pair of hands reach out to steady me, firmly grabbing my waist. I lift my head, certain who I'll find before I even meet his hooded gaze.

Tyler.

His eyes roam my outfit with feigned disapproval. "Is this what you wear to bed?"

I blink once, then twice. I'd been half asleep only a moment ago, but now every nerve in my body is awake. "What's wrong with my pajamas?"

"Aside from the obvious?" His eyes are bright, and there's a faint smell of alcohol coming from his breath, but not the harsh kind. It's warm and sweet, making me wonder what he'd taste like.

"Sorry that my choice of bedroom attire isn't sexy enough for you."

"That's the problem," he says, almost pained, "it is."

I manage to inhale and exhale at once. There's a part of me that wants to just reach out and touch him, but I'm not about to jeopardize my training. "Why are you even here? I thought you weren't friends with Sam."

"I'm not." His eyes are practically undressing me. "I'm keeping my friends close and my enemies closer."

And this is what scares me. There's always some ulterior motive with him. "Well, you should probably get back to the party."

"It's over," he says, and I suddenly realize how quiet it is. How alone we are. "Sam's already holed up in his bedroom with some girl. The others either crashed in the guest room or left already. Come on, I want to show you something." He grabs my hand, and instead of doing the sane thing and pulling away, I let him lead me to the kitchen.

The place is dark, and I find myself holding on tighter as he leads me back out onto the patio. I can see why, despite the leftover beer bottles, he'd wanted to show me this. Everything about this looks magical, from the fairy lights coiled around the wooden veranda to the old-fashioned lanterns dangling from the trees. I take a step further, tilting my head to the starry night sky, where the moon sits half-hidden behind a haze of white mist.

"It's beautiful," I say.

"Yeah, it is," but something tells me he's not talking about the sky. Gently, he leads me around the ledge of the pool and toward the hot tub, where I finally dig my heels in.

"No way," I say. "I'm not getting in there."

He turns and grins at my expression. "This is strictly professional," he says. "As your trainer, I'm letting you know that your muscles will thank you in the morning for getting into this hot tub. You're already starting to feel it, right?"

Unfortunately, he's right. My thighs are beginning to ache in ways I never thought possible. But I'm not an idiot, and there is nothing professional about climbing into a hot tub with Tyler.

So, why do I want to?

Before I can think, he's stripping down to his boxers. I want to look away, but it's hard to deny how perfect he looks, each muscle taut and sculpted to perfection. I catch a glimpse of his back as he turns, watching his shoulder blades arch like wings as he lowers himself into the tub.

"Are you getting in?" he asks.

"No. I don't have a swimsuit."

He grins like I'm being a baby, but this is less about modesty and more about the fact that I don't think I can trust myself in there. "Then sit on the ledge," he says. "Come on, sirenita. How often do you get to use some rich kid for his hot tub?"

Knowing he's not the type to give up, I settle on sitting on the ledge of the tub and slide my legs into the water. "There, happy?"

"Always around you."

I roll my eyes, watching as he turns around to float on his back, his gaze fixed firmly on the sky. "I saw you and your dad earlier. He looked kind of mad."

He's silent for a moment, and I wonder if he even beard. "He thinks I should have come first in our circuit," he says. "He was right."

"Hey," I say softly, and his head snaps up. Those dark eyes find mine, unusually tense, with what looks like a glimmer of hurt behind them. "You did amazing today, Tyler. Don't let your Dad's high expectations for you make you question your worth."

"Yeah?" His voice is low, somber, "What if he's right?"

My heart hurts for him. Not only hurts but beats twice as fast for. This is a side of him I don't get to see all too often, but when I do, I question everything.

"So, how's the sleepover?" he asks. There's a bite to his voice, and I get the distinct feeling he's jealous.

"Why are you saying sleepover like that?"

He shrugs as he lightly splashes me with water. "No reason." I splash him back, pulling a brief smile from his lips. He wades toward me until he's right in front of me, his arms now resting on my legs. "So, how was it?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous."

"What if I am?"

I try to inhale, but the air feels twice as thick. "Why would you be jealous of Niko?" I ask. It's a dangerous question – I'm not sure I want the answer.

"I'm not jealous of Niko," he says, getting to his feet. He towers above me, muscles taut as he searches my face, and instead of seeing danger signs flashing like beacons, all I can see is his golden, wet skin. "I'm jealous he gets to sleep next to you."

Without meaning to, I glance at his mouth. He must know what I'm thinking, because his eyes grow suggestive as he takes in my lips. He starts to test the waters, moving his hands up my inner thighs until they're nearing a place that they shouldn't be. My hands fly up, pushing against his rock-solid chest. "Tyler."

My voice comes out low, shaky, not at all with the force I'd intended. He stops abruptly, his hands now frozen near the place I'd been trying to stop them from reaching.

"Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop," he says.

My voices comes out raspy and low. "I don't want you to stop."

His eyes grow hooded as he parts my legs, taking his rightful place between them. I wrap them around his torso, drawing him closer until I'm pressed to his chest, his wet skin forming patterns on my tank top. I look away, suddenly nervous about being so close, but he cups my face, bringing my gaze back to his.

"You're beautiful," he says, "you know that?"

Beautiful. The word cuts straight through me. I force myself to concentrate, to think of all of the reasons we shouldn't right now, but I can't think of anything at all.

His mouth draws closer. I'm terrified if I kiss him there will be go going back, so I intentionally avoid his mouth. His nose brushes mine, his lips about an inch away from meeting mine, so I look off to the left at the lanterns.

Finally, he grows impatient. He brings his hands either side of my face, keeping me still. I inhale sharply, waiting for that moment where his lips come down mine, and then suddenly, they do.

I feel him everywhere at once: the soles of my feet, the space between my thighs. He tastes as warm and as sweet as I'd imagined, like cotton candy. Steam rises around us as water laps my thighs, sticking my pants to my legs. He peels them down until they're off completely, then tosses them aside.

For a moment, he's still. His eyes roam my thighs before settling on my underwear. They're black and lacy, not because I ever could have anticipated this, but because they were the only clean pair. His eyes travel further, taking in my tank top before widening slightly. The steam and water have soaked it right through, forcing it to cling to my breasts.

"Fuck," he says. "Only you could make Mickey Mouse pajamas look sexy."

My heart pulsates at hearing him curse. I've heard it before in our training sessions, but hearing it now, knowing that it's a reaction to him wanting me, sets me on fire.

His hand is on my thigh again, the other beneath my top. I let out a breath as he trails my stomach, cupping my breast in his palm. My body lets out a gentle shiver. I touch him back, trailing my nails down the length of his back and over his hard, arching muscles. My hands drop further, finding the hard, taut, material of his underwear.

"Sirenita." His voice comes out strangled and rough against my mouth. I can barely respond, because his own hand has taken a detour down south and now sits between my thighs.

I seem to have lost the ability to speak. He waits a moment, giving me the chance to put an end to this for good, but I don't think I could stop if I tried. I nod a little – the confirmation he needs.

His mouth catches mine at the same time he brushes me through the lacy material. I grab onto him tighter, overcome by the warmth now pooling in my thighs, which is starting to spread through my body.

I start to breathe quicker, and so does he. He whispers something into my neck that I don't quite catch, and then he's no longer touching me through the lacy material but filling me up with his fingers.

For a second, time stops. The sensation of the bubbling hot water paired with his hands is like nothing I've ever experienced. I arch my back, letting out a breath as his fingers brush there, certain I'm about to combust.

I pull his face to mine so I can kiss him one last time before reality sets in. He kisses me sharply, his eyes growing blacker the harder I breathe. And that's when I feel it, a heat inside that grows until I'm ready to ignite, and then his fingers are setting me on fire.