Fearless Maverick (6 page)

 
          
Ready
to sort through the papers on her desk, Libby had collected a pen when a pang
in her chest had her catching her breath. The thought had crept up on her like
a frost on nightfall, and now that the reflection was formed she couldn’t blot
it out. Couldn’t shake it off.

 
          
After
her accident she’d thrown herself into study, then the practice. No energy was
left over for window-shopping for knee-high dresses she would never wear or
wondering if sometime, somewhere, she might meet someone new. She was too busy—too
focused—and she preferred her life that way.

 
          
Now,
for the first time in so long, she gave into the impulse, closed her eyes and
remembered what it was like to be kissed by a man. How wonderful it could feel
to be desired. She remembered the swell of want when tender words were
whispered and steaming hungry flesh met flesh. Then she recalled the pure
elation of spearing through a saltwater mountain and shooting free the other
side. Her mind joined the two and drew a picture of a tall strong man, the lacy
fringes of ocean waves swirling around his ankles, grey eyes smiling.

 
          
Squeezing
the pen, Libby bowed her head. As well as she knew her own name, she was
certain she would never return to the ocean. As much as she missed the water
that was one challenge she didn’t need to face. But would she ever know
romantic love again?

 
          
She
hadn’t let herself dwell before now but, in truth, she missed the company, the
sense of sharing, the special warmth of intimacy. And as silly as it sounded,
she couldn’t help but wonder …

 
          
What
would it be like to have all that with Alex?

 
          
The
next morning, her professional mask firmly in place, Libby arrived at Alex
Wolfe’s elite address smack on nine. As he had the day before, Alex greeted her
at the door, escorted her inside, then led her into a spacious room—an
elaborate home gym toward the rear of the enormous house.

 
          
Libby
almost gasped. She’d seen licensed gyms less equipped than this. Every type of
weight equipment, three state-of-the-art treadmills, six rowing machines,
various balls, mats, presses and bars. A small double-glazed window set in an
adjacent wood panelled wall indicated a sauna. Did the man host boot-camp
parties? That indoor pool she’d imagined must be close by. Not that they’d be
using it. She would always love the smell and look of water any way it came—sea,
chlorinated or fresh from the sky. But her mermaid days were long over.

 
          
Arm
in its sling, Alex sauntered over to join her. ‘Should we start with a cup of
strong tea before getting into the tough stuff?’

 
          
As
usual that deep accented voice seeped through Libby’s blood, making her syrupy
warm all over. Ignoring the heat, aware of the dangers, she steeled herself,
met his gaze and set her work bag on a nearby table. He might be king of his
profession but during these sessions, like it or not, she was in charge.

 
          
‘We’ll
begin with a full assessment.’ She nodded at his immobilised arm. ‘Now that we’ll
be concentrating on strengthening your shoulder, there won’t be a need for
that.’

 
          
With
a speculative smile, Alex reached for a fastener. ‘My shirt will need to come
off too, I presume.’

 
          
‘I’ll
help with the buttons.’

 
          
When
she didn’t hesitate to step forward and assist, his brows hiked but she didn’t
react. He could turn on the wicked charm all he liked, but if he’d hoped to put
her off balance again today, he could think again. She’d made a pledge and she
intended to keep it.

 
          
Iron-willed.

 
          
Asexual.

 
          
Professional.

 
          
With
the sling removed, she deftly unbuttoned his freshly laundered chambray shirt.
The subtle smell of lemons drifted into her lungs, but the scent that truly
caught her senses was musky. Pure male. A scent she wasn’t unfamiliar with in
her everyday work. But, of course, Alex Wolfe went a mile beyond ‘everyday.’

 
          
Last
button attended to, she eased the shirt off those dynamite shoulders, then
manoeuvred around to release the fabric from his back. As the shirt fell away,
her gaze gravitated to the muscular contours, the straight-as-a-die dent of his
spine, the lean measure of his hips. Her heart began to pound. She thought she’d
prepared herself but, frankly, the sight of this man half naked stole her
breath away.

 
          
Thrusting
back her shoulders, she once again set her mind on the specialist straight and
narrow.

 
          
‘Let’s
start with testing your range of movement.’

 
          
She
asked that he first raise his arms in front, palm down, as high as possible,
then at his sides. Next, internal and external rotation, with his hands behind
his back.

 
          
While
making notes—the ROM around the joint was not full, which meant passive work to
help it improve—she said, ‘Now we’ll test the strength.’

 
          
His
good shoulder squared. ‘Ready when you are, doc.’

 
          
Navigating
around to face him, Libby found herself analysing that amazing chest and
powerhouse arms from a female rather than professional point of view. Big
mistake. Her brain began to tingle at the same time her bones seemed to
liquefy. She’d laid awake half the night telling herself she could handle
whatever today might bring and yet she’d missed the turn-off coming here
because she’d been contemplating precisely this moment.

 
          
Resisting
the urge to wet her lips, she eased her gaze higher and met his amused look.
Then one corner of his mouth slowly curved and her face flooded with heat.
Caught out, she stuttered an excuse. She hadn’t been ogling. Merely …
assessing
.

 
          
‘You,
uh, obviously work out,’ she said, and then inwardly cringed.

 
          
Stupid
. He was a World Number One. Of
course he worked out. No doubt there’d be gyms in his other houses around the
world, and the best personal trainers, as well as a food plan to sustain the
mind and might of a champion.

 
          
She
cleared her throat. ‘What I mean to say is … despite your injury, you look
great.’

 
          
His
lips tilted more at the same time he seemed to move slightly closer, lean
faintly nearer, and the heat in her cheeks exploded, raging out of control as
that natural male scent enveloped her completely.

 
          
His
gaze skimming her cheek, he murmured, ‘Thank you.’

 
          
Gulping
back a breath, she averted her gaze and muttered, ‘You’re welcome.’

 
          
She
imagined that he chuckled to himself before he asked, ‘Where would you like me?’

 
          
With
unsteady steps, she crossed to a mirror that covered an entire wall. ‘We’ll
start here. You in front facing the mirror. I’ll stand behind.’

 
          
He
took up his position, steely legs in black athlete’s shorts pinned apart. His
slightly cleft chin angled up. ‘How’s this?’

 
          
Libby
was torn between sighing and smirking at the magnificent reflection. As if he
didn’t know he looked better than fabulous.

 
          
‘That’s
fine. Now hold your arms out at right angles to your body.’ His arms rose
easily. ‘Any pain?’

 
          
‘It
feels …’ The chiselled planes of his face pinched. ‘A little weak.’

 
          
She
grunted. She’d bet more than ‘a little.’

 
          
‘I’m
going to test that strength. I’ll put one hand here on the uninjured arm and
the other here, on your recovering arm.’

 
          
As
she laid a palm on each bicep, she felt the vibration … his chest rumbling, the
sound of a big cat anticipating a full bucket of cream or, perhaps, defending
it.

 
          
Locking
off her imagination, she continued. ‘Now I’ll push lightly.’

 
          
‘Would
you like me to push too? You know—’ his left bicep flexed twice beneath her
hand ‘—push up?’

 
          
She
met his poker-faced reflection and simmered inside. Damn the man! He’d done
that little trick on purpose. This wasn’t a contest or a show. Every session,
every minute, counted. He needed to take this seriously.

 
          
Filling
her lungs, she reassembled her patience. ‘I’ll push down and you try to resist.’

 
          
Gently
she put weight on each arm. His left stayed parallel. His right came down.

 
          
His
cool expression dissolved and a crease cut between his brows. ‘That’s no good.’

 
          
‘With
your injury, it’s normal. We’ll get there.’

 
          
‘Yes,
we will. In time for China.’

 
          
She
held off gaping at his implacable tone. But she had no intention of arguing
that particular point now. She had a job to do. His shoulder would be fit for a
return to the track when she said it was and not a moment before.

 
          
‘Would
you go over there and lie down, please?’

 
          
Holding
his injured arm, Alex looked her up and down, as if deciding whether it would
weaken his position to comply. Then he reluctantly crossed the room, hitched up
on the bed’s white sheet and spread out.

 
          
Edging
closer, she scanned the exquisite form lying before her and swallowed against
the rapid pulse beating high in her throat. He looked even better on his back
than he had standing. The rectus abdominis had been sculpted by a god. The tone
of his trapesius and deltoids were exceptional. The pectoralis majors, dusted
with crisp hair, were as first-rate an example as she’d ever seen—and she’d
seen a few. Powerful, firm, prime flesh. Below that waist band, Libby imagined
another well defined muscle and her mouth went dry.

 
          
He
pushed up on his good arm and his broad shoulders slanted toward her. ‘Maybe we
should start with something more strenuous. You know, get the show on the road.’

 
          
‘No,
Alex. We shouldn’t.’

 
          
His
jaw shifted and eyes narrowed. ‘I can’t see what lying around will achieve.’

 
          
‘Leave
that to me.’

 
          
His
gaze pierced hers, challenging, testing. Finally he rolled back down, looking
like a third grader forced to face some senseless spelling bee he hadn’t
studied for.

 
          
He
stared blindly at the ceiling. ‘What now?’

 
          
Alongside
of him, Libby took both his hands, which felt as hot and strong as the rest of
him looked. Her fingers curled around his and she brought them to lie near his
navel. She refused to acknowledge the trail of dark hair descending in a
particularly tantalising line to the loose band of his shorts, much less the
subtle bulge further down.

 
          
‘No
pain?’ she asked in a remarkably composed voice.

 
          
His
gaze met hers and, confident, he grinned. ‘Not a hint.’

 
          
‘Good.
Now slowly lift your arms.’

 
          
‘How
high?’

 
          
‘See
how you go. I’ll go through the exercise with you first.’ With his hands
sandwiched between hers, a hot pulse beating through her blood, she began to
move with him. ‘Up, two, three … hold and … down, two, three.’ Her words were
even, regulated, the opposite of her clambering heartbeat. ‘How’s that feel?’