grunting and groaning my way through the treadmil's fifty-

minute program even when I wanted to hop off.

The fact this guy had the body of a god and stopped

briefly to strip off his shirt didn't hurt. Not one bit. Every

time his abs and pecs rippled I thought about how his

sweat would taste if I ran my tongue along the rim of his

ribs and around the concave cup of his bely button. I tried

to be grossed out at myself for thinking such crude

thoughts but couldn't convince my traitorous body that

wanting to ride his thigh was wrong.

I blamed the TV.

This time of night the only shows we could get on the

gym's battered set were reality-TV shows, game shows or

the music channel. The eye candy on the videos was nice,

but it sure did put a girl in an interesting frame of mind.

As much as I might want to grab ahold of Mr. Mystery's

As much as I might want to grab ahold of Mr. Mystery's

ears and ride him like a roler coaster, random, careless

sex was absolutely not part of my plan. Especialy not with

someone from my building. Guys talked. Even now, when

women were supposed to be able to go after what they

wanted with the same passion and lack of emotional

commitment as men, guys stil talked. Peanut-butter legs,

easy to spread. Doorknob, everyone gets a turn. The

good time had by al. I wasn't out to get a renewed

reputation for having round heels.

Instead, I sweated and bit back grunts that would give

away the ache in my thighs as I watched beautiful women

with porn-star tits writhe on red satin sheets to the

oompah-pah-oomp of some badonkadonk-donk hip-hop

song.

Surreptitiously, I watched to see if he had any sort of

reaction to the pseudofucking being played out in three-

minute increments. His profile told me nothing. Staring

straight ahead, I couldn't see if his shorts were bulging.

Sily, I told myself. Who got turned on in the middle of a

workout? Too much blood was being pumped to other

places for him to get a hard-on. Hel, I thought my heart

was going to bust right out of my chest. There was no way

was going to bust right out of my chest. There was no way

I could spare any for my clitoris.

His treadmil beeped to indicate the end of his program.

He slowed, grabbed his towel and wiped his face as he

climbed off. He drank thirstily from his water bottle. When

he bent to touch his toes, I groaned aloud. This guy's ass

was like two cantaloupes in a silk bag.

He looked up with a smal grin, as if he could read my

dirty mind. I hoped he couldn't. No, damn, I hoped he

could.

"You al right?"

"…fine…"

I was, in fact, almost a puddle of overexercised goo. My

machine beeped a minute later, my program over. I wiped

my face and drank water, too, but I didn't try any sort of

bending. I'd have passed out.

He'd moved to the tension machine, but hadn't yet begun.

He gestured to me, instead. "C'mere. Try this."

"Oh, I don't think so." I shook my head even as my feet

folowed the siren cal of muscled thighs and an irresistible

folowed the siren cal of muscled thighs and an irresistible

set of back dimples.

"You can't just do cardio," the guy said. "You need to do strength training, too. Tone up."

I thought about being insulted, but let's face it. When

Adonis is critiquing your body, he probably knows what

he's talking about. "Okay."

"Sit."

I did. He adjusted something in the back and puled down

the rods on either side so I could slip my hands into the

grips. Across from us, the mirrored wal reflected him

standing behind me as he explained how to pul the grips to

move the weights.

With my feet hooked under the padded bench and my

hands holding the grips, I was effectively imprisoned. He

put his hands over mine the first few times to get me used

to the rhythm. It was easy enough, working my arms, since

my legs stil trembled from the stint on the treadmil.

"Good job," my new trainer-cum-boyfriend said.

His tone suggested he might pat me on the head. Instead,

His tone suggested he might pat me on the head. Instead,

he let go of my hands and put his on my sides. His fingers

curved around my ribs just below my breasts. I drew in a

sharp breath and didn't move at first.

"Keep going." In the mirror his eyes met mine. "Feel how the muscles in your abs are working, too?"

I couldn't feel anything but his fingers inching upward. My

nipples stabbed through my sports bra and the thin, damp-

with-sweat cotton of my T-shirt. Between my legs a slow,

steady throb began with every pul and release of the

weights. I couldn't see his body behind me, could only feel

his heat. I could not feel the hard, long length of his

erection pressed against my back, but suddenly it was al I

could think about.

"Harder," my newfound fantasy man murmured almost

directly into my ear as one hand slid down flat over my

bely. "Feel your body work."

Oh, God. My mind insisted he was not hitting on me. My

body, on the other hand, thrummed and vibrated and

practicaly did the hokeypokey. I wanted to throw the left

one in, the right one out and turn it al about.

I bit down on my lower lip, instead. He gave me an

encouraging smile. His scent, body spray and hard effort

cut through the gym's pervasive odor of mildew and

cleaning products. My lust didn't show on my face. The

mirror only reflected a sweaty, grouchy-looking woman

whose hair had started sticking to her cheeks. Big wet

rings spread from my armpits and sides, and I couldn't

believe he wasn't disgusted. Maybe he was. He let go and

stepped back with an approving nod.

"Add that to your routine," he said. "You'l see results in a couple weeks, I promise."

Ohhhhh, God. He realy wasn't hitting on me. He was

totaly just trying to be nice and help me work off the extra

inches nobody ever had on TV. He was the jock with the

heart of gold being kind to the brainiac. Too bad this guy

didn't know that in high school I hadn't been the brain.

"Thanks." I drank more water and wiped my face with my

towel.

He wiped his chest and I forced myself not to watch. "You

don't realy look like you need to lose any weight, but it's

always good to supplement cardio with weight training.

always good to supplement cardio with weight training.

Builds muscle."

I had a vision of myself in a bathing suit made from one

thin strip of fabric, tanned to orange splendor and oiled

like an olive. It wasn't a pretty picture. "Okay, thanks."

Mr. Mystery grinned. He had dimples on his face, too.

"See you."

He stuck his head into a tank top, then his arms, and

puled it down. Then he grabbed his towel and water

bottle and headed out. I waited until he'd gone before I

folowed, not only because I wanted to ogle his ass but

because I needed time to cool down. Literaly.

My calves ached. My butt did, too. Now I could add my

arms to the list after the workout I'd given them.

I wouldn't have thought I could stil be horny after the

thigh-crunching walk up the stairs to the seventh floor, but

by the time I got into the shower, al I could do was think

about his hands on me. Austin's hands, the stranger's

hands…somehow it didn't matter, just that they hadn't

been my own.

I scrubbed quickly, conditioned and moisturized. I even

I scrubbed quickly, conditioned and moisturized. I even

shaved my legs, though it seemed utterly unlikely anyone

was going to be touching them, since I'd turned Austin

down and Mr. Mystery had only felt me up a little bit. By

the time I got out of the shower, my nipples had peaked

into tight, hard nubs that defied me not to tweak them as I

dried myself with a soft towel.

In my bedroom I shed the towel and stood in front of the

bed. The lonely bed. It was king-size, and even though I

never shared it with anyone, I stil slept only on one side.

Some habits are harder to break. I smoothed the quilt,

then puled it down to reveal the crisp, white sheets I'd

paid too much for. It had seemed like a good thing to do

at the time, spend money on fancy sheets for my new

place. I'd regretted it the next time I was hungry, but that's

the way it goes.

The window had nothing but a sheer curtain covering the

glass, but I wasn't too worried about being seen. The

parking garage across the street was the only building high

enough to give anyone access to peep at me, and my

apartment was set a little too far back to make it worth

anyone's while. Stil, the thought someone could be

watching me had me covering my breasts with my hands

watching me had me covering my breasts with my hands

for just a moment.

I cupped them, the weight familiar. I'd gotten tits in fifth

grade but hadn't realy grown into them until I was a junior

in high school. I couldn't realy remember a time when I

didn't curve this way. I could recal being thinner, yes, but

not flat-chested.

Under my palms, my nipples stayed hard, tight peaks. I