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I stayed exactly where I was and stared back at her, and I didn’t blink.
It was a mistake and I knew it. Twenty minutes in, the air felt like soup. My heartbeat thumped in my ears and the cedar slats shimmered. But Kat was sitting there naked, long and lean and shining, the tattoos on her arm dark against her skin, one leg hooked up on the bench so that I could see everything. She was neatly trimmed, pink and glossy, and as I watched, she let her hand drift down her stomach and rest, deliberately, on her thigh.
“Cheating,” I croaked.
“There are no rules about where I put my hand.”
“There are rules about where you put it next.”
She laughed and her fingers slid an inch closer to where I could not stop looking. My towel was sticking to me. I peeled it off and dropped it, because it was either that or pass out in it. The heat licked over my bare breasts and my nipples went hard as pencil tips. Kat’s eyes dropped to them. Her breath caught.
“Twenty-five minutes,” she said, her voice thin. “Dani. This is stupid. I’m going to cook us both.”
“Then leave.”
“You leave.”
The room swam. I couldn’t tell whether I was dizzy from the sauna or from her. I could grit my teeth and hold on until she cracked. Or I could admit my head was spinning and make a stand for the door.