It was clear the Rio heat had melted not only my brain but my panties. I was walking down the sidewalk with Blaine Crews. How had this happened?

He was a reminder of everything I shouldn’t do.

A drunken night. Blurring the lines of my professional code. Getting my hopes up that he wasn’t a playboy like everyone said he was. Drinking too many dark Australian beers and being seduced by his green eyes, sculpted arms, and that accent, and I wasn’t going to make any other decision but go home with him.

It was stupid. I knew it was when it happened.

I’d practically memorized every word. Every move. Every look he made. And replayed them a thousand times in my head since that night. I was never going to forget how it felt to be with him. Never.

Blaine had the kind of eyes that made my knees weak and my heart beat against my chest when I knew it shouldn’t. I couldn’t look away even when I willed myself to turn my head. It was the damn dark eyelashes that made his eyes sexy, sinful, and the window to every mistake I would make.

“So is it going to be your place or mine?”

Blaine’s voice shook me from my fog.

“What?”

“Where are we going, love? Your place or mine?”

My breath caught. That wasn’t happening. I couldn’t be alone in a room with this man. Not if there was a bed there. One look and I’d fold.

“Hotel lobby?” I suggested.

“Aww, not what I was thinking.”

“Then stop thinking it,” I scolded. Shit, I sounded like a prude. Like a ridiculous, over anxious prude.

This was what Blaine did to me. He made me lose my senses. My control. My mind. My body.

We continued to walk in silence toward the hotel where I was staying. I saw the phones emerge as we walked. The tourists and locals knew who he was. I waited while a few fans stopped him to take selfies.

There was a small lobby and a bar in the front entrance of the hotel. I hoped it was empty in the middle of the afternoon. By tonight, the bar would be full and I didn’t want anyone to find out about my story with Blaine before I got it in to Vic.

I knew this was exactly what my boss told me not to do, but how could I turn a blind eye to such a big story? I was standing next to the most famous swimmer in the world, and he wasn’t in the pool training for the Olympics.

That was a story.

People needed to know. The world deserved to hear what was happening at the games.

Vic might not choose my piece at first, but if he read it he might change his mind. I could guarantee no one else on the team had scored an interview with a star athlete like Blaine. This could be huge for me.

“This is where you’re staying?” Blaine eyed the small hotel.

“Rio’s best.”

“I should give you a tour of the village.” He pushed the door open for me.

I felt a brief gust of air, but it seemed to escape out the door. I watched as the invisible cloud vanished and we were engulfed by the warm air of the lobby.

“Why? Something wrong in the village?” Blaine could be a source for more than one story.

“No, it’s a hell of a lot nicer than this place.”

“Oh.” I was surprised.

So far, Rio hadn’t impressed me with the accommodations. I knew if I had traveled on my own I would have had a different experience, but I was here on the company’s expense and they weren’t going to blow the travel budget on five-star hotels and meals. This wasn’t Sports Now. All the rules were different.

I was basically a contractor—I needed to remember that.

He leaned toward my ear. “And there’s AC.”

“Oh God,” I gulped. It was the combination of Blaine’s breath over my skin and the thought of not being hot to the touch. The Olympic village sounded like paradise right now.

“Think you might want to change your mind?” He tempted me.

I shook my head. I had to stay strong and apparently very, very hot. “I think this place is charming. Plus, there’s no one here. I’m sure the village is crowded. I don’t want your story getting out before I have a chance to write it.”

He shrugged his enormous shoulders. Blaine didn’t have the shoulders of an ordinary man. His were crafted to perfection. Every muscle and every tendon was toned and shaped to make him the fastest, most powerful swimmer in the world. I shuddered with a sudden sweep of desire at the thought of those sculpted ridges hovering over me. Damn it. They reminded me of what the rest of him looked like. Oh, that deep V twisting around his torso—God, I wasn’t going to be able to do this.

I slid into one of the open tables and tried to organize my notepad. There were only a few sips of my smoothie left, but the condensation managed to make a puddle on the table.

“How about I get us some drinks while you get set up? I think that chap could help us out.” He pointed to the bartender.

“Sure. Whatever.”

I scrolled through my notes from this morning’s meeting until I had a blank page. I had a recorder, but I didn’t trust it. It had eaten interviews on more than one occasion. I stuck to the pen and paper method after the last time. This was too important to take a chance.

A few minutes later, Blaine returned to the table with a couple of drinks.

“What are those?” I asked, staring at the frosted glasses filled with lime wedges and ice.

“Caipirinhas,” he replied.

“What?” My mouth watered at the sight of the ice.

“The chap said they’re the drink of Brazil. Made it with cachaça, or however you pronounce it.”

I covered my mouth to keep from laughing at how his Australian accent butchered the Portuguese word. It was cute, sexy, and all the things I wasn’t supposed to notice. I doubted Blaine ever wanted to be considered cute. He wasn’t that kind of man.

At six-five he towered over almost anyone in the room.

“I didn’t think you liked to drink during competition.” I hadn’t decided if I was going to try mine yet. Alcohol and Blaine were a dangerous combination.

He picked up the glass. “It’s hot as fuck outside. I’m bored. I’m in Rio. Why not?”

I watched as his throat moved from each swallow. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his neck. I licked my lips. I wanted to trace over his skin with my tongue. Holy shit—where were these wicked thoughts coming from?

“Aren’t you going to drink yours?” he asked.

I nodded more vigorously than I meant to. I picked up the frosted glass and tasted the sweet lime concoction. It was delicious and refreshing in this heat.

“Thank you.”

“What about that interview?” He smiled, showing me the brilliance of his white teeth.

“Right. The interview.”

I tried to focus on the page. Whatever was in that drink was strong. I was suddenly conscious of the way Blaine stared at my lips. Every once in a while I noticed how his eyes dipped to my breasts. It was as if he was trying to stare through the fabric and catch a glimpse of my skin.

I had to get it together—at least enough to ask him a few sensible questions and get out of this bar. Alone.

“Okay, so why don’t you tell me when you first discovered the pool was closed.”

I decided not to look into his eyes. I kept my gaze directly on the reporter’s pad in front of me.

He cleared his throat. “Well, sweetheart, it was this morning.”

My neck tingled. I reached for another sip of the lime drink.

“And?” I prodded.

I risked looking up at him. His eyes were locked on my lips and they felt heavy under his stare, as if he were going to reach across the table and brush the drops of lime and sugar from my skin.

He didn’t seem to notice how much he unnerved me, or he didn’t care. He continued, “And there was a sign on the door that said ‘pool closed.’”

“That’s it? No explanation?”

He shook his head. “There was nothing on it except the sign. My coach found someone in the building and he was told that there was a problem with the water pressure valves.”

“Really? Who told him?” I asked.

“How the fuck do I know? I wasn’t there.”

I stared at him. “Do you want me to write the story or not?”

“Sorry. I don’t know.” He looked agitated again, like he did when I first saw him at the juice bar.

“Did you see anyone working on the valves? Maybe someone from maintenance?”

“The place was empty. No one was working on it.”

“And when will you get to swim?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

I scribbled down everything Blaine told me. I took another sip of the famous Brazilian drink. My head spun once and I put it down.

“Did anyone give you any other options to practice? Is there somewhere in the village, maybe?”

“No. They never offered anything.” He leaned forward, his weight shifting the table toward me. “I might be the first swimmer to arrive in Rio, but it shouldn’t matter. The pool is supposed to be open. I should be swimming right now.”

“Have you filed an official complaint yet?”

He shook his head. “I promised Jim, my coach, that I would give them a day to get it fixed, but I don’t know that I have that kind of patience.”

“What are you going to do to prepare for the games if you can’t warm up?” I asked.

His eyes locked on mine and I felt my stomach flip. “I hope the answer is you, love.”