When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9)(30)
She definitely did want to see, and if she were a different woman with a different profession, she might let herself enjoy everything this deliciously sexy man had to offer, but her relationship with Adam had caused enough destruction in her life. For all Thad Owens wanted was the world to see him as a good-natured guy who lived for football, she wasn’t fooled. Every instinct she possessed told her he wasn’t nearly as straightforward as he pretended to be, and the last thing she needed in her life right now was more complexity.
She waited a few seconds for him to settle into the water before she looked. He’d grown some beard stubble since the morning, and the glow from the hot tub lights intensified the green of his eyes, while feathers of steam drifted around his broad shoulders. The rush of heat racing through her body didn’t come from the water temperature.
He leaned against the tub’s edge. “I was about to get in the shower when I saw you down here.”
The possibility that he’d seen her traipse naked across the deck unsettled her, even though she liked her body. She liked the height that gave her presence onstage and the strength that allowed her to endure long performances. Pop stars who relied on microphones could afford to be rail thin, but opera singers’ unamplified voices had to carry out into the audience over a full orchestra. While the era of the obese opera singer had ended, a small, malnourished body couldn’t cut it, either. Yet those super-thin bodies were probably what Thad Owens feasted on.
The realization that she was thinking about how a professional athlete-playboy would judge her body made her angry with herself. But also curious. “What do you think is most attractive in a woman? Body, brains, or power?”
“All of the above.”
“But if you could only have one?”
“Let me point out that you’re the person who’s reducing women to a single attribute.”
She smiled. “I was speaking theoretically.”
“Then how about we reverse the questions? What’s most attractive to you in a man? Body, brains, or power?”
“Point made.”
“I guess we all have certain physical traits we’re attracted to.”
Thick, dark hair, great chest, perfect profile.
“What really attracts me is a person who has a passion,” he said. “Their job, their hobby. Whether it’s saving tigers, or making a great barbecue sauce. I like people who want to suck all the juice out of life.”
He kept surprising her. She understood exactly what he meant because she felt the same way. “What’s your passion?” she asked. “Or is the answer too obvious?”
The way he hesitated made her suspect he was about to make another wisecrack, but he surprised her once again. “Being the best. Just like you said. What else is there?”
She’d watched him with Clint Garrett. She’d seen how much he resented Clint, yet she’d also overheard enough of their conversations to know he was determined to make Clint a better player. She wondered how he’d resolve this conflict inside himself. Or maybe he hadn’t.
They fell into quiet, but this silence didn’t feel as comfortable as their others had. Maybe it was the dark, the brush of water against her skin. Maybe it was the sight of those muscular shoulders emerging from the water. She imagined herself sliding over to him. Pressing her hands against his chest. His hands coming to her breasts. She imagined— “I’m getting out.”
She hadn’t brought a towel, only flip-flops. He was better prepared. She reached over the side and grabbed the towel he’d left there. “I’ll bring you another one.”
“Don’t cover up on my account.”
“You’re not going to seduce me.” As soon as the words were out, she wished she hadn’t spoken them.
“Hey, you’re the one who keeps bringing up sex.”
She shot up in the water, gripping the towel around herself. “Liar. You bring it up every time you waltz around in front of me without a shirt.”
“I’ve never once waltzed around—”
“And when you look at me with that face.” She climbed out.
“I can’t help my—”
“And bat those green eyes.”
His voice raised in outrage. “I never batted an eye in my life!”
She stomped across the snowy deck in her flip-flops. “Every time you— You—” She grabbed the bedroom doorknob.
It was locked.
7
Stunned, Olivia spun toward him. “You locked the door!”
He reared up from the bubbles. “What do you mean?”
“The door! You must have pushed the lock when you came out here.”
“I didn’t do anything to the lock. Let me see.”
He rose—his body steaming in the cold night air, a male Aphrodite emerging from an artificial sea.
The veteran of a hundred locker rooms wasn’t self-conscious about nudity, and she should have been too focused on the locked door for more than a passing glance, but she wasn’t.
He was magnificent, every part of him. Shoulders and chest, narrow hips, lean and powerful legs. And . . . Wow.
He moved in front of her and tried the knob. “You’re right.”
She forced herself to refocus. “Of course I’m right!”