In Deep: Chase & Emma (All In Book 1) (6 page)

I’d heard that he
slept his way through women, taking full advantage of his God-like
physique and celebrity status. I’d wondered if I’d see him acting
like an ass, throwing away women like used dishrags, kicking them out
of his hotel room crying. But I hadn’t seen that. Granted, this was
only the fourth day I’d spent around him so it wasn’t as if I
could vouch for all of his past behavior. But the man I’d met
didn’t go out picking up random women at night. If he’d had a
woman in his bed from a one-night-stand, I’d know. We spent a lot
of time together.

I could tell that was
exactly what some of his teammates did. They constantly hit on
members of the team’s entourage. Interestingly, they never hit on
me. It wasn’t exactly shocking, but I did find it curious. I didn’t
look like a swimsuit model by any stretch of the imagination. My
strictly B-cups and slim hips were more made for running than
enticing men like Jessica Rabbit. But I was a fit 25-year-old woman,
accustomed to a certain amount of attention and interest. When I
walked into a bar it wasn’t as if every man’s jaw dropped to the
floor, but usually a few made their way over with a cheesy line or
two.

From Chase’s
teammates? Nothing. Even from the lady-killers of the bunch, the ones
I realized I’d had on my client roster before Chase had taken me
all to himself. They hit on most anything that moved, and a fair
number of women moved right up close to them in very short skirts. To
me, though, they had only a polite smile and a nod. Like I was their
sister. Or like I was already taken. By Chase.

I didn’t know how I
felt about it. Add it to the long and growing list. Last night on the
phone with Chase I’d practically been ready to hang up and run over
to his hotel room to have hot and sweaty, pounding sex all night
long. Good thing we’d ended the conversation before I’d slipped
on my running sneakers.

Already warm enough
early in the morning for a thin tank top and shorts, I made my way
around the hotel complex adjacent to the sports center. It was huge
and hosted teams from all over the world. I didn’t have time for a
run, but stretching my legs felt like a smart thing to do with all my
restless energy before I saw Chase.

Except I realized I
didn’t have to wait. I could see him now, couldn’t I? I saw the
natatorium in the distance, with the gigantic Olympic-sized swimming
pool, 18-lanes wide. You could probably see it from the moon. Texas
liked to do things big.

I couldn’t resist.
With a new spring in my step, I beelined it to the pool, excited
about getting a sneak peek at Chase. This was when he did his first
swim workout of the day. Not to be confused with his dry-land
exercise program, or his afternoon swim workout. No wonder the man
had a reputation as intense. He had to be.

Opening the door, I
didn’t hear much, just a few voices over by the pool. I snuck my
way over to the side, then closer where I could grab a seat in the
viewing area. There were about 12 swimmers doing laps. Which one was
Chase?

The minute I spotted
him, I knew. There were people swimming in the pool, and there was
one flying.

Breathless, I watched
him part the water, his long, powerful arms carving out a straight
and true path. He barely seemed to exert any effort, gliding through
the lane as if propelled by an unseen force. A rocket, maybe? I knew
he’d explained to me that these early a.m. workouts weren’t even
for speed. They were laid-back. Relaxed.

If that was what Chase
Carter looked like when he kicked back, I couldn’t imagine him
going for it. A shiver traveled down my spine. How many hours had he
devoted to reach that kind of peak physical performance? How much
effort had it taken to push himself to the absolute limit and beyond?
I’m not going to lie, I felt awed.

And a twinge of
something else. Unease? Guilt, perhaps? It wasn’t as if I were
there trying to dig for a story to ruin his good name. The kind of
pieces I liked writing for our blog were feel-good stories,
celebrating the best in people. There was enough mud-slinging and
hatred in the world without my contributing to it.

But I was spending the
next month with him trying to do something he’d very much tried not
to do: uncover and share his past. What had happened all those years
ago in the boating accident? Why did he never talk about it? Was it
just because it was a difficult memory? Or was there more?

How would he feel if a
story ran about his past? I’d have anonymity, so I could do it
without him ever knowing it was me. But even if I focused on his
strengths, how he’d overcome adversity, he still might feel
violated and upset.

I could talk to him
before I wrote it, ask his permission. And risk him saying no. Or I
could quit. I could pack up my bags and be on the next flight home. I
was sure the team managers could find someone else to take care of
Chase in the coming weeks. I’d had to use every connection I had
and then some to get into this job. Everyone wanted to have a part in
securing Olympic victory.

But sitting there
watching pure magic happen in the pool right before my eyes at 8:30
a.m. on a Thursday morning in July, I knew I couldn’t leave. I was
part of it now, for a whole bundle of reasons I couldn’t even try
to untangle. For one, I didn’t have the time. I had an appointment
I needed to keep with a superhero, right after I slipped out from the
pool undetected and crept out the back to go meet him at his suite.

“What’d you think?”
That was the first thing he said when he sauntered up to meet me.
Hotel staff had given me a card to his room, but I still felt awkward
about using it so I stood outside the door. It seemed too intimate to
let myself in.

“About what?” Nice
work playing dumb, I congratulated myself. Now maybe I could divert
his attention. Where was something distracting when you needed it?
And, no, the ripples of his ab muscles didn’t count. They were most
definitely not helping.

“I saw you watching
me swim this morning.” He flashed me a crooked smile. And if that
weren’t enough to make my knees weak, he gave me a sly wink. “I
won’t tell anyone that you’re a fan.”

“How do you know I
was there to watch
you
swim?” I managed a saucy retort. “There were a bunch of people in
the pool. Maybe I was there to watch one of your teammates?”

Instead of a
flirtatious comeback, he nodded, subdued, acknowledging I could have
been doing that. Then he headed into the kitchen and started taking
things out of the freezer. I followed him, still feeling some of that
awe I’d experienced as a spectator in the stands. Hand on the
counter, I searched for the right thing to say.

“You swim really
fast.” As soon as it left my mouth, I nearly swore I sounded so
dumb. Telling the fastest swimmer in the world, “gee, you’re
really fast!” And I thought I had a writer’s gift with words?

But it did make him
smile again. “You think?”

“I know some people
who manage the U.S. Olympic team. I can put in a few good words for
you if you’d like.”

“That’s nice of
you.” He started making the smoothie, adding frozen strawberries,
blueberries and bananas plus a bunch of other ingredients into a
giant bucket-sized blender. But then he said, more seriously, “And
of course you’re free to come watch anyone you want to, Brian or
Chris.” He punched the ON button with more force than required.

I waited until the
blender stopped. “Chase, you know I was there to watch you swim.”

He looked up. “You
were?”

I couldn’t believe
it. Did he almost look shy? What was going on? I nodded and left the
kitchen. It suddenly felt too hot in there, making frozen smoothies
and all.

But he followed not too
long after. Touching my arm, he stepped close, my skin tingling from
the contact. “Give this a try. I can add more berries if you like.”

I swallowed, before I’d
even taken a drink. Then I tried the smoothie, creamy frosty
perfection. “Wow! What’s in it?”

“I could tell you,
but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Secret recipe?”

He nodded, that sly
devilish gleam in his eyes again. It made me look down as I sipped
through my straw.

“So, what’s your
workout plan for today?” He was so funny, asking me about my
recreational running as if I were the athlete in the room. He touched
the small of my back as he passed, heading over to the massage table.
He seemed to find a lot of excuses to touch me, lifting up an errant
strap of my tank top, tucking a tendril of hair that had escaped my
ponytail behind my ear. He kept it casual, nothing inappropriate or
unprofessional, but I swear each touch made my stomach flip.

“I’m thinking I’ll
run three or four miles, then maybe try to do a little in the weight
room.” I felt shy talking about my athletic pursuits in front of
The Pinnacle of Human Perfection. But he listened with interest. I
took another sip of my smoothie, then set it on a side table,
preparing to get to work.

“No, finish it,” he
insisted, handing it back to me. “It’s not as good if it’s not
cold.”

I noted, astonished,
that he’d already gone through his. “How did you finish yours so
fast?”

He shrugged. “When
you need as many calories as I do every day, you can’t waste any
time. You have to get it done.” I laughed, thinking how opposite he
was of the rest of humanity, us mere mortals having to actually watch
how much we ate.

“Some things I have
to do fast,” he admitted. “But other things I take more time to
do right.”

That got my attention.
I looked up, wondering if I were reading a double meaning into his
words, the kind that made me feel all flushed even though I was
sipping a frozen drink. He gave me a sexy, flirtatious smirk. Yeah,
there was a double meaning all right.

Then he stepped closer,
cupping my chin. “They’re hazel today,” he observed, gazing
down at me. I didn’t know what he meant, and looked up, curious.
“Your eyes,” he explained, brushing his thumb along my cheek.
“They change color based on what you wear. Yesterday they looked
more coffee-colored.”

Oh. So that’s what he
meant. I moved away and busied myself with my smoothie again, telling
myself it was just self-consciousness that brought a blush to my
cheeks. Not the feel of his hand on me, or the way he studied me,
like he didn’t want to miss a thing.

I didn’t, either. He
lay face down on that massage table, and I knew I could have worked
on him for hours. His body was so magnificent, each and every muscle
so defined, such a perfect balance of strong and lean. Touching him
was a privilege, worshipping at the altar of male perfection.

I’d never enjoyed my
job so much. It didn’t even feel like I was working. And that was
the problem.

§

Tori called me the next
day and gave me a stern scolding.

“Whatever you do,
don’t fall for him!” She knew me all too well. Despite my
oh-so-casual “everything’s going fine,” she could read me like
a book. “You’ve got the worst luck of anyone I know. You pick
such losers—”

“Oh, Chase isn’t a
loser!” I burst out before I bit my tongue. Now I’d really blown
my cover by gushing.

“Oh shit, you’ve
got it bad already! You’ve only been there five days.”

“Nothing’s happened
between us.”

“But you want it to!”

I sighed. I couldn’t
even deny it. A smart part of my brain still knew it was a bad idea,
but the larger, growing part of me was all for it.

“Sit back for a sec
and let me remind you of a few things,” Tori instructed.

I did as she told me. I
didn’t have a suite like Chase, so I sat there on the bed staring
at the bureau listening, dutifully, while Tori reminded me of all the
assholes I’d initially thought were so awesome. She assured me that
Chase would just be the latest in a long string of jerks I’d been
mistaken about. He had a bad reputation for being a machine,
ruthless, cold, blah blah blah. And he hated the press. He’d shoved
a reporter a few years ago.

I’d seen video of
that incident, but I didn’t open my mouth to defend him to Tori. It
would only have incriminated me further. But even before I’d gotten
to know him, I was on his side about that altercation. When Chase had
missed the 2012 Olympics due to an injury, some pushy reporter had
gotten in his face with all sorts of obnoxious questions like how did
he feel about missing his best opportunity to medal? From the footage
I’d seen, Chase hadn’t really shoved him so much as shouldered
him to the side so he could get away. It wasn’t Chase’s fault
that his shoulders were so massive.

“Emma, you always get
sucked in by guys with big egos. He’s got the biggest of them all.
You always want to believe the best in everyone. But this time, don’t
fall for it. Do your job, get the scoop and don’t let things get
messy!”

“Yup, I know.” And
I did know. She was right. My own mother had said it to me, and she
knew me better than anyone. She hadn’t been talking about Chase,
per se, but she’d seen my heart get broken one too many times by
creeps. She’d told me I needed to stop being so gullible.

“A guy like Chase
would eat your heart for breakfast. And then spit it out.”

“OK, I get it.” I
stood up. I’d gotten my marching orders. I knew what I had to do.
It would be difficult, but it only made sense. I couldn’t go all
ga-ga over this guy just because he had nice abs. Well, more than
nice. They were pretty much the best abs I’d ever seen.

Which was why when I
showed up for our evening session, I had all the warmth of a prison
guard.

“How was your run
this afternoon?” Chase asked, looked far too appealing in athletic
shorts riding down low. He wasn’t even trying and he looked so good
he could stop traffic. On a freeway.

“Fine. Should we get
started?”