I make a sound that’s half exasperation, half arousal.

“Coffee that good?” A woman pulls her chair over to me, a floppy sun hat hiding her face. She sits down, making no effort to be modest with legs that go up to her chin, in a short skirt that shows me she favors thong underwear. “Sounds positively orgasmic.”

I’ll give her credit — she knows when to make a sultry entrance. Long, blonde hair highlighted by a color artist, curled into a loose french knot that stays in place as she peels off her hat. Toned arms, perfectly tanned, shoulders kissed by freckles. Her bright red sleeveless sun dress shows off a pair of sculpted breasts, unnaturally big and perfectly symmetrical. The toothy smile greeting me as she cradles a coffee cup in her hands on top of knees that brush against my thigh is about as obvious as a crotch grab.

“Good coffee is good coffee,” I say with a polite smile.

“And good orgasms are even better,” she replies with a wink.

Working at O means learning how to knock down passes being thrown at you from all angles, often unexpectedly and without warning. No matter what, this woman is not going to score on me, so it’s better to deflect swiftly and move on.

I pull myself up, legs off the bottom of the chair, and spring into a standing position, coffee lid much appreciated. “If you’ll excuse me, I — ”

“You’re one of the strippers at O, aren’t you?” Her eyes narrow, taking me in inch by inch, the look cold and calculating. “I’ve seen you before. But not in the daylight.” She looks down at my running shorts. “And not with so many clothes on.”

“Are you a member?” I keep my voice even. O Spa policy states that if you meet a member outside of the club, you act professionally. Master masseurs are “on” at all times.

Not on the clock, though. I ignore her stripper comment and put up my guard, knowing the best offense is to become a blank wall.

“Lifetime.”

That means she shelled out six figures. She expects me to be impressed. But before I can come up with something to say, she reaches for both ends of my wet t-shirt around my neck, and pulls me close. Mocha and whisky blast my nose, her sour breath tinged with something elegantly sinister. That’s not just coffee in that cup she’s holding.

No surprise.

“I’m Eileen. What’s your name?” One eyebrow goes up. “I know you’re not Henry.” She pretends to look a foot above me and laughs. “He’d stand out in a crowd of Vikings.”

“Ryan.” A split second too late, I realize I should have lied and given her Zeke’s name. Then a warning bell starts to ding inside me. Eileen. Eileen. I’ve heard that name before at work. But why?

“Ryan.” It comes out like a purr and I’m her prey. Her eyes move slowly, like she has a right to check out the meat. My meat. Like she’s bought me already. At work, I don’t care. It goes with the job.

In public? With my heart barely in my ribcage after that moment with Carrie? Eileen’s attention feels cheap.

I don’t do cheap.

I twist away, gently taking her hand so I can untangle myself. But she’s fast. Determined. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes, visible only when I’m this close, make me think she’s well into her forties. Flat belly, though, and toned body.

A few years ago, I would have killed to have a woman like her want me.

Now all I want is Carrie.

Eileen’s manicured fingers tickle my sweaty chest, a low, sexy rumble bubbling up her throat. Red, glistening lips part, her tongue peeking out as she gives me an uncompromising look.

“You have the body of an Olympian.”

“And you have the lines of a pick-up artist,” says a woman behind me, matching Eileen tone for tone.

I jump back, out of Eileen’s grasp, my t-shirt dropping onto my foot.

“Hi Eileen,” Chloe says, one arm firmly around Nick Grafton’s waist, the other extended and ready to shake. “What a surprise and a delight.”

Nick shoots me a look that says, What’s up?

I give Chloe a look that says, I owe you my firstborn son.

As Nick and I shake hands and share masculine looks and deathgrips designed to crush titanium, Chloe and Eileen do the fake air-kiss, murmuring comments about the resort and Grind It Fresh! Niceties that buy time while they size each other up.

“I’m here for a long-term spa stay,” Eileen says, flashing Chloe a tight smile.

That’s code for plastic surgery.

“You’ve worked so hard this year, Eileen. All that charity work. You deserve it,” Chloe says smoothly. “Let me introduce you to my partner, Nick. Nick Grafton, this is Eileen van Donner.”

They shake hands, Eileen’s radar on high, scanning Nick for sex potential. We all feel it. Chloe starts to do a slow burn.

Hold on. Eileen van Donner. Now I remember. Cougar extraordinaire, something about trying to buy Zeke a while ago.

Literally buy him. People with money to burn will go to great lengths to get what they want.

“I see you’ve brought the help,” Eileen jokes with Chloe, who looks genuinely perplexed.

“Help?” Chloe asks.

“I think she means me,” I offer, jaw tight.

“Is Ryan available?” Eileen asks.

Nick starts coughing.

“Available? No. I have a girlfriend,” I blurt out.

Chloe’s eyes dart between me and Eileen like a metronome on high.

“I meant for spa services. I assume you’re here to work?”

“No, I’m here for pleasure.”

“Funny. So am I.” She reaches for my arm and slips her hand in, fingertips brushing my bare nipple.

“Eileen, a former member of our O staff is getting married here at the Inn. You’ll see many O staff members here as guests. They’re not working,” Chloe says pointedly.

“Not officially,” Eileen asks, her intent clear.

“Not at all,” I say firmly. “Remember my girlfriend?” At that, Chloe arches an eyebrow and smothers a smile. What the hell does that look mean?

Eileen pouts. It’s hard to tell, but she manages it through chemical paralysis. “That’s no fun.”

“Everyone needs a break from work sometimes,” I say, clearing my throat. Nick nods with sympathy. Or maybe he’s just trying not to laugh.

“Don’t think of what you do as work. It’s more of a calling.” Twisting my way out of her touch is easy as I break her grasp and suck down the rest of my coffee.