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

by Callie Harper

  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?”

  “All right. Are you in a rush?”

  See, that was the problem. Five days in and we’d already gotten in the habit of spending too much time together. Last night I hadn’t even left for almost an hour after I’d worked on him. He’d played me this hilarious YouTube video the Australian swim team had put together, lip-syncing a popular hit song with everyone dancing around. That had led to more lip-syncing searches and laughing and joking about what the U.S. team should do in response. I’d lobbied hard for some Pink. I wasn’t picky about which song. She could do no wrong in my opinion. Chase had insisted on Journey’s epic “Don’t Stop Believin’.” It was that or nothi
ng.

  But we couldn’t go there tonight. Tonight I had to stay professional. And get the inside scoop. How the hell was I supposed to do that?

  I kept quiet as I massaged his quads. It was too difficult to talk, anyway, he was so huge and powerful and my hands were just too damn close to something else that looked pretty damn huge and powerful. And using warm oil to work out the tension through his chest and shoulders? Nope, I couldn’t manage much small talk then, either. Especially when every now and then he’d make a low, sexy groan of pleasure that nearly drove me insane. Half of me wanted to yell out in frustration, “are you kidding me?” The other half of me wanted to throw down the towel and declare defeat, hopping on top to straddle him and go for a ride all night long.

  Once he was lying on his front and I was working his back, it got a little easier. His calf muscles were probably the safest part to touch. I was professional enough to handle them. Even though they were so hard and defined you had to wonder if his calves felt that good...

  But anyway, while I was working on his calf muscles, I tried to follow Tori’s advice. I was there to get the scoop. I needed to get on with it.

  “So, why did you become a swimmer?” I winced at the way it came out, like Diane Sawyer sitting down to do a one-on-one exclusive interview. Oh well, it was the best I could do when I was feeling so distracted and agitated.

  “What?” He didn’t seem to follow my question. I repeated it. He tensed up, even under my massaging fingers. “I guess, to prove I could.”

  There it was, my in. “Do you mean after the accident? When you almost drowned?”

  And just like that, he sat and then stood up. He picked up a T-shirt and shrugged into it. Covering up. Aces.

  I stood there, feeling like an idiot. He raked a hand through his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” I began, hating the way I’d tried to pry. “I don’t mean to—”

  “I’m sorry,” he interrupted. “I’m not used to talking about…anything other than swimming, really.”

  “No, I should respect your privacy.” Damn Tori and her advice. Chase and I had had such a nice thing going between us, so easy and warm with just the right dash of flirtation. Then I’d gone and frozen things up.

  “I would, ah…” He searched for words, sounding distraught. “I would like to get to know you better.”

  “Oh.” That wasn’t what I expected him to say. He took a step toward me, almost closing the gap between us and he had that burning, intense look in his eyes. I could almost feel myself swaying toward him.

  “Emma.” He reached out a hand and drew it lightly under my chin, grazing my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. With his gaze fixed on my mouth, he licked his lips.

  “I should go.” The words that came out of me were completely at odds with my body. I had to ball my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching out and wrapping them around his broad, hard shoulders, digging my fingers into his muscles, drinking in his kiss like my life depended on it.

  “You should go,” he breathed, giving me such a low, sexy, heavy look I bet we were fogging up the windows. He could have me stripped naked and underneath him in ten seconds flat. I’d do my best to make it five.

  But somehow I took a step backward. And I didn’t knock into anything. If I had, he would have reached out to steady me and then it would have been all over. Any contact would have been like a match to a flame. Who knew when we would have come up for air? He might not have even made it to Rio.

  But one step away led to two which somehow got me to the door, his gaze never leaving me.

  I paused a moment, hand on the door handle, giving myself one last pep talk about the righteousness of leaving. I shouldn’t let things get messy. I shouldn’t be unprofessional. I knew better than this. With a nod, I managed to leave. Once the door clicked behind me, I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

  Damn, I hated acting in my own best interest. Why couldn’t life be more like the romance novels I enjoyed, where the bad boys always turned out to have a heart of gold? Maybe Chase was one of those rare gems, the one in a million with an undeservedly bad reputation? The guy who’d never fallen for anyone before, until he met The One? Who would just happen to be me, of course.

  Not going to happen. That kind of thing happened on my Kindle, not in real life. I’d had some slap-in-the-face reminders of that. I wouldn’t go down that path again. Especially not when I had so much at stake.

  So what that standing next to him intoxicated me, his masculine scent and the heat radiating from his large, solid body making me literally weak in the knees. It didn’t matter that the way he looked at me took my breath away, the longing in his eyes matching my own. That sense that we had a rare connection, that there was something between us deserving of time, attention and lots and lots of wild sex? I had to tamp that down.

  It was just going to take a lot of long runs to work out the excess energy. And cold showers. Because I honestly didn’t know how much longer I could hold out.

  CHAPTER 6

  Chase

  “Eighteen days, man!” It was my buddy Liam on the phone. We’d known each other since we were kids and the sound of his voice always took me back.

  “Crazy, right?” I shook my head. The games would be here before I knew it. Funny how little stress I’d been feeling about that fact. Emma was fantastic at keeping my mind occupied. If only I could get my body in on the action, too.

  “Guess what? I got the time off.”

  “No way!” Last we’d spoken, he didn’t think he’d be able to make the trip to see me swim. He had an all-access pass waiting for him, of course, plus I’d happily cover his plane ticket, but the firehouse where he worked on Naugatuck, a small island off the coast of Massachusetts, was so short-handed during the height of tourist season he hadn’t thought he could pull it off.

  “Yeah, the guys made it happen. I’ll see you in Rio, Chevy!” No one called me Chevy but my old friends, the gang of four I’d grown up with. The summer we’d been thirteen we’d all hung out watching classics like Fletch over and over again. With a name like Chase, of course they had to nickname me Chevy.

  I could picture Liam, so handsome and friendly and outgoing his nickname had become Magnum. It had multiple meanings: larger-than-life, related to magnet as in chick. And of course, all those re-runs of Magnum P.I. we’d watched had sealed the deal with lady-killer Tom Selleck and his sidekick mustache. Of us all, Liam was the most approachable, the one who actually smiled and remembered people’s names. And now he was coming to see me swim.

  “That means a lot, man.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it!” He had been there to cheer me on back when I was 18, too, in Beijing. We’d been such kids then.

  “I’ll send you the dates. I couldn’t get the whole time off, but I think I’ll be there for the last four days you swim.”

  Sweet. I was lucky to have a friend like Liam. A friend who’d saved my life. So chill and normal and laid back, you wouldn’t think he had much in common with me, Mr. Intense. But he was like the brother I’d never had.

  My snobby parents hadn’t exactly approved of my friends on the island where we spent most of our summers. Well, they approved of Ian because he came from old money, the type of family that owned authentic Van Goghs. Their home on Naugatuck was one in a dozen family properties. To new money like my parents, old money was as irresistible as catnip. But working class Liam, the son of a fireman and a cook, and Jax, all tatted up, the son of a construction worker and a hotel maid? No, they did not make the cut. Especially after all the shit that went down with the boat.

  But Liam had remained my truest friend, never letting me drop off his radar no matter how much I got those horse blinders up and over my eyes. He always managed to get right direct in my line of sight and wave real big. Over here, dumbass. It’s your best friend. Lighten up.

  He’d like Emma. He wouldn’t try to hit on her, either. Liam was a class act. He’d be able to tell right away, the wa
y I felt for her, she was not on the market.

  Except, of course, she was. Nothing had happened between us. Yet. But that constant drumbeat in my head of “touch her, touch her” was getting louder and louder. And all the reasons not to were getting pummeled like an unprepared defense witness under cross-fire interrogation from a highly-paid litigation attorney. She wasn’t distracting me from my goal, pulling me off course, she was helping me reach it. And, yes, on the surface it seemed undeniably cheesy and wrong to hit on your physical therapist. But I wasn’t interested in a one-night stand with this woman. One night would never be enough.

  Liam and I talked for a few more minutes, catching up, until he got called to do something at the station house. And I, of course, had to head to another workout.

  “OK, you go keep up the pace. For now,” he warned me. “But remember, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” That had been another favorite of ours, The Shining. Talk about a classic flick.

  “I know,” I admitted.

  “Once you win all those gold medals we’re gonna shut down Rio.”

  “I hear you, Magnum.”

  “Shut. It. Down.”

  “You’re sure you’re up to it, old man? I’ve heard Rio parties pretty hard.”

  “Then you better bring your big boy pants.”

  “You know I don’t wear any pants.” Liam always gave me shit about the tiny little Speedos I paraded around in. I was so used to it by now, I didn’t even notice my constant state of near-nudity. Except when I was around Emma.

  “All right, it’s a plan. And Chase, two things.” He paused and I listened. I could tell from his more serious tone he had something to say. “When these games are done, you’re gonna need to get yourself a life.”

  “OK, Dad.” I sounded dismissive, but I knew he was right.

  “But until they’re over, swim fast.”

  “Always do. Now you go save some lives.”

  “You bet.”

  He’d found the perfect job for himself, the hero every day, a professional rescuer responding to emergency calls as a firefighter. What would I do with myself after the games were over? I might train for another Olympics. I knew it could be done. At the next games I’d be 30, on the older side for peak competition, but it wouldn’t be impossible. Honestly, I hadn’t given it much thought. I’d been so focused on eight days in Rio when I’d swim my nine events, five individual—the 400 IM, 200 and 400 freestyle plus 200 and 400 butterfly—and four relays. The years afterward had barely crossed my radar.