by Alice Gaines
“Nope. Deep down, I’m really a shallow guy.”
She glared at him for a long moment. Either that or calling bullshit.
“Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
“Family. Brothers and sisters. That sort of thing.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “Just my mom and me. My father took off before I was born.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Yeah, I know.” He got up and paced across to the artificial waterfall. “She worked three jobs to take care of me, and I spent most of my time raising hell.”
“Is that why you told me I’d find a better man than you?” He’d said lots of better men.
His head snapped around. “I said that?”
“In the shower.”
“Post-fuck vulnerability. It’ll get you every time.” He went back to staring at the water as it cascaded over the rocks at the bottom of the falls. “I’m making it up to her, though.”
“Your mom?”
“With the money I make here, I’m putting her through college. She always wanted that.”
“That’s great,” Cassandra said. “What’s she studying?”
“Paleontology. What the hell’s she going to do with that?” he said. “Makes her happy, though.”
With college costs what they were today, he probably didn’t have much left to live on himself. She couldn’t help but remember all the money that had shown up regularly in her checking account as long as she’d kept her grades up.
“Maybe when she’s finished, I’ll go, too,” he said.
“I can see that.”
He turned to her and smiled, the self-assured Bobby back in place. “Well, visualize that all you want, but let’s get out of this place. If I stay here any longer, someone will have me eating twigs.”
She laughed. “I doubt that.”
“You never know with woo-woo types. They read auras and delve into past lives and other crap like that.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“How about the gym?” Again he took her hand and tugged her off to somewhere new. And again she allowed him to do it.
BOBBY EMPTIED THE gym of the rest of the men using it before he brought her inside. She peeked around a corner as they passed. All of them were amazing specimens in exercise shorts, some wearing tank tops and others bare-chested. Different races, heights, and hair colors, but each with a perfectly sculpted body. To think, a woman could have any one of them at the right price.
She wouldn’t have any of them, though. She already had her perfect partner. After a few minutes, Bobby appeared in the hallway. “All clear. Come on inside.”
The place fairly oozed male hormones. There was nothing woo-woo or frou-frou about the equipment. Though state of the art, the machines came in a utilitarian design. They had their own beauty, perhaps, but only insofar as the symmetry served a purpose: namely to beef people up and slim them down. Body sculpture.
Bobby selected a pair of barbells and sat on a bench to do biceps curls. “So, tell me about the stepsons.”
He probably assumed she didn’t know her way around a gym. Wrong. She worked out at least three days a week. Usually five or six. “I don’t suppose there’s anything here a woman can wear to exercise.”
“Suppose. Try looking over there.” He nodded toward a nearby counter with drawers beneath. “You can change in the women’s locker room just in case one of the guys comes in by mistake.”
“Do the clients use this gym?”
“The ones who aren’t afraid of their own shadows do,” he said.
She’d object, but she couldn’t deny the fact that Bobby had had to chase the men out of their gym so one skittish woman could use it.
“The clients and the men come in here to work out together.” He continued lifting the huge barbells, causing his biceps to bulge. “Makes for some interesting activities in the showers.”
She was hardly one to talk about doing the nasty in a shower. She selected a pair of shorts and tank top from one of the drawers and headed toward the locker room. Once inside, she checked around carefully for people who might have been left behind. When she found no one, she changed quickly and rejoined Bobby.
He scanned her head to toe. “You almost look like you know what you’re doing.”
“I do.” She got onto one of the treadmills and set it for her favorite routine. After the workout Bobby had given her, she ought to feel exhausted. Instead, she was full of energy, almost vibrating with it.
Could this feeling be nothing more than happiness? Really? She’d had an ideal childhood with loving parents and every advantage. She’d had the perfect wedding, a dream of a honeymoon, and a marriage with everything a woman could want. Well, almost everything. She’d been happy her entire life, hadn’t she?
The treadmill picked up speed and tipped upward as she climbed the first artificial hill. Her body took over, falling into the rhythm of strides and breathing. The exertion always shut down the bothersome voices in her mind—everything from the trivial to-do lists to memories of Howard’s death to hostile legal documents from the stepsons’ lawyers. She could so easily run full-out, rejoicing in the movement, but she’d pace herself instead, so she could enjoy the entire cycle.
Bobby set down his barbell and walked over to the front of the treadmill. For a moment, he watched her, his arms crossed over his chest. Then a grin spread slowly over his face. “That’s pretty fast running, princess.”
She couldn’t help but grin back. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Nice form, too.”
The treadmill slowed, giving her a few seconds to rest before the next series of hills. She took deep breaths, exhaling fully in time with her steps. Bobby watched her the whole time, the light of male appreciation in his gaze. Other men had looked at her in the gym and occasionally smiled. No one else’s attentions had filled her with pride as his did. She’d satisfied him in bed, and now he admired her for her strength and speed.
The treadmill climbed again, and she rose with it. Working her arms, she lengthened her stride. She entered her favorite part of the cycle—when she could exert herself but not have to struggle for those last few minutes and yards. Here, she could fly, outrunning the people sent to follow her and spy on her every move. Here, she was in her own world, a place where she held all the power and made all the decisions. She didn’t have to rely on anyone else to finish the circuit. It belonged to her.
A sheen of sweat covered her chest, and her breath became labored. Bobby produced a towel and held it out to her, but she shook her head to refuse it. Time for that later. Now she had to finish. The hardest part of her routine lay just ahead, the part that would rob her of oxygen and any thought but to keep her feet moving.
The final push. Stride, breath, stride, breath. Gasping and throwing herself into the movement. Muscles burning, she continued, refusing to give up. A few more steps, and she’d reach the goal. Just keep moving. Ignore the pain. Go, go, go.
She surfaced at the very crest of the hill, her feet still moving. Slowly, she started to descend. Her reward for a job well done. Another minute to cool down before the treadmill would stop itself. She’d won against the machine—and herself—again, and the post-run euphoria kicked in. It felt so good, she threw her head back and laughed.
The laughter robbed her of breath for a few seconds, so she worked on pulling air into her lungs. As the belt stopped, Bobby held the towel to her again, and this time she took it. She wiped her face, then the back of her neck and her chest.
Her legs wobbled but held her as she hopped off the treadmill. Bobby caught her in his arms.
She pushed at his chest. “I’m sweaty.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do,” she said, but she didn’t work too hard to get away from him.
“Well . . .” he said. “We can always hit the showers again.”
> “You’re nuts.”
He kissed her, not the sort of intense caress that would lead to another sexual encounter, at least not yet. But the contact had its own intimacy, as if they’d earned the right to reach for each other whenever they wanted. She could feel comfortable with him now.
After a few seconds, he released her. “You looked great. You’re really strong.”
“I work out all the time,”
“Want to try some weights?” he asked.
“Try? Ffft. Who needs to try?” She went to the racks holding barbells, skipped over the tiny, pastel things, and picked up a pair of eight pound weights. Not as impressive as the ones Bobby had used, but substantial. She did some curls, breathing out with each lift. The exertion warmed her again, creating the euphoria that always came with rhythmic movement. Again, Bobby watched her, this time with his hands on his hips.
“Okay, show off,” he said after a moment. He went to her and took the barbells from her hands. “Let’s see how good you really are.”
After setting the barbells onto their rack, he bent and picked up what looked like a leather ball. Ah, medicine ball. Right.
He stood a few yards away from her, hefted the ball to his chest, and used both hands to toss it at her. She caught it, letting out an oof. When he gave her a smug smile, she launched the ball back at him as hard as she could. It hit him solidly enough to make him reel back, and his eyes widened in surprise.
“All righty, then,” he said, as he heaved the ball back to her. “So, tell me about the stepsons.”
“They’re contesting the will.” She threw the ball back to Bobby with a bit less force. “They claim I coerced my husband into signing it.”
“You coerced someone?” He laughed.
“According to them, I’m a devious woman of questionable morals.”
“Little pricks.”
“They’re actually rather tall.” The ball went back and forth.
“So, they’re big pricks.”
“That they are. Big fucking pricks.”
They went at it for a while. She was a bit out of her league with the heavy ball, but she’d be damned if she’d let him see that. He probably could have knocked her over, if he’d wanted to. Instead, he didn’t send her more than she could handle, and she continued giving back as she got. Her arms would ache in the morning.
He gave up first, dropping the ball to his side. “So tell me . . . who was the creampuff I met upstairs in the suite?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he said. “Why don’t you act that way outside of the gym?”
“I don’t know. What happens in the gym stays in the gym?” She retrieved the towel from where it had fallen on the floor, went to the bench, and sat down.
Bobby took a seat beside her. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
She rubbed the towel over her shoulders. She would need another shower later. “I started exercising to lose weight.”
“As if you need to. You eat like a bird.”
“I found out I enjoy working out for its own sake,” she said. “I like feeling strong.”
She did, damn it. She’d never considered the fact outside of the context of physical strength. Everything had always been taken care of for her, first by her parents and then by Howard. Now she had a gaggle of lawyers, some she’d paid for by herself and others her father had hired. But the stepsons still had the upper hand, making her hide and look over her shoulder constantly. She didn’t have to. She had her own strength. She only had to build it up the same way she’d built her body—by exerting herself.
“I am strong, aren’t I?”
He caught her chin between thumb and forefinger. “You could be.”
“I do need a bit more exercise, I think.”
“I can help.”
She hugged him. “You already have.”
He pushed her away and looked into her face. “No, really. Want to find out how?”
She studied him. He wore the same look that had jumped out to her in his picture. A challenge. He still had surprises for her, it seemed.
“I can take whatever you can dish out,” she said.
“Great. Only it might be the other way around.”
WHEN CASSANDRA RETURNED to the suite, everything was in shadows. Bobby had closed all the drapes, and her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light in the bedroom. After waiting the five minutes he’d requested before leaving the gym, her imagination had run through the gamut of games they might play with each other’s bodies, but her fantasies had come up short compared to all the things he’d already done to her and for her. Dreams paled in comparison to reality as far as Bobby was concerned. Maybe now he had an erotic version of hide and seek in mind. Maybe something even more creative.
“Bobby?” she called softly.
“Over here.” His voice came from the direction of the bed.
She stepped farther inside the room and found him flat on his stomach in the middle of the mattress. Naked. In the dim light, the comforter had nearly swallowed him up, and she could have walked right past him without seeing him if he hadn’t spoken.
“Okay,” she said. “What am I supposed to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Is this a game of twenty questions?” she asked.
“Who says it’s a game?” he answered.
That might not have been twenty questions, but the exchange had managed to make her head swim, nevertheless. Whatever they were playing obviously didn’t require clothing, and knowing Bobby, it involved sex. She laid her own clothes on a chair and shucked out of the shorts and top she’d borrowed for her work out. Then, nude, she climbed onto the bed beside him.
He turned his head away from her but otherwise lay still, right where he’d been when she came in.
“Are you not talking to me or something?” she asked.
“Why would you want to talk to someone like me?” he said.
“What the hell?” This didn’t make any sense. They’d parted in good spirits. In fact, he’d seemed pleased with her, impressed with her strength. Then he’d given her a quick kiss and a wink before making her promise to wait before coming back to the suite.
“Is that the filthiest language you know?” he said. “I thought I’d done a better job with you.”
“All right. What the fuck?”
“You have every right to be mad at me,” he said.
“For crissake, I’m not mad at you.” The fact that she was shouting didn’t help matters, but he was acting like an idiot. Where had all this negativity come from? “Why are you being this way?”
“Maybe you’d better call the front desk and have them send up someone better.”
“Damn it. I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” She climbed off the bed and paced for a while. “There isn’t anyone better.”
“I’m a piece of shit, and you know it.”
“Stop it, Bobby!” Now she really was shouting. “I don’t like it.”
“Then do something about it.”
“What do you want me to do?” For the love of God. She’d be smashing things in another minute, and she never smashed anything.
“Hit me,” he said. “My naked butt’s up in the air. Slap it.”
She backed away a few steps. “I don’t want to hit you.”
“I don’t see why not. I’m pissing you off, right?”
He was, but still. “I don’t hit people.”
“Then maybe it’s time you started,” he said. “Or are you going to be a patsy for the rest of your life?”
“I thought we’d gotten past this.” She walked around the bed to confront him. “I thought you admitted I’m strong.”
“Strong in the gym where no one can see you. What about real life? When are you going to learn to stand up for yourself?
Infuriating man. “I do stand up for myself.”
“Then let me see it. Pretend I’m one of the stepsons who�
��re giving you shit. Do you think you could hit him?”
“I deal with him through lawyers.”
“Lawyers.” Bobby turned his head away again.
“Okay, you want me to hit you, I’ll do it.” Staring down at his buttocks, she raised her hand. This was absurd, insane, but she’d find the strength to do it somehow. Maybe after a few swats he’d come to his senses and start acting like her Bobby again. If not, she’d give him a direct order. He couldn’t refuse that.
For the first time in more years than she could remember, she slapped someone. Her fingers made contact with his rear with enough force to make noise.
“You call that hitting someone?” he said. “That’s hardly a love tap.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Do it again as if you mean it, and tell me why.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Pretend I’m the stepson, and tell me why I deserve getting hit,” he said.
“Because you’re an ignorant, hateful bastard, and you don’t know the first thing about my marriage.” She hit him again, and this time her fingers stung from the force of the blow.
“That’s better.”
“I was always faithful to your father.” She slapped him over and over. Bam, bam, bam. “I took care of him when he was dying.”
“Good, princess. Keep going.”
“Don’t you call me princess. Don’t you call me anything. Just stay the fuck out of my life.” Her arm was getting tired, but it felt so damned good. Bobby had given her permission, so she let out all the frustrations. The honeymoon that didn’t meet up with her fantasies about the marriage bed. The times Howard had used his hands and mouth when his cock wouldn’t perform. His death, which she’d had to live through with him. And now, his sons telling lies about her and making her life unlivable.
“I don’t have to take any crap from you,” she said. Bam, bam, bam. “I was your father’s wife, and I’m his heir. Get used to it.”
“Hey, princess. Get a condom, would you?” Bobby said.
“What?” She stepped back. The fury still raged inside her, her heart racing. What did condoms have to do with telling Howard Jr. to go fuck himself?
“I’m getting really turned on,” Bobby said. “I want to be prepared.”
