I almost spit out my mimosa when I see Roman walking into the lounge, pigeon-toed, with bright pink toe separators, his toes shiny from the chip-resistant clear nail polish they had convinced him to apply. His pedicurist had been new; it was her first week at the spa. She was so nervous, and had fretted that if Roman didn’t use any of the services, her supervisor would be upset. Roman had instantly agreed to let her trim his nails, push back his cuticles, give him a stone foot treatment, and polish his toe nails. My eyes had almost permanently rolled into the back of my head every time she had gushed about how "handsome" his feet were, or how "elegant" his big toe was. And with a smug grin on his face, Roman had eaten up every word. Thank God for the buzz from my mimosas or I doubt I would have been able to stomach another minute of that drivel.

“Enjoying your spa day, big boy?” I ask as Roman waddles over to the empty seat next to mine.

Kicking out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles, Roman leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. “Actually, I am. I could get used to this.”

A loud shriek of laughter captures my attention and I turn and watch as Roman’s pedicurist and another spa attendant, a pretty brunette with very generous curves, giggle and whisper in the corner. The pedicurist elbows the brunette until finally, with another loud giggle, she saunters over to Roman.

“Mr. Brantley, is there anything, anything at all, I can get for you?” she asks as she bats her thick eyelashes and thrusts her chest toward him. Her voice, a good five octaves way too high, is dripping in innuendo and beginning to give me a nasty headache.

Roman opens his eyes, offering her a lazy smile. “It’s funny, but now that you mention it.” He pushes up from the chair and brings his arm to rub his neck. “There’s this knot in my neck.”

A wide smile jumps to her lips. “Oh, I can most definitely help—”

“He has a girlfriend.” I blurt out, instantly cringing at my tone. I sound like a complete neurotic bitch.

A flaming red blush of embarrassment creeps up the brunette’s cheeks and she nods furiously. “Of course,” she murmurs.

“And isn’t it time we head in for our massage anyway? Perhaps they can help work out that knot for him?” I ask, my question directed to the brunette, but my eyes on Roman.

Rather than looking annoyed, Roman gives me a wide, cocky grin. He thanks the brunette, who rushes off and out of the room, her cheeks still stained a bright pink. I down the remaining contents of my mimosa as our two massage therapists arrive to bring us to the massage room.

As they lead us down the long hallway, they both stop at a door and I peek inside. The room is dark, with the only light coming from a pair of sconces on the wall. Soft music plays and a diffuser in the corner sprays a fresh, floral mist throughout the room. Two massage beds take up the majority of the room and the dim lighting and small quarters makes the space feel so intimate. No way can I spend the next two hours cramped inside this tiny room with Roman.

“We’re going to need separate rooms,” I explain, turning back to the massage therapist.

“Oh, I’m sorry Ms. Monroe but we only have the couples massage room available.”

“We’re not a couple,” I correct her.

“Oh, of course not," she answers, her brow quirking in confusion. "It’s just what we call the room," she explains.

“Right,” I reply, feeling like an idiot. “You know what? It’s fine.”

I paste on a smile and move past her to step inside. Somehow that same obnoxious smile on Roman’s face is even bigger. I hate how uncomfortable I am right now and how obvious it is for Roman to see. This whole plan has completely backfired and I don’t have anyone to blame but myself. Instead of a nice, relaxing day at the spa to distract myself, I forced Roman to come, thinking it would be fun for me to see someone even more miserable than I am. Yeah, right. Roman is in heaven here and every single woman he crosses seems to fall immediately under the spell of his gorgeous blue eyes, thick sculpted arms and adorable, easy-going smile. How can he be both so completely irresistible and so utterly irritating?

“You both need to undress and then please start on your back,” the massage therapist explains before quietly slipping out the door.

We both stand by the two massage beds, and suddenly the room feels that much more smaller, and about ten degrees warmer.

“I’ll undress first. Turn around," I order.

“Turn around?” he asks with unmistakable amusement in his voice.

“Yes, turn around!” I repeat, unable to reign in my frustration.

“So even though I’ve seen you naked dozens of times and you do photo shoots in G-strings, you’ve suddenly become modest?”

I glare at him until he throws his hands up in defense and turns around. I quickly jump out of my robe, throwing it on the chair, and crawl under the blanket.

“Okay, you can go now,” I say once I am safely tucked in.

He stays turned around, with his back toward me, and sheds his robe. I watch the robe fall and let out a gasp. He turns around to face me, a wide smile on his face.

“Oh, okay so you can watch me?”

“I didn’t mean to!" I protest as I pull the sheets around me even tighter. "But why are you naked?”

“I like to be naked when I get massages,” he explains with a shrug as he slips under the sheets. At this moment, I am very grateful for the dim lighting in this room because I am sure that if I caught just one glimpse of Roman, one hundred percent in the nude, that I might not be able to resist jumping him and giving him the damn massage myself.

No Daphni! No more dirty thoughts!

I turn my body away, tangling myself in the tight sheets. “Pervert!” I hiss out.

“Look who’s talking,” he shoots back.

Thankfully our two massage therapists enter at that moment and I force my eyes closed. I vow to ignore Roman and fully enjoy my massage. I will not let him get under my skin.

My massage therapist starts working on me, her hands soothing the tension radiating within my body. It had been several weeks since I’d been here, and the familiar oils and comforting music slowly lull me into a peaceful rest. I push away all thoughts of Roman, of my stalker still somewhere out there, of the pressure to finish a new album. I just focus on the warm hands gliding up and down my shoulders, rolling out the tension and making me want to moan in pure pleasure. God, I love coming here. It’s so relaxing. Well, it is, until I hear a high-pitched giggling. Instantly, I feel all my muscles tick in annoyance. Did that big-boobed brunette seriously follow us in here?

Shifting my head to the side, I open my eyes and see that it is, in fact, not the brunette, but a completely different woman. Roman has turned over on the table and her hands are sliding up Roman’s slicked-up back. She’s wearing the most obvious wide-eyed grin as her hands greedily glide over the hard ridges of his body. I grit my teeth in annoyance and force my eyes closed.

My eyes shoot open after I hear yet another giggle, and this time I see she has her hands on his lower back, just above where his sheet ends. How had she managed to get all the way down there in the five minutes we’ve been here? My therapist is still working on my freaking shoulders.

After the fifth giggle, I lose all my restraint. I push up, holding the sheet against my chest.

“Excuse me, but I am trying to relax here. Can you guys take the show outside if you insist on continuing?”

I know I sound like a complete psychotic bitch, but I can’t stop the words rushing out of my mouth. Roman’s amused smile disappears, and he shoots me a dark glare. I know I’m embarrassing him, but the baser side of me wants him to feel as miserable as I do. It’s pathetic and petty, but I don’t care.

I lay back down on the table. “Besides, Roman didn’t you mention having a knot in your neck? Perhaps you should focus on that instead of making that poor girl trying to remove the stick stuck up your ass.”

His massage therapist lets out a shocked gasp and I force my eyes closed again. I can feel Roman glaring over at me, but I choose to ignore it. Because yet again, I let Roman get under my skin, and the pit in my stomach is making it loud and clear that me getting over Roman Brantley may be an impossible task.