by Skye Jordan
“Oh, relax,” Julia said. “He’s just warming up.”
“Honey, that’s not how a gold medalist warms up. Putting Noah Hunt on the bunny slopes is like caging a wild animal, like cuffing a prizefighter, like—”
Like putting Julia Quinn Kingsley in the kiddie pool, she wanted to scream. Instead, she sighed. “Save the drama, Rafe.”
In moments like this, Julia regretted changing her name after leaving the Olympic life. There had been so many moments she could have pulled it out and used her legacy to ease her career path, like now. Sure would have been satisfying to say, “I know exactly how a gold medalist warms up, you arrogant ass.”
Instead, she said, “And remember, he’s still got a lot of scar tissue—”
“In the lateral malleolus,” he finished for her. “And too much force on the outside of his left foot will cause the cuboid joint to evert.”
“And,” she added deliberately, “that would cause stabbing pain in his ankle, heel, and calf, which would—horror upon horrors—stall continued training. So if you want to keep your boy on the pow pow” —God, she hated that stupid term for powder; who made this shit up?—“don’t push it.”
Rafe just grinned with those pretty white teeth he’d flashed for the cameras when he’d won his own gold medals over a decade ago, and patted her head. “Don’t you worry, Mom. I promise to keep your little boy safe. You are officially off duty.” Rafe walked toward the exit as Noah swept to a
stop nearby. “Don’t wait up.”
He exited the main doors to the deck and called to Noah, who snapped free of his snowboard, slammed it upright into the snow, and opened his arms to Rafe for a bear hug.
“You’d think they hadn’t seen each other in years.”
“Are you pouting?” Drake asked with surprise.
“No,” she lied. “I’m worried. You have no idea how hard it’s been to get that guy into a routine. If he hurts himself and backslides…” She shook her head. “Hell to live with. Absolute hell.”
“You say that like he’s not hell to live with now.”
She lifted a shoulder, reluctant to admit how well they were getting along—despite the sexual tension. “He’s…trainable. Sort of. I guess.”
She was just about to pull her gaze from Rafe and Noah when Noah’s attention turned to the windows. He’d pulled off his cap and flipped his sunglasses over his head, letting them lie at the base of his neck in a smooth, sexy move. And when his gaze found hers, his smile grew into one that beamed through the glass and hit her chest dead center.
In that moment, she thanked God she’d had the wisdom to end their sexual relationship and kept it from flaring back to life. Because if she hadn’t, the combination of that mind-blowing sex and this building camaraderie between them had the potential to break her heart. A girl only needed one broken heart to last a lifetime.
He lifted his arm and gave her a thumbs-up. She couldn’t help but laugh at his joy, glowing as bright as the fresh snow, and returned the thumbs-up even though she wanted to shout be careful. Then crossed her arms tight again as he turned and trudged up the mountain with Rafe by his side, both men holding their snowboards behind their backs.
“It’s so hard when the kids crawl out of the nest, isn’t it?” Drake asked.
Julia laughed and kicked him lightly. “Shut up.”
“Hey,” he said, changing the subject. “I have something to talk to you about.”
“Mmm-hmm?” She curled one leg underneath her and watched Noah hop onto a different lift, one that would take him to the other side of the mountain and out of her sight.
“Julia.” Drake waved a hand in front of her face. “You’re obsessed.”
She knocked it away. “I told you, I’m worried. I have a lot invested in the guy, okay?”
“Yes, you do. And the Wing’s event is a great place to leverage that investment,” Drake said. “You’re going, right?”
She frowned, her mind scanning but coming up empty. “What’s Wings?”
“The Red Bull sponsorship event,” he said as if jogging her memory. “In LA.”
She shrugged. “All I know about sponsorship events is how to avoid them.”
Drake heaved a frustrated sigh. “Noah told me he was going to talk to you about it. Maybe you can
work on his memory while you’re here.”
“He’s got a great memory.” If the way he liked to slip in reminders of their night together every damn day was any indication. “Which means he purposely didn’t mention it. And that’s a problem, since I’ve got his schedule packed up until the moment he takes his first qualifying ride at the X Games—in two weeks.”
God, that seemed impossibly soon.
“Then he’s probably trying to decide if he’s going, but he needs to, because all his sponsors are going to be there, including Epic and Guru. A lot of his competitors are going to be there too, and he needs face time. He needs to rattle cages. Let everyone know he’s back on track.”
“Drake, I’m going to need every damn minute to get him ready. He may look good, but there’s a chasm between here and gold.”
“It’s just one night, and this is an important event for both of you.” He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. “All those competitors and sponsors are going to want to know who’s bringing the star back to the slopes. That one event alone could cultivate enough name recognition to secure your future for the next five, eight, ten years, if you play it right.”
This news whipped Julia’s calm waters into choppy waves. “If this event is as big as you say, a lot of my previous clients will also be there.”
“That’s a good thing. The perfect time to reconnect with them, put your name out there, tell them you plan to start your own practice.”
“Hell, no. It’s too far away. Even with the first half of Epic’s payment and everything I have in savings, I’m still a long way off. Besides, Phillips might be there.”
The thought made her skin crawl. She might have built a professional, no-bullshit demeanor, she might be able to keep hard-ass athletes in line, but she’d never been good with personal confrontation. And the thought of having to answer questions and tolerate whispers and stares ate at her gut like acid. Add to that the reality that Noah would be there, would hear the rumors…
“All your previous clients adore you,” Drake said. “Phillips is the only idiot.”
“An idiot powerful enough to crush my life. I’d rather stay out of his path for a while longer.”
“Which is why this is the perfect event to attend. Phillips has an appearance scheduled at the children’s wing of St. Joseph’s in New Orleans that night.”
That eased the tension in her shoulders. But even if Phillips wouldn’t be there, the rumors followed her everywhere. Besides, there was that chick Noah Skyped every night… “Thanks for thinking of me, but I’m pretty sure Noah’s got someone else in mind to take.”
“I thought you had a no-dating policy in place.”
“I do, but he’s relentless at trying to skirt every rule and arrogant enough to think he can.”
“He hasn’t said anything to me about it, and he’d have to since I’m booking the reservations.
The event is Saturday night at the Playhouse Club in Hollywood. This is a win-win for you both. I’ll talk to him.”
“Drake—”
“I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m going to make you stop and think about where you’re going after this job ends, because Noah isn’t the only one who needs their ass kicked to Siberia. I really couldn’t stand seeing you back at the convalescent home again.”
Julia thought of Dorothy and Mable, Kit and Harold. A mixture of frustration and fondness muddled her emotions. Then she thought of being with Noah in such an intimate environment—the travel time, the hotel, meeting people who knew her, knew her history. He’d get an earful of all her prior digressions…
But maybe that could be a good thing. She wasn’t thrilled with the possi
bility of losing his respect, but it would make him think twice about coming on to her for their remaining time together. The thought of getting a break from having to constantly resist him gave her a twisted sort of relief.
For Julia, the event might take her one step forward in the future but put her two steps back in her professional relationship with Noah. Not exactly the win-win Drake had in mind.
“Look, I know how you love your control, but you can’t order or manipulate me to go. This is Noah’s gig. Let Noah handle it.” She set her mug on the side table and pushed to her feet. “Now, walk out with me. I’ve got to head to Reno to pick up another torture device.”
Noah’s abs burned. His hands stung. Adjusting his grip, he used every muscle he had to drag his feet to the pull-up bar overhead one more time.
His shoes tapped metal, and his hands opened, dropping him to the floor where he bent, pressed hands to knees, and fought to catch his breath. The other guys had already started their last set of double unders with the jump rope, but this workout was killing Noah.
“You’re falling behind,” Julia yelled at him over “Misery of Mankind,” the grungy alternative rock music from Theory of a Deadman.
“Only because they don’t have to do this every day. And they don’t have to board with Rafe the slave driver every day either.”
“Suck it up, pussy,” came from Finn.
“Good thing you’re all the way across the gym, fucker.” Noah staggered to his rope and picked it up, taking a few easy singles to get his rhythm before pushing into the doubles.
Double unders transitioned into pistols, and by the time Noah was deep into the single leg lunges, his quads, glutes, and hamstrings burned like they were on fire.
“Almost done, guys,” Julia called. “Last round. Give it all you’ve got. Finish hard.”
If Noah weren’t worn so thin, he would have dreamed up a sexual connotation for that last comment. But it was taking every ounce of concentration to push his body to the breaking point.
“Forty seconds,” she yelled. “Twenty seconds.” And finally, thank God, “Time.”
Five ridiculously fit men hit the gym floor like their legs were rubber bands. They all stretched out on their backs to catch their breath and relieve screaming muscles. Julia turned down the music, calling, “Great work, guys,” before she disappeared into the kitchen.
Nothing but heavy breaths and moans filled the room for long minutes. Then, one by one, they sat up, wiped down, and returned gear to the shelves.
Noah hurt everywhere. He was so exhausted, his head felt like it was filled with air. Pulling his weights from the bar they’d used in the first half of the workout, he wiped a stream of sweat from his temple before it leaked into his eye. He barely had his equipment put away when Julia was back, passing out recovery shakes.
One of a kind, that girl. She was more than a physical therapist. Beyond a personal trainer. Even better than a nutritionist or chef. She was all of those combined into one extraordinary woman. She was also a good friend, not only to him but to his buddies. She was fun and confident and intelligent. She was everything he’d never had in a woman, everything he’d never even known he wanted. Until now.
Unfortunately, he’d damaged something between them that day he’d kissed her in the kitchen. She’d been subtly different since then, keeping a strict professional distance, which he hated.
He made his way to the therapy table on wobbly legs while the others continued stretching taxed muscles. He lay down with a groan and covered his eyes with his forearm. As his synapses kicked to life again, Noah thought about his plan to tap through her invisible barriers tonight. He continued to waffle between the hope of reaching her and the dread of losing her.
“Here you go.” Noah turned to Julia’s voice. She handed him a plastic tumbler, and he pushed up on his elbow to guzzle the recovery shake.
“Is this getting harder?” Finn asked from the floor where he pressed his shoulder muscles out on a foam roller. “Or am I getting weaker?”
“It never gets easier,” Julia said, unlacing Noah’s left running shoe. “You just get better.”
“Then why do I always feel worse?” Jake asked, releasing a resistance band to take a long drink of the shake.
“Because you’re a pussy?” She punctuated the tease with a bright smile, and all the guys laughed.
“Oh, harsh.” He lowered his head, shaking it in dejection. “So harsh.”
Chuckling, she dragged off Noah’s sock and started stretching and massaging the muscles and fascia of his lower leg and foot. Instant relief flooded Noah’s ankle, wiping out the stress accumulated from the workout. He groaned, set his empty tumbler on the floor, and lay back on the table.
The guys continued to stretch and talk among themselves, and Noah’s mind drifted to the night ahead. Did he have everything in place? Was he forgetting anything? Was there something he could do to ensure her acceptance that he hadn’t thought about?
The sting of anxiety annoyed the shit out of him. This whole situation was ludicrous. Never, ever had he attempted to sway a woman like this. He’d never had to. He’d never wanted to.
And look at him now.
“What’s that frown for?” she asked with her thumb riding a sore tendon in his ankle. “This was one of your best workouts.”
Noah hadn’t realized he was frowning but tried to lighten up. “Yeah?” He lifted his arm from his eyes, tucked it behind his head, and looked down at her, enjoying the feel of her hands on him. “Definitely the hardest one you’ve put together so far. You really do have sadist tendencies. You know that, right?”
She just grinned. But as soon as his smile faded, she asked, “Are you hurting?”
“After what you just put me through, yeah, I’m hurting, but my ankle feels good.”
Her worry faded. “You’ll thank me when you’re floating on top of Snowmass.”
“I have no doubt.” He paused a beat and brought up step one of his grand plan. “So, about dinner…”
She glanced up, then darted a look at the other guys. “Don’t you dare say you want the guys to stay again. I didn’t get to the grocery store today, and I don’t have enough food for all of you.”
“No.” He laughed and rubbed his face. “I’ve seen enough of them for the week.”
She straightened and gave his leg a tap. “Roll over.”
He held his thoughts on dinner as the other guys wandered toward the hallway on their way out. After all the good-byes were done and the front door closed behind them, Noah said, “You’ve been here, what, a month now?”
He knew exactly how long she’d been there, thirty-three days and thirty-two nights. And thirty-one of those nights, she’d been in the wrong damn bed.
“Why? Are you counting down the days until this torture is over?”
More like counting the days he had left to get her back into his bed.
She pulled out one of her favorite metal hand tools and went to work on his calf.
“You haven’t had any time off,” he said. “If you’re not working on me, you’re shopping or cooking or picking up equipment or planning to work on me.”
“That’s the job. I’m used to it,” she said with a little one-shouldered shrug. “I worked sixty-hour weeks at Performance.”
“Well, it’s not right. You do a lot for me, and I want you to have some time off.”
She laughed softly. “Nice try, Slick, especially the way you spun it for my benefit, but if you think I’m leaving you alone to mess up all the progress we’ve made, forget it.” She straightened and stepped back. “Jump in the hot tub, then shower, then ice. What do you want for dinner?”
You. I want you for dinner.
He swung his legs over the side of the bench. “Actually, I want to make dinner tonight.”
She cocked her hip and planted one hand there. “You.”
“Yes, me. That’s what all the cooking lessons are for, right? So I can cook for myself?”
; “Yeah,” she said, drawing out the word. “Okay, fine. I’ll just watch.”
“You can’t just watch. It’s not in your genetic makeup. You’ll want to step in and take over. At best, you’ll get all bossy.”
“What a rude thing to say. I’m not bossy, I’m…informative.” She crossed her arms, and her mouth pursed in the cutest little pout. “Fine, I’ll zip my lips.”
“I doubt you’re capable. And even if you could, that would defeat the purpose of you being there. Here’s the deal: You hit the hot tub, you take a nice long shower, and I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
Her pretty eyes narrowed; her head tilted. “Just what do you have up your sleeve, mister?”
“Why are you so suspicious?”
“Maybe because you continue to set up Pop-Tart smuggling operations no matter how often I confiscate your product and shut you down.”
He chuckled. “You make me sound like a drug dealer. But you are exceptionally talented at discovering my attempted evasions of that ridiculous Pop-Tart treaty. I’m going to get them past you…eventually.”
“Then you’d better stop asking your friends for help. They’re your weakest link.” She sighed and stored her tool. “Okay, what are you going to make?”
“It’s a surprise.” He eased off the table, his body aching with the movement.
“Noah, you can’t make something unless we have the ingredients—”
“This is why I don’t want you in the kitchen. I didn’t say I didn’t know what I’m making. I just said I didn’t want to tell you what I’m making.” When those lips pursed again and a furrow carved a vertical line between her brows, Noah gripped her biceps, bent to look into those gorgeous eyes of hers, and said, “Deal with it, Quinn.” He turned her around and walked her toward the back door. “Hot tub, shower, dinner—in that order.” He released her when they reached the kitchen. “And don’t even think about checking on me.”
Noah added chopped pistachios to the vinaigrette sauce for the asparagus, dusted his hands, and turned all the burners down to simmer. Now if he could just do that to his nerves, he’d be golden. Unfortunately, when he was thinking about Julia, it wasn’t that easy. In fact, nothing about Julia was easy—just one more thing that made her different.
