Going Overboard by Christina Skye

sweat, are you?”
    “No way.” Goaded, she took the exercise suit and sputtered a thank you.
    “Good. You can change in there.” He pointed past a fi-cus tree. “I'll warm up your treadmill.”
    “How kind of you.” Carly tried not to fume as she wriggled into the spandex, feeling like an absolute fool. Irritably, she tugged at the high-cut leg openings. What had made her think the man had any romantic intentions?
    On the plus side, rather than outline every imperfection, the spandex smoothed and complimented, making her body look more toned than it was, and the tights that went with the leotard were surprisingly comfortable.
    McKay's gaze lingered longer than necessary as she strolled across the empty exercise area. He had changed, too, and his sweats looked like they had suffered major abuse in the name of peak conditioning.
    “You're serious about this, aren't you?” Carly resisted an impulse to tug at the form-fitting spandex.
    “Absolutely. Your water's over there. Use it frequently. Hydration is the number-one rule.”
    “Do you own a health club?” Carly asked suspiciously. “Daphne swore you did.”
    He seemed to fight a smile. “No, but I spend a lot of time working out. Lie down,” he ordered.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I'm not going to jump you, Sullivan. You need to warm up before we start.”
    “Oh.” Mortified, Carly sank to one knee beside him. “I guess that doesn't mean hot chocolate with marshmal-lows?” she said wistfully.
    McKay didn't crack a smile as he took her through leg lifts and stretches, then steered her toward a sleek steel treadmill. “Five minutes, no incline, just to get your heart rate up. We'll start you at a walk.”
    “What's this ‘we’ stuff? I'm the one doing the work.”
    “You'll be getting the benefits, too.”
    “You're really into all this exercise stuff, aren't you?”
    “Your body is your finest tool.”
    “Funny, I always considered it my weakest link.”
    But five minutes passed before Carly knew it. At the end of ten, she felt comfortably flushed, more energized than she had in weeks. “Okay, I'm pumped. Where do I sign up for kickboxing?”
    “First things first, Champ.” McKay steered her to a machine with a padded seat. “Stomach crunches next. Hold, exhale, and tuck. Form counts.”
    Carly stared at him. “Don't tell me you're some kind of personal trainer.”
    “Stop procrastinating.”
    She slid gingerly onto the seat, embraced the metal bar, and tucked as ordered.
    “Good. Only forty-nine more to go.”
    “Wait a minute,” she snapped.
    “Just a joke. Keep your back to the seat. No sliding forward or you'll end up with pulled muscles.”
    Carly huffed her way to ten and sat back with a gasp. “Since this was your idea, tell me what we've learned about each other, beyond the fact that you have an unhealthy liking for pain, especially when it's someone else's.”
    He held out a bottle of water and waited until she drank. “I've learned that you can stay the course.” He handed her a towel for her face. “That you like a good challenge. Stubborn to the bone.”
    Carly hid a smile. The man had her pegged. “Is that a fact? What else?”
    He braced an arm against the weight machine. “You've learned that I have your best interests at heart and that I'm probably not going to jump you.”
    There was absolutely no reason for her to be disappointed. “How do I know that?”
    “Because if I'd planned to jump you, the sight of you in that sexy spandex would have clinched the deal.”
    Carly felt a little light-headed. “I'm not sexy. I'm—”
    McKay skimmed her cheek. “Sexy as hell, Sullivan. Case closed.”
    He was suddenly too close, too calm. She felt a surge of relief when he gripped a horizontal bar and slid into effortless pull-ups. Carly lost count after fifty and simply indulged in the pleasure of watching the play and recoil of his muscles. “Are you in the military?”
    “What makes you think that?” His voice didn't