“I like him fine, I guess.”
“Don’t play coy with me; you know what I mean.”
Marlea’s whole body went cold. “No, I’m pretty sure I don’t.”
“I mean, like, forever. Like marriage. You want that?”
“AJ said you were nosy.”
“And he ain’t never lied, but ain’t no shame in my game, girl. So are you looking for a little nookie for now, or now and forever?
Scooting her chair back from the table, Marlea lifted her foot from the floor. “Look who you’re asking. It’s not like I could run a man down, now is it?”
“Something tells me that running a man down might not be the best way to get the one you want to keep.” Rissa looked down at the front of her neatly wrapped white shirt and brushed off a few toast crumbs. “You might just have to stay still to get him.”
“Is that…some kind of…hint?”
“Do you need a hint?”
* * *
“Dude, what’s up?”
“Not much. Stretching, trying to get a workout in. Want to join me?”
“You’re kiddin’, right?” When AJ shook his head, Dench spread his hands and backed toward a black vinyl-covered bench. Sitting, he tried to explain. “Man, it’s off-season. I get to take a break from running behind a bunch of knuckleheads, and I appreciate it. I ain’t tryin’ to do anything I don’t have to.”
“It’s on you, then.” Hands knotted behind his head, AJ bent left and right.
“Rissa said you got Marlea fitted for shoes. So what’s next for your pretty houseguest?”
“Hand me my gloves, will you?” AJ took the fingerless black leather gloves from his friend. Pulling them on, he debated what to say. There was a pretty good chance that Dench would repeat everything to the Mouth of the South, and Rissa would tell Marlea. Better to only tell what we all already know, he decided.
“I guess you know that the doctor who handled her case was the person who hit her. I can’t imagine Rissa didn’t tell you. Anyway, he’s been arraigned and his trial date set. Rissa talked to Marlea, and though she’s refusing to show up in court, she’s willing to settle on damages.”
Dench ran a wide hand across the top of his head. “That’s gonna leave her pretty well set for money. She can afford to recuperate just about anywhere she wants to, right? You think she’ll stay here with you?”
“She will because she needs me. I’m what’s best for her.” AJ knew he was hoping out loud.
“Sounds to me like you at least need to ask the woman out, get to know her as more than a patient, before you decide that you’re what’s best for her.”
“Trouble with you, Dench, is that I didn’t ask you for your opinion.”
“Uh-huh.” Dench plucked a towel from the floor, balled it up and tossed it toward AJ. “You might not have asked, but if you want her to stay with you, you’d better think about it.”
AJ snatched the towel from the air and sailed it back. “Say you’re right. Say I date her, then what?”
“Ain’t nobody in here said nothin’ about dating,” Dench chuckled.
“But you’re thinking it.”
“What I’m thinkin’ is not the question. The real question is, what are you thinking? And on that note, I’m leaving. You want the door open or closed?”
“Leave it open.” AJ watched him leave, then returned to his workout.
Stepping from the elevator, Marlea was careful. Even though she had used them for a few secret treadmill workouts, the bottoms of her new shoes were still more slippery than any running shoe she had ever worn. Not trusting them, she trailed her fingers along the wall as she made her way down the hall.
AJ’s scrapbook was still on her mind. She found a collection of fan letters at the back of the last one she had looked at this morning. Pages and pages of fan letters from people who seemed to think that he really was the nicest man in the NFL. Well, those and the ones from the women who thought he was a walking work of art. Marlea had to suppress a giggle. Yeah, his fans were something else—especially that sister who promised to be the most flexible woman he had ever met! And he doesn’t seem stuck up about it, she marveled.
The rhythmic clang of working iron guided her to his workout room, where they were to meet. I’m early, but I don’t suppose he’ll mind. From the doorway, Marlea held her breath, silently appreciating his working body.
He wore black nylon shorts that accentuated the length and breadth of his long, muscled thighs. His ripped torso was bare and bathed in light and shadow from the broad bay of windows separating the gym from the indoor pool.
Ripped was the term body builders applied to finely built and carefully defined musculature, but AJ Yarborough had more. What he had could only be referred to as chiseled. If I turned my hand just right…I’ll bet if I tried, my fingers could fit…She had to look away to stop the thought.
Keeping her eyes on the floor came nowhere near helping Marlea to ignore him. After all, there he was, everywhere she looked. Reflected in mirrors surrounding the gym floor, the precision and symmetry of AJ’s rippling muscles and perfectly taut molten chocolate skin was in evidence.
Eye candy.
I have no business thinking of him like this. Marlea pondered the mystery of AJ Yarborough. All that running and working out with weights, what kind of energy is he trying to channel? Maybe it has something to do with that woman he almost married…There was no photo with the article, and that struck her as odd. Maybe his mama didn’t like what’s-her-name…Bianca. Bianca Coltrane. The article said she was a designer, but it didn’t say what she designed, and I’ve never heard of her. I wonder what she was like?
Tall, probably. AJ doesn’t seem like the type of man who would be threatened by any woman, but she was probably pretty. No, I’ll bet she was beautiful…like beauty-queen beautiful. He was playing in the pros then; she would have had to been a match for the lifestyle. Feeling ungenerous, Marlea tried to fix the thought. Maybe she was smart and had a good heart.
There had to be something special about her, something that drew him to her. But they never married. Wonder why? Maybe she broke his heart. That was…Marlea tallied the years in her head…almost seven years ago. And they never reconciled? They never found a way around whatever it was that came between them?
Maybe they’re still friends, at least. But I’m pretty sure that Rissa would have said something by now. What would it take to drive a man like him away, for good?
There’s nothing bitter about him, though. He seems to have gotten over her, but who or what has he put in her place? Changing the load on his bar, AJ made a change in his routine.
Leaning against the doorframe, she watched him. Well worth watching, AJ’s body tensed as he balanced his weight. Reaching to grasp the overhead steel bar, AJ used the strength of his arms to hoist his body, gracefully curving his hips to coil his legs up, over, and around the suspended bar.
I’m about as bad as Rissa, digging into the man’s past. It’s not as though we have a future and I have a right to know anything more than what he’s willing to tell me. He’s going to get me walking again, and I’m going to walk right out of his life. She looked down at her new running shoes. No, I’m going to run—right out of his life. He promised.
Hanging from his knees, arms crossed at his chest, AJ began the punishing repetitions that were his habit. Tightening the muscles defining the length of his torso, the blocks of his stomach in matched pairs, he tucked his chin against his chest. Curling his body, releasing his breath in slow, controlled exhalations, his movements slow and deliberate, AJ worked through a range of motion designed to define and separate. A thin line of sweat crept along the tight dark skin of his bare chest, drawing deep-walled lines of fiber and flesh.
“How many more of those are you going to do?” Marlea whispered, wishing he would never stop.
Her low voice barely disturbed the air between them, and he heard her voice but not her words. “Marlea?”
“Yes.” Sh
e took a step closer, hoping he wouldn’t accuse her of voyeurism. “We were supposed to meet this morning.”
“Right. You mind if I finish?” He curled his torso, bringing his head and shoulders higher. His back curved and his behind tightened in the black shorts, promising much.
You mind if I watch? Marlea kept the words to herself, but shook her head at the regal sight.
Continuing the series of crunches, AJ pointed to the rack of individual weights. “Hand me those, will you?”
“How heavy?”
“Can you lift the twenties?” he grunted.
Hesitating, Marlea looked over her shoulder. “If I do them one at a time.”
“I can wait.”
Breathing hard, Marlea frowned and took her time delivering the weights, proud that she was still able to lift the poundage. He took them from her hands and mumbled his thanks.
Breathing harder with the added poundage, his skin shining, slick from the sweat of exertion, AJ finished his work. Dropping the weights to the rubber mat beneath him, he reversed his grip and managed to chin himself neatly before dropping easily to the floor. Damn, he looks good doing that. His forearm swiped his chin, catching salty drops of water, and Marlea’s knees softened.
Rissa was right; he does work hard. “That was quite a workout. How often do you do it?”
“Got to do something every day. I feel kinda lazy if I don’t. Hold on, I’ve got one more set.” Dusting his hands with chalk, AJ reached high and began a series of pull-ups that strained the cords in his arms.
Silently, Marlea counted the reps. “Must be the result of all those years of football and training.” He did forty without stopping…
“You know about that?” Completing the set, AJ dropped to his feet, resting his hands on his knees while he gathered breath. “How?”
“I…uh…I went through some of the scrapbooks in your library.” She handed him the towel on the bench beside her. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind at all.” Recovering, he accepted the towel Marlea offered and worked it vigorously over his shoulders and torso before tossing it into the corner hamper. “I see you’ve got your shoes on. Does that mean you’re ready to get to work?”
Marlea’s stomach flipped when AJ pulled a white cotton tee shirt over his head and chest. “Yeah…uh…yeah. I’m ready.” A small part of her mind was grateful for the humble shirt—he was too disturbing without it. “Where do you want me?”
“Over here,” he said, indicating a series of mats. “We’re going to start with some stretches, then build into some flexibility.”
Oh, no. Not again! The flexibility training meant her lying down and him leaning close, bad enough, but he would have to touch her. Looking down at her shorts and tee shirt, she came close to swearing. At least he wouldn’t be able to touch my skin if I had worn long pants—not that it would help. Her lip quivered. I know this man is honorable. He’s only trying to help me…She had been repeating the words to herself regularly since her talk with Jim Crocker. She had even shared them with Libby over the phone, hoping that confession would help her.
I know this man is honorable. He’s only trying to help me…Steeling herself, knowing what his touch would trigger, Marlea let him lower her to the mat.
“This is getting easier,” AJ said, helping her to roll onto her side.
Not for me. She swallowed the unspoken words. I know this man is honorable. He’s only trying to help me…
The mantra should have helped, should have marshaled her thoughts and cued her body for work and rehabilitation. Instead, her pulse raced and her nipples tightened in anticipation. I know this man is honorable. He’s only trying to help me…AJ’s hands began to move, first against her hip, then a warm palm pressed to the inside of her thigh, and Marlea tried to hold onto herself. I know this man is honorable. He’s only trying to help me…
She thought of the open and intelligent face that looked up at her from his scrapbooks. His mother took those pictures. She thought of those fan letters tucked in the back of that last scrapbook, all of them from women who would pay money to feel what she was feeling right now. But this is medical-related, she thought weakly.
Electricity lapped at her leg, following the path of his hands. I know this man is honorable. He’s only trying to help me…
His hand moved again, and her breath quickened. I know this man is honorable. He’s only trying to help me…
“I want to try something new, Marlea.” AJ’s fingers pressed. “Here we go.”
I know this man is…Closing her eyes, biting her lips against the roaring tear of ecstasy, Marlea knew that only God could help her now.
Chapter 20
Marlea took a deep breath. “School has already begun. If I’m ever going to get back, I have to do this.” Slowly, delicately, she shifted her weight onto her right foot. “I can do this. I did it yesterday and the day before.” Slowly, delicately, she shifted her right foot into place. “I walked all over this house last week without that danged cane, and I know I can do it again.”
Knowing that Martha Baldwin was the only person in the house who knew what she was doing, and she would never tell, Marlea took another step on the marble tiled floor.
Reaching the Precor treadmill had been her first goal. Then she had managed to step aboard and get it started. It was amazing how scared she had been, using a machine that she had trained on for almost half her life, walking that first half-mile. “Took me almost fifteen minutes.”
But she had worked at it, and her confidence and strength grew. Earlier this week, she had managed almost two miles in less than thirty minutes. “Now, it’s a matter of picking up my time and gaining distance. And even if AJ does know what he’s doing, there’s no way I’m going to tell him about this—not him or Libby, either. They can just be surprised with the rest of the world.”
Glancing at her watch, she figured she had a couple of hours to sneak in her walk. “AJ and Dench went to a publicity photo shoot with Robert Crown, Rissa should be in her office until around seven, and Mrs. Baldwin is on her way to church—plenty of time. What could be better?”
Programming music for her workout, she had a fleeting image of herself running and pushed it away. “Yeah, that would be better, but I can’t live on what was. The best thing for me now is getting back to school.” A tremor of delight quickened her step. She could see herself, almost hear the children around her. “I can’t wait to walk through the doors at Runyon. I wonder if the kids have given up on me?” They were still sending cards and letters. “Nah, no way.”
Realizing that she had begun to pick up AJ’s habit of self-conversation, Marlea looked around, glad to see that she was still alone. “Good thing nobody’s around to hear me talking to myself.”
Stepping onto the treadmill, she stood wide, her feet riding the rails as she programmed the machine. It hummed response, then the tread began to roll slow and smooth between her legs. Maneuvering carefully, she set her feet on the belt and began a slow, trudging warm-up. Eight minutes later, thinking of AJ’s promise, she increased the speed. “I can do this. If he can promise that I’ll run, I can do this.” She kept walking.
“But he made another promise, too. He said I would dance—with him.” And even beyond thanking him, Marlea couldn’t think of anything she would rather do.
Two miles later, soft and solitary applause startled her and made her reach for the treadmill’s rails.
“I knew you could do it.” AJ’s voice was soft, a shade past a whisper. Walking closer, he peered at the treadmill’s display panel. “Damn, when you push, you don’t play around, do you?”
Slowing the speed, liking the admiration in his face and voice, Marlea swiped at the salty water nearing her eyes. “I had to try, and I did it. I got through three miles today with no cane, no holding onto the rails, just walking all by myself.”
“You did it, baby.” He brought two fingers to his forehead in salute. “Running is just around the corner.
Now we have to work on balance so that you can go farther, faster, and over different surfaces. Balance,” AJ said. “Everything we do from now on is about balance.”
“Right.” She stopped the treadmill, and when he offered his arm, she took it gratefully.
Accepting his help felt better than she had anticipated. Marlea finally found her breath and a chair. Dabbing at her face with the towel he offered, she blew hard. He squatted low before her chair, hips dropping and tightening the cotton fabric of his drawstring pants.
Don’t look. “Did you finish your photo session?” Ask a stupid question…She tried to concentrate on his face.
“Yeah, but what you did was amazing. All on your own.”
Marlea deliberately moved her measuring eyes from the juncture that hailed so naturally from between his thighs. Don’t look. And his thighs—long and strong, thick and muscled—didn’t they look…
Aw, damn, she fussed silently, I looked. She moved her eyes again and settled on his left shoulder. Uh-huh, that ought to be safe enough.
“Marlea? Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah, balance. You said balance.”
“Good. Now we’re going to work on balance.” He stood easily. “Slow and easy, something like core training. You’ll hold me here.” He slipped his bare forearms beneath her palms. It took her a while to remember to breathe. “I’ll hold you here. Just lean on me.”
I can do that. She placed her hand in his. Bringing Marlea to her feet, AJ partnered her, melding their strength, mating his body to hers.
Beginning with a glance and a nod of assent, Marlea let her arms snake around AJ’s shoulders, feeling his right hand warm her back. Taking a moment to feel each other’s balance, the slight dip of his body led her smoothly into one backward step and then another.
Holding her breath, praying not to stumble, she followed his lead into a figure eight, a turn, a pause. Her left foot was weightless, touching his right, and when his foot slid out, hers went along willingly. His knees bent and his hips led. She tried not to limp as he accepted her weight and carried her into deeper undulation. They stepped forward and shifted back, their legs twining and feet lifting before gliding on to another move, pulled along by the music’s melodic search and soar.
Dream Runner Page 21
