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“Let me get changed.”

I pull off my suit jacket as I make my way upstairs. My bedroom is on the opposite side of the apartment to April’s.

I switch out of my office clothes and pull on my training gear. My heart rate rises in anticipation of what’s to come. I need to run. I always do when the politics overbear the corporate, and I need to clear my head. April is busy stretching when I make it downstairs. She holds out a bottle of water for me, keeping one for herself.

“Thanks,” I say, taking it off her. “Ready?”

“You not stretching?” she asks, her brows furrowing.

“I’ll stretch when we get there,” I say.

She looks at me with an odd expression, and then clarity hits. “Please tell me you’re not having Mason drive us to the park?” she says, her tone incredulous.

I find myself unable to hold her gaze. “Er.”

“Stretch!” she says, continuing her own regime. I copy her moves, stretching out hamstrings, quads, glutes, calves. “Don’t forget your groin,” she says, stretching out her own. “I don’t want to be carrying you home.”

The wordhomeon her lips sends an unexpected warmth through my body.

“You can tell Mason to stand down. We’re running to the park. I’ve worked out the back route, so we won’t be dodging pedestrians.”

“Lead the way,” I say, following her into the elevator, my eyes drawn to the smooth outline of her toned behind. The memory of how it felt to have her ass in my hands as I slammed into her, her moans echoing in my ear, comes storming back.

“Eyes up, Corporate,” she says, and I feel myself blush.

This is where I’m pleased my shorts are loose, and she can’t see the semi I’m now sporting.

We travel down in silence and make our way through reception. The staff greet both me and April. She’s made quite an impression. There are no airs and graces, and I find being around her and not having her expect anything from me refreshing.

As it’s still early, the pavements are quiet. April sets off, and I match her stride for stride. We run in silence, and before I know it, we hit the park.

We follow the trail, the greenery in contrast to the concrete of the rest of the city. We’re fortunate that severalspaces have been established and protected for the population.

“Do you want to use the equipment?” she asks as we approach one of the first sets of built-in gym equipment. Her voice is steady. It’s like she’s not just run for twenty minutes solid.

“You?” I say, my voice not quite as steady. Outdoor running is not the same as the treadmill. Something I need to remember. I need to get home and run around the family estate like I did growing up. The fresh air of the New Forest is vastly different from that of a city filled with traffic.

“Two reps,” she says, grinning at me before making her way over to the body press.

I watch her sculpted muscles contract, my mouth becoming moist. She completes a set and gets up, making way for me. I sit down and take my turn before we switch again. This continues as we make our way around the park. Monkey bars, bench dips, bench presses. She matches me one-for-one. She teases and jests, making me laugh. It’s clear she’s in her element, and I love to see a more relaxed April. Another reminder of our night in New York, when she was carefree. I have not seen that part of her since, at least not until today.

She stops, and I narrowly avoid running into the back of her.

“Rain,” she says as the first large drops hit. She throws back her head and smiles at the sky. “I love running in the rain.”

I failed to notice the dark clouds coming in. Too distracted.

We continue running, the rain getting heavier and heavier, until we’re splashing through groundwater, droplets firing up and into the air.

“Come on,” she says, turning and grinning as she hits the street, leaving the park behind. Time to head home.

Lightning flashes overhead, followed by a rumble of thunder. People around us run for cover as the rain takes on another level of power. April’s hair is flattened to her head. My t-shirt and shorts have become a second skin.

Another flash and an instant rumble goes off. Lightning hits one of the nearby buildings, the crack deafening. I grab April’s wrist and pull her into an enclosed doorway.

“That’s too close,” I say, breathlessly.

She is also gasping for breath, but when she looks up, her eyes twinkle as large water droplets run down her nose. I don’t think she’s ever looked so beautiful.