The chair and locust pose was nothing. All Daisy had to do was lie down and stare at the ground.

Now, she was staring at Hunt's lap.

While they held hands.

Had she leaned forward, she would have been face-down in his lap. Which wasn't ideal.

Obviously.

Cross-legged, the couples took turns tugging each other into a forward stretch, guided by Amira's instructions to 'pretend they were in the privacy of their bedroom'. Daisy didn't know what was more awkward—being the one whose head hovered above Hunt's thighs, or feeling his cool breath drift over her bare midriff when he bent over hers. Why did she wear a crop top? She felt like they were breaking all sorts of public indecency laws, and she suddenly had absolutely no problem estimating the length of his crook—

"And switch," Amira directed, still pacing behind them.

Daisy was already sitting before the words left her mouth. She leaned back, tugging Hunt's arms to ease him into a deep stretch.

And damn it if she didn't already feel his breath caress her lower stomach through the waistband of her leggings.

"Deep breaths in," Amira instructed. "Deep breaths out."

And, damn him, Hunt followed Amira's instructions to the letter. Warmth spread under Daisy's skin, but she felt the urge to shiver.

"Relax, tiger," Hunt murmured, his voice a rumble like thunder against her lap. His thumbs whispered over her wrists, making her realise she was clutching him with a python grip. "I'm not going anywhere."

She grit her teeth when he looked up to wink at her, but loosened her hold. Worse. This was definitely worse than when she'd been staring at his lap, trying to figure out if that long, thick outline was just a trick of light and shadow. He chuckled against her when she bristled again, and she felt the sound—down to her bones.

She was definitely billing him when she inevitably wound up in hospital for all the gut problems that laugh was causing her.

She sent up a prayer to the Rat King when it was Hunt's turn to lean back again. Falling into a forward fold, she followed Amira's cues to breathe in and out. Innn ... and ouuut. She focused on that slow, anchoring pattern, and not the fact that her face was a few inches away from that incredibly intriguing outline. Were his dark shorts distorting the shape? But wasn't black supposed to be slimming? That thing was not slim—

"You're definitely not lazy." The words punched out of him, languid and strained.

Her head whipped up. "What?"

"Head down, Daisy," Amira said as she walked by.

When Amira was on the other side of the lineup, and Daisy and Hunt were once again swapping positions, he clarified, "The nickname."

Ah. Lazy Daisy.

"You're a lot of things," Hunt said, "but I don't see how lazy factors in."

Daisy wondered what he meant by a lot of things. Violent, probably, given how many times she'd thrown things at him in the short time they'd spent together.

"It started with a passing comment by our ballet mistress," she explained, throwing herself into the memories of childhood trauma like they were buckets of ice water. A horrible distraction—but a distraction nonetheless. "Point your toes. Full extension. Don't be lazy, Daisy. She'd say it to everyone. But Vanessa thought it was hilarious—the rhyme. She was crying with laughter. Ever since then, whenever I so much as had a finger out of line in second position, the chants would start. La-zy Da-isy. La-zy Da-isy. I know it's stupid, but ..." It hurt. Those memories ... they'd stuck with her longer than she cared to admit.

"It's not stupid," Hunt said. "It's never stupid to feel hurt when people try to hurt you." He glanced up. "I'm sorry that I said it the other night."

"You didn't mean it like that."

"I didn't, but that doesn't matter. I shouldn't have said it at all."

Amira directed them to their feet, and Hunt jumped up, extending a hand.

"Do you forgive me?"

Daisy stared up at him dubiously. On the long list of things he should have been apologising for, calling her Lazy Daisy was pretty far down. But it wasn't as though right now was the time to bring that up.

She stood on her own, dusting herself off. "It's not a big deal. Let's just leave it."

His hand hovered in mid-air. He nodded, stuffing it in his pocket. "Done."

The next pose didn't require them to stare into each other's laps, thank god. But what it did require might have been worse—staring into each other's eyes.

Daisy gripped Hunt's wrists, falling into a squat. The position nagged her old injury, her thighs burning from the workout, but it was nothing compared to the heat licking her cheeks as they were forced to make deep, prolonged eye contact to the soundtrack of Amira's lilting—and, dare she say, sensual—voice.

"I want you to cast your minds back to the first time you met," the therapist directed. Her wedges clipped on the dais, shadowed by the clickety-clack of the concierge's brown boots not even a second later. "Remember the first thing you noticed about your partner. What drew you to them? What do you think drew them to you?"

Hunt's mouth was twitching upwards. Daisy knew he was seeing the same image she was: her, flat on her backside on the hotel lobby floor, knee-deep in sex toys and lingerie and who the hell knew what else.

Laughter rang behind them, and Hunt's smile fell. His gaze went over her head. Frosted over. Daisy couldn't stop herself from tracking that icy glare. She didn't realise until it dropped that she'd been smiling, too.

Vanessa and Zaid had fallen over. Zaid was laughing, and while Vanessa was trying to mirror his grin while he helped her up, it didn't quite make it to her dark brown eyes.

"How did you find out about them?"

Daisy grimaced, instantly regretting having asked. She didn't even know why she had. Maybe it was for the same reason that Hunt had asked about the nickname—as though engaging in the world's most awkward conversations somehow overrode the awkwardness of having to be in such close proximity. Of having to peer into each other's eyes and act as though they were deeply in love.

But Hunt didn't look uncomfortable. He just shook his head, tearing his gaze from Vanessa and capturing Daisy's. "I don't even remember. It all happened so quickly. One minute, she was moving in with me, the next, she was tagging him on Instagram."

Daisy scowled. "God. I can't believe Zaid can look you in the eye."

"I don't think he knows."

She found her eyes roaming over Hunt's face, even when his rose, studying the palm fronds with a suspicious amount of intensity. And she wondered—whether Hunt leaving Brisbane had less to do with his sick grandfather, and more to do with him leaving what Vanessa and Zaid had done to him behind.

Her heart twinged. "I'm sorry."

Silence curled around them like smoke.

He let out a tired sigh. "Let's just ... leave it."

Fine by her.

It was a good thing they left it, because she didn't think his ex-girlfriend cheating on him with the man currently straddling her was an appropriate conversation to have while Daisy was lying directly underneath Hunt.

Which was exactly what she was doing five minutes later.

"Stop fidgeting," he muttered, fidgeting himself where he was sprawled out awkwardly atop Daisy's child's pose.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she ground out. "You try having someone three times your size lie on top of you."

"I'm not even putting any weight on you!"

"I can literally feel your knee drilling a hole into my back!"

There was an awfully long silence.

Hunt grunted something incomprehensible, trying to readjust himself without crushing her. Without touching her—like she was on fire on something. His arms appeared on either side of her face, caging her in as surely as the smell of citrus and sandalwood and him. There was an ache in her stomach.

She frowned. No; not an ache. A ... fluttering?

"This is ridiculous." She clenched her core to stop that damn curling. "Why do you get to be on top?"

"Because Amira said so." His voice was so deep.

"Amira can shove it. Get off and lie down. We're switching."

"Like hell."

"What, are you scared of her or something?"

"Scared?" His low, dry laugh vibrated against her back. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "No, tiger. I just don't like the idea of lying down while my girl does all the work."

"I'm not your girl," she hissed, ignoring the way that fluttering sensation curled lower. And multiplied. And throbbed.

"For the next ten minutes," Hunt murmured, "that's exactly what you are. Now, be a good girl and lie down for me."

There was a heaviness settling in the air, a strange, phantom buzzing. A pulse.

Daisy groaned. "You're insufferable."

"And you," he said, "are not very good at taking directions."

"Become flush with your partner." Amira's voice drifted closer. Daisy clamped her mouth shut, sensing the therapist stopping right beside them. A moment later, she was pushing Hunt down. Down ...

And into Daisy.

Amira folded Hunt into her, like Daisy was cake batter, Hunt the rolling pin moulding her into shape.

Daisy gasped. "What the f—"

"Trust your partner," Amira was telling the group. "Trust them to bolster you, to carry your weight, your burdens, your wins and your losses."

Hunt's firm stomach met Daisy's back, something like a grunt spilling from the lips hovering so close to her nape. The arms he'd rested beside her face tensed as he struggled to prop up his weight. But Amira didn't care. She pushed him down. Daisy was forced to rock forward, was forced to ... to rock against him, trapped between his hard, lean body and the ground.

"You want to work her lower back," Amira cooed, her voice a lull as she ground Hunt into Daisy from behind. "Work those muscles. Really stretch her out..."

Daisy grit her teeth. She was going to murder that woman. Maybe she'd murder Hunt, too. Hell, she had to channel that weird, mounting heat inside of her into something. Something that wasn't recalling all she'd glimpsed through the flimsy fabric of Hunt's pants. The memory alone, coupled with a pose that didn't feel like just yoga anymore, was turning her into an animal incapable of logical thought.

Speaking of, shouldn't she be able to feel it now? Was it ... not good for him?

Instantly, she wanted to slam her head into the ground. Why did she care whether yoga was good for him?

Amira pushed Hunt down again, his forearms truly pulsing as he defied gravity. The sight, the feel, the damn friction ... Daisy pressed her thighs together.

Just hormones, she told herself. Just biology, just—

"Down, and up," Amira drawled sultrily, replicating the directions with Daisy and Hunt as her living props. "Breathe in tandem, move in tandem ..."

Hunt was forced to drag himself over her languidly, his breathing laboured in her ear.

Amira said, "You are one body, one mind, one soul—"

"I'm so sorry," Hunt rasped, his voice rough and ... tight. Like he was clamping his jaw shut, too. Gritting his teeth as hard as Daisy was gritting hers.

The thought heated her blood until it was burning through her veins. Every part of her was molten, was heavy and sensitive and aching. The world around her was blurring. All she could hear and feel was him.

Off. She didn't care if it was just hormones; she needed him off. She needed to be seven feet away from Hunt and his intoxicating, decadent aroma at all times. When Amira ground Hunt into her back, causing Daisy's peaked breasts to scrape across the ground just how she liked it, just this side of pain ...

Daisy moaned.

Hunt groaned.

A timer went off.

Hunt scrambled to his feet. He must have read Daisy's mind, because in five seconds flat, he was on the other side of the platform, pouring himself a drink from the water cooler with his back to the group as he stared into the forest.

Kenji was quick to join him. Then Zaid. Even the reverend took up rank beside them, looking more flushed than Daisy thought a man of god could.

A quiet understanding settled over the guys as they gathered on the far side of the platform. They stood shoulder to shoulder, staring out into the forest, as though the trees might grow legs and start tossing around a football. They stayed like that for a good while, whispering between themselves. Exchanging private assurances or devising a plan of attack, Daisy had no idea.

She didn't realise her friends had come up beside her until Laia linked her arm through hers. Belle rested her head on her other shoulder. The three of them were a little breathless, a little torpid.

It was Ruby who declared smugly, "I love being a woman."

Even Honey snorted a laugh in agreement. Jotting something down on her iPad, Amira looked incredibly pleased.

"And how does that make you feel?" Amira asked. "When Hunt doesn't offer to help with the dishes?"

Daisy dragged her eyes from the spider devouring a dragonfly outside the window of Amira's wooden cabin. She'd been doing that a lot since they'd finished yoga—looking at anything that wasn't Hunt.

Now, she looked at Amira. The therapist glanced at her over her iPad. She'd been taking copious notes during Daisy and Hunt's first mandatory therapy session. A session that was really putting Daisy's ability to lie to the test.

Legs clad in khaki shorts spread wide as he lounged on the teal couch next to her, affording her the perfect view of a lap she'd all but lay her head down in that morning, Hunt feigned a frown that reeked of sarcasm. "Yeah, Sugarplum, how does that make you feel?"

Currently, all Daisy felt was a need to strangle him senseless.

She leaned into it. Out of her athletic gear and into something much more her—a cute jungle-green sundress peppered with white blooms—she wrapped her arms around herself gingerly.

"Frustrated. Objectified. And then he comes home and expects me to be all over him." She sighed, twirling a loose copper curl around her finger. "But how could I possibly feel attracted to someone I have to mother?"

Amira nodded thoughtfully. "Hunt? How does that make you feel?"

When Daisy followed the therapist's gaze, she found Hunt's features contorted in mock-offence. "It's just ... it's hard to hear," he said, swallowing thickly. "That you don't want to mother me, when sometimes I feel like that's exactly what you want to do."

"You think I want to clean up after you?"

"I think you love telling me what to do. Clean up this, pay the bills for that. Take the trash out, stop leaving your shoes by the door. It's one thing after another as soon as I get home." Thumb pressed to his fingers, he opened and closed his hand. "Nag, nag, nag."

Daisy gasped dramatically. "You did not just—"

"Alright," Amira cut in. She glanced between them for a moment, and it took all of Daisy's willpower not to burst out laughing. She wondered how on earth Hunt was keeping such a straight face.

Pursing her lips, Amira looked down, the sound of tapping filling the cabin as she made more notes. Her office was sleek and colourful, with local artwork of native wildlife hung above the fireplace. A glass table separated Amira's armchair from the couch, a bowl of toffees perched on top. Daisy and Hunt took the second out from under her scrutiny to share a glance.

A mistake.

With smiles curving their lips, they quickly looked away.

"And what about your sex life?"

Laughing was suddenly the last thing on Daisy's mind.

"Sex life?" she repeated.

Amira didn't balk. "Right. Are the two of you sexually active?"

The air in the room thickened. Daisy wanted to throw up. Given her gut problems lately, that wasn't surprising.

What was surprising was when Hunt began to stutter.

"I—we ..." He trailed off, looking to her for help. "We ... yes?"

"Yes," Daisy directed.

Hunt mirrored her nod. "Right. Yeah. We have ... a lot."

"Of sex."

"Exactly," Hunt said. "A lot of sex."

"All the time," Daisy added.

"Oh, constantly. Maybe—"

"Maybe too much," Daisy supplied.

Hunt threw up his hands. "We're addicts."

"Oh?" Amira prodded, lounging back in her armchair. "And do you tend to stick to one place, one position? Or spice it up?"

"Position?" Hunt gawked.

"Oh, we're very ..." Daisy couldn't stop herself, even as she winced. "Spicy."

"Nutmeg, cumin ..." Hunt mussed his hair, gripping the strands like they were a lifeline. "You name it." He laughed.

Daisy laughed.

Neither of them sounded anything short of terrified.

Across from them, Amira's delicate brow was creased. She set aside her iPad, clasping her hands.

"This retreat ..." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "It's designed to bring you together as a couple. To bring to the surface any issues you may be facing in your partnership. Now, I understand that some of those issues might be more difficult to talk about than others, but I want you to know that this is a safe space." She leaned forward, her voice a melodic lull. "What you say in this room, stays in this room. I urge you to take advantage of this opportunity. To be open and honest with me, and with yourselves."

If Daisy was being honest with herself, she wished she had drowned herself in the waterfall the moment she'd arrived at the resort.

"You remember the quiz that was sent out in your confirmation packages, yes?" Amira pulled two sheets of paper out of a file on the coffee table. A file. Daisy and Hunt had a file. "You were asked to answer as honestly as possible so that I could mock up a sex profile."

Hunt gaped. "A profile?"

Daisy jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. "Right. We remember." She remembered, at least. She'd had to bribe Joshua with a few pictures just to get him to take the quiz.

"Daisy ..." Amira glanced up over the papers. "Would you agree that you have a praise kink?"

Daisy's cheeks flamed. She felt the weight of Hunt's attention fall on her like a hammer.

"Absolutely not," she spat.

Hunt coughed, but Daisy knew he was just trying to stifle a laugh. She didn't doubt his smile was wide and bright now. Not that she'd dare look at him to check. A praise kink? Yeah, right.

"No?" Amira conferred Daisy's quiz. "From my understanding of your answers, it seems as though you enjoy the act of exchanging affirmations in the bedroom."

The room was tipping sideways. Daisy did not want to be there, did not want Hunt to be there ...

"Perhaps you might cater to your partner's needs in the