11
Nikita powered ahead.
She hadn’t needed Zoe’s laugh to tell her that Drake had shown up. She hadn’t even needed the hint of his reflection off the TV screen—she’d felt him when he’d entered the room. There had been a ripple as other women had turned and paused long enough to admire. Men suddenly moved more briskly on their machines as if needing to show themselves to be up to a standard they’d never meet.
Her mind was turning to mush on the subject of Drake Roman and she didn’t like it. They ran for three kilometers before she wondered if she might be losing her mind.
“I’m not a woman designed for cruise ships,” she snarled at no one in particular and pushed the speed button up another two klicks an hour.
“Nope,” Drake agreed happily, and punched his own pace to match.
She told he
