to do this room first. The diminished visibility is exactly what I need to get my head on straight.

There are two other men already seated on the benches opposite each other, so instead of spreading out, Tristan and his shirtless body come and sit right next to me against the back of the small room. It’s fine. I’m fine. Though I’d be more fine if the other two men were wearing swimsuits and not just towels around their waists. Between them and the Trojan warrior at my side, I don’t have a good place to look, so I settle my attention on the floor in front of me. It feels like the safest option.

“Tristan Palmer.” A middle-aged man with dark brown hair and a slim build gives Tristan a larger-than-life smile that makes him instantly recognizable. Senator Clayton Brooks. “I thought that was you.”

Tristan lifts a hand in greeting. “Senator Brooks, I didn’t see you there.”

“I don’t blame you.” His smiling eyes glide to me. “Not when you have such a pretty young lady to distract you.”

The other man glances up briefly, looks at me, but then lowers his gaze again. As is evidenced by his comment, Senator Brooks is a politician through and through. If there was a baby here, he’d kiss it.

“I heard Ivy’s back in town,” Tristan says, obviously eager to move on from his comment.

The mention of his daughter snaps his attention back to Tristan. “The blessing and curse of living in a small town—news travels fast.” He’s still wearing a smile, but it’s definitely strained, and I’m well-aware of the reason for it. Well, not any of the particulars, but that rumors are Ivy Brooks returned to Sunset Harbor with a … bang, if you will, and ended up with a court sentence because of it.

“I just meant … it’ll probably be nice to have her home for the summer.”

“Oh, yes. It certainly will.” He gestures to me. “So, who’s this young lady with you? She looks familiar, but I don’t think we’ve met before.”

We have met before, on several occasions, actually, but I don’t expect him to remember.

Tristan glances at me expectantly, as if he wants me to answer despite that Senator Brooks asked Tristan the question.

“I’m Capri Collins.”

His eyes widen. “A Collins, huh? As in Faye’s daughter?”

I nod.