Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Oh,” Iris’s gasp was soft, even reverent, as she took in the high vaulted glass ceilings of the natatorium with its gorgeous, golden exposed beams. The temperature-controlled room reminded her of a greenhouse, with three glass walls to complement the glass ceiling. They had a view of the forest and the lake from this room and the stonework was the color of beach sand. The pool was half-Olympic-sized at the very least. There was a round spa sunk into its far side. Wooden benches and huge, leafy plants added ambiance and comfort to the space, and there was a glass-fronted cedar-wood sauna on this side of the room.
“This is amazing,” she whispered, her eyes huge as she looked around. She loved how lush and green it looked outside, despite the sullen gray clouds above.
“C’mon,” he urged, leading her toward the opposite end of the massive dark blue pool. Before she knew it, she was standing at the side of the spa—which was a few shades darker than the pool—and she could see the mosaics highlighting the shelved seating that ran all-round the tub. “Climb in, I’ll switch on the jets.”
“I really appreciate this,” she told him earnestly, ditching the robe without thinking, and then immediately regretting her rashness when he froze halfway through turning away.
Froze… and stared.
“That’s very—uh—bright,” he said, his words stumbling into one another like drunken sailors. He blinked at the two tiny pink and white triangles cupping her small boobs, before dropping his eyes to her gently rounded stomach, which—she regretted—had always had a bit of sag to it no matter how many crunches and sit-ups she did. She’d eventually given up on the dream of having an ab-tastic toned and taut tummy. She was happy enough with her curves to not stress the shit she couldn’t change without some kind of surgical intervention.
His wandering eyes slid away from her stomach—and dropped to her generous hips, then fell to the triangle at her crotch before jerking back up to her face.
“This is what you brought for swimming? In the Cape? In winter?” He finally managed to ask in hoarse incredulity, and Iris was rebelliously happy that she’d resisted the urge to fold her arms over her small boobs with their hard nipples. For a few seconds there, she’d mistakenly believed he was gawking at her body, when in fact, he’d been horrified by her choice of bathing apparel.
Please. As if the likes of Trystan Abbott would ever be gawking at someone the caliber of ordinary, curvy Iris Hughes.
She immediately berated herself for the appalling lack of self-esteem that thought had betrayed. She’d worked very hard on her body positivity, and on loving herself and the way she looked. She’d be damned if she’d let one scathing put-down from a man with unrealistic beauty standards undo years of hard work.
She frowned as she stared at him, with his stupid beard and his big body and his beautiful eyes and face, and acknowledged that—those beauty standards were unrealistic for 99% of humankind. Trystan Abbott, however, could date any of those otherworldly goddess-like creatures if he wanted. Well, he had dated very many of them. A gorgeous array of supermodels, actresses, athletes, even a frikking princess—the man’s only real criteria seemed to be that his sexual partners be as beautiful as he.
“What’s going through that complicated, crazy brain of yours right now?” he asked, and her eyes widened at his almost affectionate question.
“I was thinking that I’m happy I brought this bathing suit. No matter how unsuitable it may seem to you. Since it’s coming in handy right now.” She tilted her head defiantly and stepped into the blissfully warm water, and when she sat down she was submerged up to her neck. Her long sigh was filled with sheer contentment.
He watched her with an odd, indecipherable expression on his face before he turned to stride to a panel in the wall next to the sauna.
Iris made a delighted sound when the water bubbled to life, the jets exactly what she needed for her sore muscles.
She was shocked and a little horrified when Trystan—yes, he was back to Trystan again—joined her at the hot tub and shucked out of his clothes to reveal black board shorts beneath his sweatpants.
Iris tried not to gawk at the veritable feast of male perfection on display in front of her right now. Tight butt with long, strong, muscular legs and thighs combined with washboard abs, broad shoulders, chest and back. He had beautifully veined forearms and bulging biceps and triceps. There was zero fat on him. Everything was muscle, bone, and sinew.
She’d seen him wearing even less in movies, but nothing could prepare any human being for the reality of seeing Trystan Abbott in the flesh, so to speak. It was like seeing pictures of the painted ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in books and on the Internet all your life, and then finally witnessing the real deal with your own eyes. There was just no comparison.