Chapter 8
“How’s the head?”
Angelo looked up from the bench-press machine to see Jo towering over him. Again she wore little enough to reveal exactly how amazing her conditioning was. Cyclists’ legs of strong thighs, a workout-flat stomach, and arms with just that womanly hint of muscle that did nothing to mar the illusion of smooth skin but hinted at lurking power beneath.
“Uh, fine.” He lowered and released the handles then sat up. That brought his face level with her breasts, dark green sports bra this time. He struggled to his feet.
“Barely a lump any more.”
“Sore from the ride?”
“Not particularly.” He’d been teased throughout dinner service for hobbling like an old man. “You?”
“Plenty. Clearly we need to do that more often.”
That he liked the sound of. “Anytime.”
“Well, I sho
