by Alice Ward
“I never said—”
“Don’t have to. It’s written all over that pretty boy face of yours. And I bet you don’t even think drivers are athletes. Am I right?”
He shrugged. “One. It looks like a video game. And two, yes, it is true, I’ve never thought of car drivers as athletes. After all, anyone can press on a pedal.” A slow smile spread on his face. “Even pretty boys.”
My jaw dropped. So, he was spending millions of dollars on me just so I could press on a pedal? Fighting the urge to punch something, namely him, I said, “That right?” I stepped aside, presenting the seat of the simulator to him like a new fridge on The Price is Right. “Then be my guest.”
He crossed his arms. “I haven’t played a video game since I was twelve.”
I hooked a finger at him, motioning him forward. “Scared, pretty boy?”
“No, I—”
I started making clucking chicken noises, flapping my arms for good measure.
He dropped his hands to his sides. “Fine.” He came up to the simulator, so unbearably close that I could smell the scent of his aftershave. Giving me a smooth, defiant glare, he slid into the seat, holding his hands up as if he didn’t know what button to press. “And?”
I pointed things out to him. “This here is called a steering wheel. The thing under your foot is the gas.” When he gave me a narrow-eyed sneer, I shrugged innocently. “You can figure the rest out yourself.”
“I plan to.”
I went to the control panel. “I’ll start you off easy. Twenty laps. Try not to lose your pants, okay, pretty boy?”
He glared at me, one hand on the wheel as if this was a ride in the park. The screen flickered, showing the beginning of the race. When the countdown reached zero, he floored it. But it didn’t matter. All the other cars tore ahead of him, passing him on each side as if he was standing still.
I watched the tendons in his forearms tense as he leaned forward and fastened both hands tightly on the wheel. “What the… fuck.”
I checked the display. “You’ve got to go faster than that. You’re only going ninety.”
He pushed it, but then suddenly slowed. “Curve.”
I snorted. “Those happen from time to time in an oval.”
He did manage to get through the next few laps, albeit at the very back of the pack. Eventually, he figured it out and managed to get up to one-twenty. But on lap nineteen, overconfident, while trying to make up lost ground, he spun out and crashed, just as I had.
He banged the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Christ.” Then he looked up at my superior expression and scowled. “That was my first go.”
“You can try again if you want?”
He grabbed his upper arm through his t-shirt and rolled his shoulder. “Shit. No, thanks.”
“Tired?”
He shook his head. “I’m good. Not used to the position, obviously. But good.”
“Oh, of course.” I wiped a bit of sweat from his temple and triumphantly showed him my glistening fingertip. “I’m sure it was just the… position.”
He sat up and rose so that all six-feet-something of him was standing over me. “All right. It may be a tad more involved than I first thought.”
He struck me as the type of person who didn’t admit when he was wrong, so I silently claimed victory. “Well, you ever want to try it again, I’ll keep my training center open for you.” I smiled.
He held out his hands. “I didn’t come here to play,” he said with a superior air, the asshole. “Laura texted me you needed a trainer. So here I am.”
I stared at him, mouth open. “Wait. You?”
“Don’t look so shocked that I happen to know my way around a gym.”
“No, I mean, obviously you do, because…” I stopped. Great, Emma, way to make it seem like all you’ve been doing since that night is drooling over his massive pectorals. Which, to be honest, I had been. They were glorious. Simply unforgettable. Magazine-cover worthy. “I just thought you’d be too busy, considering your schedule.”
“It’s not permanent. Just until we can get someone else in for you. But I thought I could at least introduce you around the gym since Laura said you’ve never been to one?”
“I’ve worked out,” I corrected, following him through a wide doorway to another hallway which led to the gym. “But back home, I’ve just got a barbell and a couple of dumbbells. That’s about it.”
He pushed open a door and let me pass into the gym. Besides the regular weight bench with the free weights, a couple of treadmills, and an elliptical machine, I’d never seen any of these contraptions before in my life.
He clapped his hands together. “All right. So where do we start? What have you done today?”
“Nothing weight-wise. I ran five miles.”
“Treadmill?”
I nodded.
“You should work on running on the beach. The sand adds more resistance and makes for a tougher workout. And I prefer the scenery to the treadmill, anyway. Don’t you?”
I shrugged. I ran, but it didn’t excite me the way it excited him. I could tell from the way he talked about it that he loved it. “We don’t have much scenery in Wintersburg.”
He reached onto a shelf and pulled out a white thing that looked like a parachute.
I held out my hands, instantly petrified. “I’m not skydiving. You know me and heights, Mr. Cage.”
He chuckled softly and spread it out. “After you get good at running on the sand, you can add this for more resistance. It’ll make you stronger, quicker, head to toe.”
I grimaced. It all sounded painful. “Okay. Sand. And chute. Got it.”
He held up a hand. “Don’t try both at once. Ease into the beach running, and once you get comfortable with the sand, you can try both, or else you’re just asking for injury.”
I nodded.
“So you haven’t lifted today?”
I shook my head.
“What did you do yesterday?”
“I lifted.”
His nostrils flared, and I felt his irritation with me grow. “What body parts did you work?”
He was studying me like I was an idiot. And I’d been so cocky a minute ago, at the simulator. “Um. You know. All of them?” Now I was answering his questions with a question because he was making me feel that inferior.
He shook his head. “Okay, okay. Here’s what you need to do. I’ll write it down for you. You work a different body part every day of the week. Monday, legs. Tuesday, chest and triceps. Wednesday, shoulders and traps. Thursday, biceps and back. Friday, start with legs again. You need to give your muscles a chance to rebuild between workouts. Except abs and lower back; you’ll work those every day. Got it?”
He’d rattled it off so quickly I’d been lost a few words after “here’s what you need to do.” But I didn’t want to feel like any more of an idiot, so I said, “Yes.”
“Good.” He nodded and led me over to a large metal rectangular cage that was bigger than the both of us put together. He wrapped his hand around one of the surrounding metal bars. “This is a Smith Machine. We’ll do legs.”
I quickly learned that when he said “we” he really just meant “me.” He showed me each exercise, gave me the correct weight, and then he spotted me, giving me pointers and saying things like, “Back straight” and “Don’t lean forward” like a freaking drill sergeant.
Two hours later, I was really starting to get angry at myself for having made fun of him at the simulator. He showed me how to do squats and lunges on the Smith Machine, instructed on the proper use of the adductor machine, and explained how he’d gotten his killer calves on a leg press. By the time I got done doing my third set of hack squats, I thought he was trying to kill me. My legs felt like jelly.
“I hope you hired me a masseuse because, after this workout, I think I need one,” I moaned, trying to stand. It felt like I had lead weights attached to each ankle.
He sucked on the straw from his water b
ottle and pulled a phone from the pocket of his gym shorts. “I’ll get you one.”
I reached over and covered the display before he could thumb a text into one of his minions. “I was kidding. I don’t want any stranger touching my body.” I shuddered at the thought.
He looked at me like I was insane.
“Oh? So you like being fondled by a complete stranger, Mr. Cage?”
He thought for a moment, tapping his finger on his chin. “Yes. Very much so.”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure if that makes you a pretty boy or a pervert.”
He’d started to walk toward the next piece of equipment, an inclined weight bench, and I followed him, wondering if I could make a run for it before he put me through another series of exercises. “Hey. Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“No thanks. I’d probably start giggling,” I grumped. “I’m actually very ticklish.”
He seemed surprised by this nugget of information because he stopped adjusting the weight bench and looked at me. “Truly? Where?”
We were standing toe-to-toe in front of the bench. I looked up at him and gave him a sexy smile. It was too easy to flirt with him, too comfortable. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He pointed at the bench. “Sit.”
I crossed my arms and planted my feet. “Oh, hell no. No more legs.”
He put up his hands, conceding. “All right. Core then.”
I groaned.
“You gotta work your core every day.”
I slumped onto the bench, pouting. “All right, but will it hurt me that much if I start tomorrow?”
He ignored that. “Lie back.”
I did, wondering what torture he had in store for me now. He fiddled with something under the bench, and I felt the part of the bench supporting my head lowering down. Ugh, this was not comfortable in any way. Before I could ask him what the hell he was up to, I saw him grinning at me.
“Do your crunches on an incline for maximum results.”
Lying with my head near the ground and the rest of my body up in the air, I looked at my knees, and they seemed so very far away. Gravity wouldn’t be helping me. He positioned my arms behind my ears.
“Okay, now. Lift. Don’t hunch forward. Fist’s width between your chin and your chest. Go ahead. Count them out. Twenty in each set.”
I grunted and strained upward, but only made it a couple inches. I made it another inch before pure, unadulterated pain set in. All I’d done all my life was crunches, so I should’ve been a pro at this. But this kind of contortion was damn near impossible. The human body was not meant to go this way.
I finally managed one before falling back down to the cushion. “One,” I croaked.
“Half of one,” he corrected. “Got to get up higher than that.”
“Damn you to hell,” I gasped, going up for the next one. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Ten, and… I’ll tell you where I’m ticklish.”
He didn’t hesitate. He put out his hand, and we shook on it.
The next nine weren’t so hard. Once I got used to the blood rushing to my head, it wasn’t as terrible as I thought, and I did feel it deep in my abdominals.
“Good,” he said when I was done. He shifted the weight bench so that it was level again, and I sat up, straddling the bench, leaning forward to stretch out my core. No way in hell was I doing another exercise for the rest of the night. I grabbed a towel and began to swab off my forehead as he watched me intently.
I loved it. I loved seeing all his control flagging. I could’ve waited all day like this, just to see him sweat it out, the way he’d made me sweat.
Finally, he said, “And?”
“And what?”
His voice was calm, but there was tension in his features. “Our deal?”
“Oh, that.” I grinned up at him and batted my eyelashes. “Everywhere.”
He narrowed his eyes, disbelieving. “Really?”
“I’m serious. I don’t do so good with tickling.”
“Yeah?” He leaned forward, eyes roving over my body. I knew what that look was. He was going to test out that notion.
And I couldn’t wait.
“So, if I touched you on someplace like… here?” He reached out and touched the top of my hand.
No, it wasn’t ticklish. It was electric. I held in a breath, let it out slow. “Yes.”
His fingers walked lighter than a breeze up my forearm. “Here?”
I could’ve pulled away, told him to stop, but I didn’t want to. I felt heavy, like gravity was pressing me down harder than before. Pressing me toward him. “Yes,” I managed to breathe out, wiggling into his touch.
His fingers skirted my waist, and he gave it a little tweak. I burst out laughing, grabbed for his hand, but he was too quick. He took that wrist first, then the other, rendering me immobile. He dragged me up to standing, and as I stood there, with barely an inch between us, I felt the heat rushing off his body.
He stared down at me, his eyes dark with desire, hands holding me firm.
Then he lowered his mouth onto mine. There was no tentativeness. I got the feeling he never hesitated when he claimed what was his. No, he kissed me savagely from the first. I gasped against his mouth in surprise, but that didn’t stop him.
“You drive me crazy,” he said against my mouth as he walked me backward until a bench hit the back of my legs. “Crazy. Hard as I try, I can’t think of anything but you.”
I moved my hands to his face, pulling his mouth back down on mine. I knew exactly what he meant. I felt the same. A moment of sanity entered my mind and I pushed against his chest. “Are you sure?”
His nostrils flared as he shook his head. “I’m not sure about any of this. Emma.”
It was the first time he’d ever said my name. I leaned into it, loving the way the M sound vibrated on his lips, long and low and sexy.
I wasn’t sure about any of this, either, but at that point, I no longer cared.
Hands on my shoulders, he pressed me down until I sat on the bench before kneeling in front of me. I was surprised when he did nothing more. He just buried his face in my neck, not doing anything but breathing into my sweaty skin.
And I understood. He was still at war with himself. He was trying to find the willpower to leave. A part of him felt like what we were doing was wrong. Because he was a good man. An honorable man. I knew that down in my core.
Across the way, in the workout mirror, I saw him kneeling before me, his strong back muscles rippling under his shirt. I ran my hands under the sweaty material and up his spine to his shoulder blades, just relishing him as he held me. I felt his heat and his breath and was powerless to do anything but be his.
“I want you too, Locke,” I whispered, pressing my lips to his temple. “I don’t think it’s wrong. I think it’s inevitable.”
His only movement was to squeeze me tighter, and I watched his muscles flex in the mirror. “I’ve tried to stay away for you. I may own you, but not like this,” he murmured, not even a whisper, just a breath I felt on my ear. “But dammit, I can’t help it.”
Taking his face in my hands, I pushed until he broke free of me. I gave him a gentle smile before peeling my bra top over my head. I was sweaty, and a part of me wanted to rush to the shower before anything went further. But the other part of me knew this was exactly how our love making should be. Sweaty. Raw. Real.
“I want this,” I told him as I tossed the top to the side. “I want you. Ever since that night at my apartment, you’ve been all I can think about.”
His eyes darkened as they roved down my body, and he licked his lips. He ran a finger down my side, and it flirted with the edge of my gym shorts. “Emma, I need to taste you. Now. All I can think about is tasting you. Take these off.”
I let out a shaky breath. I looked down at my gym shorts and slipped them off, kicking them and my shoes into a pile beside my workout bra, leaving me naked while he w
as completely clothed. His eyes raked over my body, and I started to tremble. I was so hot, an unbearable need coiling in my belly.
There could be no mistaking it. It was desire, and only Locke Cage could quench it.
He reached out, sliding his fingers down my belly, which clenched at his touch. He positioned me in front of the weight bench and gently nudged me down. “Lie back,” he instructed. “Spread your legs.”
I did, anticipation causing me to tremble as he settled between my thighs. Our eyes met over the length of my body. When he hesitated, I whispered, “Please.” The word had barely formed and disappeared before his tongue, his amazing hot tongue, flicked over my clit. “Oh!” I gasped.
I lifted my head to watch in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. There, I saw his muscular back straining, his arms wrapped around my legs, pulling me closer to him. It was the most sensual moment of my life, watching his head bobbing as he ate me, moving in a steady rhythm, like he couldn’t get enough. Like I was his very last meal.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he breathed into my folds. “Damn, you’re sweet.”
I blushed at first at his words, but then all shame fell away. He liked this. I tossed my head back as he lapped away at my clit, unrelenting. I stifled a moan that wanted to be a scream because, god, I’d never felt anything like what he was doing to me.
I threw back my head. I writhed on the bench, arching and bucking in time to his tongue’s lapping. I coiled my fingers in his thick hair and pushed his face into me harder. And just when I thought it couldn’t get better, he slid a finger, then two into my depths.
And holy shit, I went insane. I screamed and bit down hard on my hand. “No!” I mumbled hoarsely. “Oh, god, no! No more!”
“You want me to stop?” he breathed into my folds, and I saw the effort it took him to pull away.
“No. Please, no.”
He grinned and slowly eased another finger into me, making me shudder uncontrollably. He slid them in and out in time to my thrusts against him as his mouth did wonderful things to my clit. I felt myself being pushed to the edge, to the point of no return, where resistance was impossible. Stifling what was inside me was impossible. I keened, arching and bucking against his face in a whirlwind.
