Beau’s sharp tone got the attention of the candidate seated across from him. The man studiously examined his nails and pretended not to listen.
“An engagement. Wouldn’t that be quite the coup for scheming old Chandra? Got to give the woman credit, under that beautiful exterior has always been a good business head.”
“She’s not dumb, that’s for sure.”
Beau tried not to sound sour but it did hurt. Not because his feelings ran deep for Chandra, but because his ego was taking a pummeling. No one liked to be used. Chandra had most likely targeted Franco Santana for the same reason she’d initially targeted him. From the PR end of things, Franco would be good for her career and would keep her in the public eye. It didn’t hurt that financially she wouldn’t have to worry for the rest of her life. God bless them both. The match was made in fragrance hell.
Beau signaled to Mark that he would be another couple of minutes. His attention returned to David. “So who’s trying to get in touch with me?”
“One of your old teammates.”
“And that would be…?”
“Joshua Vanderhorn”
Beau frowned. What would Joshua want with him after all this time? He hadn’t heard hide nor hair from him since the accident. But given they’d never been friends, that was hardly surprising. They’d been civil for the sake of the United States ski team. Both men were from vastly different worlds. Joshua came from old money. A snob from the word go. He was blessed with one of those handsome, aristocrat faces, and an athletic body that had women drooling for miles. You could easily picture Joshua with skis slung over his shoulders, blue eyes peering from under a headband. Perfect for commercials. Except Joshua would never sink that low and sully the family name. The Vanderhorns would have a cow. Commercials and endorsements were for the lower classes, skiers like Beau.
From the moment he’d qualified for the ski team, Beau had sensed Joshua’s dislike of him. Dislike was probably too strong a word. Disdain or disapproval was more fitting. Joshua would never have expected to ski with the likes of Beau. Skiing wasn’t the typical black person’s sport. Joshua’s exposure to blacks was limited to what he saw on TV and he tended to treat Beau like the stereotype. Beau belonged on a basketball court, not on the slopes.
Curiosity prompted Beau to ask, “What did Joshua want?”
“Your home number. Says he just got back from Europe. He meant to call you before, but things got crazy. Yada, yada. You know how he goes on. Now he claims he has something to discuss with you.”
“Go ahead and give it to him.”
“Why? You sure you want to do this, Beau?” His agent sounded skeptical.
David knew him too well. No, he wasn’t sure he wanted Joshua to have his number. But he did want to know what was going on.
Beau hung up to find Mark’s eyes on him. He managed a smile and quickly apologized. This candidate had come with excellent recommendations but Beau no longer felt he needed him. His coordination had improved remarkably and the strength in his arms had increased. He was even able to take care of his personal hygiene and could almost dress himself. Therapy with Shayna was obviously paying off. Hiring an aide would mean that he wasn’t self-sufficient, that he might never walk again, much less ski. What did William Rudolph, the three-time Olympic gold medalist, say? “My mother taught me very early to believe I could achieve any accomplishment I wanted to. The first was to walk without braces.”
And Beau meant to walk again, maybe even ski.
Beau smiled at the thought of what Shayna would say if she knew that a quote from this book of hers had popped into his head. Would she understand why he was reluctant to hire an aide? Would she support his choice not to? He’d ask her later.
“I do want to thank you for your time,” Beau said, turning his attention back to Mark and shaking the young man’s hand firmly. “I’ll get back to you. You’re very well qualified for the post of personal assistant.”
Personal assistant sounded a heck of a lot better than aide. Aide conjured up stark white hospital walls and smells of disinfectant. Pain and despair rather than hope. He was growing maudlin.
Mark stood, briefcase in hand. “What’s the time frame, sir? I do have another offer.”
“I’ll let you have my decision within the week. I’ll phone your agency.”
“I’d appreciate that”
“Towanda,” Beau called, “Will you please show Mark out.”
“I’d be happy to,” Victoria said, materializing from some invisible place. Beau wondered if she’d been listening. “Towanda’s running an errand for me,” she said, escorting Mark out.
When she returned, she eyed Beau’s designer pullover and pressed chinos. “You’re dressed to go to the center? Didn’t you say you had aquatic aerobics or some New Age workout?”
“It’s called aquatic therapy, Mom, and I’ll be changing when I get there.”
Victoria raised both eyebrows. “I see. But until then there’s someone you want to impress?”
Beau refused to acknowledge the snide remark. His mother was clearly over the sympathy phase. A few weeks of living with him had done that to her. Now she even ribbed him about his disability. In a couple of days she’d be relieved by his sister, Kelly, so she could return to her real estate business and clients. Much as Beau hated to admit it, he would miss her.
Twenty minutes later they were seated in the van heading toward Denver Rehabilitation Center. The windows were open and a crisp breeze blew in.
Victoria took her eyes off the road briefly. “Did you see this morning’s paper?” she asked.
“Should I have?” It seemed as if everyone was bent on telling him about Chandra.
“You had to have heard that your young lady’s dating another man,” Victoria said carefully.
“Good for her.”
His mother tossed another questioning glance his way. “I take it that doesn’t bother you?”
Beau sighed loudly. “Sure, my ego’s taking a beating and I’m disappointed that I could be so easily replaced in her affections, but I’m not heartbroken. I guess it wasn’t love.”
“Imagine that,” Victoria muttered. “A man mistaking lust for love?” A car tooted behind them. The driver eventually changed lanes. “Apparently I’m going too slow for him.”
Conversation lagged. A few minutes later Beau brought up the topic again. “You never did like Chandra.”
“I didn’t dislike her. I just thought you two weren’t well suited. May I be frank?”
“Why ruin an impeccable track record?”
“You should be with someone like your therapist. Shayna’s got a good sense of self. She’s tough but charming. You’d be able to count on her when the chips are down. And she’s cute as a button. I just wish I could remember where I’d seen her before.”
He and Shayna together, an impossible thought. After the first couple of dates they’d most likely kill each other. Best not to address that issue and just let it go. “Could Shayna have come into your real estate place looking for an apartment?” Beau asked.
Victoria drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. The van swerved. Another car whizzed by them, tooting its horn.
“No, I don’t think so. My rentals are pretty pricey.” She gazed out the window, making the van veer to the right. The driver in the lane next to them gave her the finger. “No, that face has been in the newspapers possibly even on television.”
When the car in front of them braked, Beau jolted forward. “Keep your eyes on the road, Mother,” he cautioned.
Victoria turned and glared at him. “Would you like to drive?”
“No.”
“Good, then keep your mouth shut”
“Look,” Beau said, “Shayna’s brother’s in trouble. Dad’s the prosecuting attorney. The newspapers and television probably ran pieces on the family, complete with photos. That’s probably why you think you’ve seen Shayna before.”
There was a moment of silence while Victoria thou
ght about it. “Which of your father’s cases are we talking about?”
Beau repeated what Mohammed had told him.
“You mean that punk Reggie’s Shayna’s brother? That boy committed a heinous crime. Shayna knows who you are but continues to work with you?”
“I don’t know that she does. She’s never brought up the case, nor has she said a word about Dad.”
“Trust me, as high profile as you and your father are, she’s bound to have heard.”
“Was,” Beau said softly. “I’m no longer high profile.”
“Yes, you’ve turned into chopped liver overnight. Woe is me,” Victoria muttered. “Poor Beau.”
Beau reined in his temper. Maybe it was time for him and his mother to put some distance between them.
“What would Shayna’s motives be for pretending she didn’t know?” he asked. “Eventually it would have to come out.”
“By then my son might have fallen in love with her. He’d be putty in her hands.”
“Mother, you’re being ridiculous.”
“We’re here,” Victoria announced, unperturbed. “Ask your therapist and see what she says. I’ll be back to get you in an hour.”
Victoria slammed the door of the van after Beau had wheeled himself out.
“I think I’ll take a taxi home,” Beau threatened.
“Suit yourself,” Victoria said, waving him off.
* * *
Shayna tapped her foot nervously. She’d been waiting for Beau to get out of that changing room for how long now?
Knowing she had aquatic therapy scheduled, she’d taken extra special care to select the one-piece bathing suit she was wearing. Midnight black, and cut high on the thighs, it gave the illusion she had lots of leg.
Shayna smiled. When you were this petite you needed every advantage. Tank suits tended to make her look like a child. She wanted to be taken seriously, to be viewed as a woman. Why was it suddenly so important? Didn’t she know who she was?
She tied a towel low on her hips, sarong style, and stretched out on a lounge chair. The pool was hers and Beau’s for the next hour, and she planned on putting him to work. He’d been in an ornery mood when he’d first arrived and had responded to her greeting tersely.
She wondered what that was all about, and had asked if he’d needed help changing, but her offer had been turned down. What on earth had happened to the teasing young man who a couple of nights ago had invited her and Reggie over this Sunday?
Shayna glanced at her watch. Beau was taking an awfully long time to get changed. What was keeping him?
“Beau,” Shayna called, “can I do something to help?”
A muffled grunt came from somewhere inside came at her.
“Beau, is something wrong?” Shayna called even louder.
Another muffled expletive wafted its way out. Shayna’s heart pounded. Something was definitely going on.
“I’m coming in on the count of ten,” Shayna shouted, starting a slow countdown. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” More groans.
Forget about counting, something needed to be done. Fifteen minutes had already elapsed since he’d been inside. There would be no one else in the changing room; the place was still theirs for the next forty-five minutes.
“Hold on, Beau,” Shayna said, rushing through the curtained entry.
The groans came at her louder now. She picked up her pace. Beau was someplace back there, maybe to the right. She found him face down on the floor, pants tangled around his ankles.
“Are you hurt, Beau?” she asked, squatting down next to him, and quickly assessing the situation.
Determining there had been no harm done to his physical self, she tried to keep a straight face. He must have lowered his pants, and then struggled to get off his pullover. He’d probably leaned forward to remove his sweater and catapulted over. Off to the side his wheelchair sat angled. The scene could have been funny except for the fact that Beau was virtually helpless and sputtering angry words.
Shayna tugged the sweater over his head. “You didn’t answer me. Are you hurt?”
The moment Beau was able to see, he glared at her. Hypnotic gray eyes flashed daggers. “No, I’m not hurt.”
“Then you need to thank me,” Shayna said when their glances met and held.
“Don’t push it.”
She’d literally caught him with his pants down. A photo opportunity moment.
“Need help getting up?”
“I’ll manage myself.”
A mumbled oath followed, one Shayna chose to ignore. She laid her hand on Beau’s bare back. It felt smooth, broad, and muscular, chiseled out of thick, hard mahogany. Under his chinos he wore black gym shorts and his legs were covered with wiry dark hairs.
“You need help,” she insisted. “And I’m going to get it”
“No. No help.”
“I can’t pick you up. You’re too heavy.”
“I said, no. It’s embarrassing enough to be found like this.”
He was trying his best to roll over, but the tangled material at his ankles, got in the way.
“Hold still,” Shayna commanded. “Let’s at least get your trousers off.”
After tugging gently, Shayna was able to get Beau’s chinos off. Using his arms to support the bulk of his weight, he was able to half drag, half crawl toward his wheelchair.
Shayna, despite feeling awful, couldn’t take her eyes off him. The way his arm muscles bulged. The way his washboard stomach was covered with the same curly hair as his legs. Even in this vulnerable position he was a gorgeous male and tempting as hell.
Help him, Shayna. Help him.
“Maybe if I pick your legs up, wheelbarrow style,” she offered, moving the wheelchair closer.
Beau had somehow managed to seat himself on the floor. “Make sure it’s steady,” he said, pointing to his chair. “I’ll grab on to it and try to hoist myself up.”
His muscles had to be aching.
“It would be easier if you’d let me get somebody,” Shayna said, checking to make sure the brake was in position.
“You’re the only help I’m accepting,” Beau said, grunting and clenching his teeth. Beads of sweat poured down his forehead. “I mean it, Shayna,” he said, noticing she’d walked away. He tried to ease himself up. It was impossible.
“Put your arm around me,” Shayna commanded, returning and giving in to his request. It would require superhuman effort but she’d try.
With much grunting and groaning, they were finally able to get Beau seated again. In the process Shayna somehow ended up on his lap. She closed her eyes, catching her breath. Every muscle and sinew ached. Her back felt as if a thousand-pound man had been stomping grapes on it. Her neck hurt. She simply couldn’t move and needed to get her equilibrium back. She had her arms around his neck, heard Beau’s heavy breathing, and smelled sweat mingling with a spicy cologne. Pinpoints of light flashed behind her closed lids. The room tilted. Her breasts brushed against Beau’s chest. He stiffened. She heard his sharp intake of breath. Beau’s arms circled her waist. He covered her face with kisses.
“No” Shayna said, trying to get up. But her protest was cut short by another floor-tilting kiss, which made her head spin.
Heat radiated off Beau. There was a pulsing beneath her that reminded her he was still a man, and a very virile one at that. Rough chest hairs grazed her thin Lycra suit, creating friction, setting her breasts on fire. Spicy cologne and sweat melded with heat and passion.
Beau is a patient of yours, a little voice reminded her. This is wrong.
Then why did his probing kisses feel so right? Why did he have the power to release emotions in her she didn’t know existed?
Just give in to the feeling, Shayna. Go with the flow, another voice said.
Beau’s hands were on her breasts. A ripple of longing rushed through her as his hungry tongue explored and demanded. Shayna accepted his tongue, joining him in an age-old dance that seemed to promise forever. If only that wer
e the truth.
Kissing Beau was like kissing no other man she’d known before. It was a sensory experience, intimate, yet titillating. She was engaged in artful foreplay. She lit up inside, sizzled, and burned. Her entire body was on fire. He’d awakened in her a deep desire. But the timing was wrong, the man and place inappropriate.
“Beau,” Shayna managed.
“What is it, honey?”
His voice sounded deep, impassioned, and throaty.
“We’ve got to stop.”
Had he heard her? If so, he ignored her. The intensity of their kisses increased and his hand slid under the thin material of her bathing suit to stroke an already taut nipple. She groaned. Then good sense kicked in. Shayna fisted her hands and banged against his chest. “Let me go, Beau. Now.”
He went deadly still but abruptly released her.
“As you wish.”
She knew she had hurt his feelings. Trampled on his ego. But it was for the best. Beau was still a patient of hers.
Chapter Thirteen
Shayna’s kisses were like nectar from the gods. Sheer heaven. At first Beau did not register her fisted hands beating a rapid tattoo against his chest. Then he came to realize that the noises he heard were not expressions of passion but gasps of protests. Something was very wrong.
No woman had gotten to him as this one had. Not even Chandra, passionate soul that she was. Shayna’s kisses were sweet yet sensuous. Her small hands pressed against his chest and her tiny body on his lap made him feel protective and manly. How had it come to this?
Shayna’s sharp words penetrated. “Let me go, Beau. Now.”
He went deadly still. She’d seemed to be enjoying his kisses. His touch. She’d been keeping up with him.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Beau asked, holding her slightly away from him.
“I’m not your honey. I’m your therapist,” Shayna said churlishly.
“Could have fooled me.”
He would never understand women. There she was one minute kissing him as if there would be no tomorrow, now she wanted him to stop.
Shayna slid off his lap and straightened her bathing suit. Her face was still flushed and her eyes slightly glazed from their making out. “We’ve got exactly half an hour left of pool therapy,” she said firmly.
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