Fearless Maverick

by Robyn Grady

  Libby’s mind froze.

  Would he try to kiss her again?

  ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

  On her way past a treadmill, Libby’s step faltered. That was her usual pre-session question to Alex, not the other way round.

  ‘Fine,’ she replied, without meeting his gaze.

  ‘I’ve already done some work on my shoulder this morning,’ he told her in a level tone that suggested he wasn’t comfortable with her being here today. Which answered her question about whether he might try to kiss her again.

  Well, if he felt uncomfortable, she thought, taking up her position before the mirror, he had only himself to blame. If her rejection had stung, maybe he ought to join the rest of humanity and toughen up.

  ‘Let’s see where we are with your range of motion.’ She felt his eyes on her reflection but she kept her focus on his shoulder and her mind on work. Finally, brooding, he wound out of his shirt and she instructed, ‘Arms out front, please.’

  As if his soles were lined with lead, he angled toward the mirror, braced his legs and both arms gradually went out.

  ‘Raise them slowly,’ she said.

  She stole a glance at his expression. His unshaven jaw was drawn tight and his gaze was distant and stormy. If he wanted to make this morning more difficult than it needed to be, he could do his worst. As far as she was concerned—and, it seemed, he too—yesterday’s indiscretions were behind them. Doubly good because now she didn’t need to ponder over how Alex might behave if he discovered she wasn’t all he presumed.

  Alex was already lowering his arms but she noted he hadn’t lifted them as high as he had been. Not anywhere near.

  She moved to stand in front. ‘Again, please.’

  A muscle beat in the tight angle of that jaw, then he raised both arms again to that same point he had the first time. When he let them drop as if he couldn’t be bothered, he moved to sweep up the shirt he’d cast off.

  ‘That’s it for today,’ he told her. ‘I’m done.’

  Her physio antennae tingling, Libby followed as he marched off. He wasn’t hiding anything. She’d caught his wince before he’d lowered his arms.

  ‘Your shoulder hurts?’ Knowing the answer, she went on. ‘Describe the pain.’

  He eased his right arm through its sleeve. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘You said you’d already worked out this morning.’ She crossed to her bag, retrieved her apricot kernel oil and moved to the massage table. ‘Can you come over here and lie down?’ She added over her shoulder, ‘Shirt off again, please.’

  ‘Libby, I don’t want a massage.’

  She tried to ignore the ripple of frustration in his tone. Whether this morning was awkward was inconsequential. He’d overdone his exercises and a remedial massage was the right call. If he wanted to get back on track, he’d best suck it up and do as he was told.

  ‘Sounds as if you’ve overexerted the muscles,’ she said. ‘I’m going to work over the accumulation of trigger points—those painful knots—that are restricting your range of movement.’ His chin down, he exhaled and continued to glare the other way. She fisted her hands on her hips. ‘Do you want to get back as soon as possible or don’t you?’

  His penetrating gaze hooked back onto hers at the same time his palm slid up his right arm. She wondered if his ego was dented enough that he might be done with it and order her out. But then he shrugged back out of his shirt and joined her.

  Her stomach muscles squeezed like they did whenever he was near—particularly when he was half naked—but she clicked her mind onto professional mode, uncapped the oil and arranged some towels, which were laid on a tray near the table.

  ‘Spread out,’ she said. He hoisted himself up and lay down. ‘Now just relax and we’ll have those muscles loosened up in no time.’

  Starting lightly, she kneaded the area to warm up the tissue. After finding several trigger points, she used her thumbs and fingers to press and manipulate, gradually applying more and more pressure. Five minutes in, when she began to drill a particularly stubborn knot, he jumped.

  ‘Aahh! You’re a bit vigorous there, doc.’

  ‘Stay with me,’ she said. ‘We’ll work out these problems, then you’ll need to drop down your exercises for a few days and start back with lower repetitions.’

  ‘I don’t have that time.’

  Setting her jaw, she stopped rubbing. Enough.

  ‘If you’d prefer, I can help you find someone else.’

  Dammit, she knew what she was doing and he could either work with her or find another physio. She was over the tiptoe show, on every level. It was difficult but if she could control her inappropriate feelings toward him, surely Alex could shelf his as well.

  The tension locking his scapulas loosened. He faced the sheet once again and muttered, ‘Do what you have to.’

  Half satisfied, Libby applied more oil and soon she was in the zone again, doing what she did best—letting her fingers work their magic, giving a client’s impaired muscles new life.

  Alex lay on that table like a good patient, gritting his teeth as Libby kneaded and rubbed and slid her hands over his apricot-scented knot-infested back. When she hit a spot that shot a hot bolt screaming through to his chest, this time he curled his toes and bit off the groan. He and remedial massages weren’t strangers but he could tell this technique was truly hitting the mark. Not only that. The touching and rocking was also expelling barrel loads of all kinds of endorphins. Given he’d decided it wiser not to pursue those feelings where Libby was concerned, this was not a good thing.

  For Libby’s part, he knew this time was strictly about his shoulder. Nothing lay behind her tactile attentions other than her need to do the best she could for his recovering injury and rectify the setback he had brought about; trying to work Libby and memories of that kiss out of his system, he’d pushed himself too hard with the bands this morning. From his current position, however—a purely male point of view—her organic manipulations were working more than one kind of wonder.

  He and Libby had touched before. Yesterday when they’d embraced, he’d dwelled on how good it would feel to experience more. Now, through this ultra hands-on method, he’d got a big insight into that and the buzz was having its effects in places he couldn’t control.

  ‘How does that feel?’ she asked.

  Eyes closed, he sighed. To be honest? ‘Fabulous.’

  Her palm gave one last glorious sweep of his warmed skin. ‘Make sure you rest over the weekend.’

  Frowning, he cracked open one eye. It was over?

  ‘You can’t leave yet.’ He groaned, groggy—aroused—then, knowing insistence wouldn’t work, he appealed to her professional sense of compassion. ‘There’s still a twinge in my traps.’

  Her brows jumped. ‘Oh?’

  She inspected the area, shook out more oil and then her hands were working over his back again and that delicious buzz circulating through his system grew stronger. Burned brighter.

  After a few moments, she asked, ‘Does that feel better?’

  With his cheek rubbing against the sheet, he hummed out a smile. ‘Definitely.’

  When her fingers lingered, then trailed slowly away, he wondered if a smidgeon of private pleasure had leaked into her professional sphere as well. After that kiss he didn’t buy that she wasn’t interested in him in a XY kind of way. He was close to certain she wouldn’t stymie his return to the track earlier than Morrissey had subscribed. Therefore he didn’t need to worry about building up more of a rapport … doing what he could to make certain she was on his side. In fact, he’d decided trying to push the intimacy point now might prove detrimental to his primary goal.

  Better for everyone concerned if he simply backed off, no matter how his current testosterone levels might object.

  She left off to wipe her hands. ‘All the bumps are gone now,’ she said.

  That wasn’t entirely true, he thought as he pushed up and gingerly swung his legs over the t
able’s side. Beneath his shorts, his erection was of the opinion that all this rubbing was deeply personal. Grabbing a towel off the tray, he let its tail hang and cover the front of his shorts as he fake-rubbed his chest.

  ‘Drink plenty of water.’ Recapping her oil, she gave a practiced smile. ‘I’ll see you Monday.’

  As she crossed to her bag, still holding his towel, he edged off the table. No question, he should let her be on her way. Then maybe he could call up a few friends, organise a weekend in Paris or Milan. Anywhere away from here. All this tension … He merely needed to shake loose and get out.

  So what was stopping him?

  He took two steps toward her, stopped, then, driven, took another.

  ‘About yesterday …’ he began.

  ‘It’s in the past. There’s nothing to say.’ She stuffed the plastic bottle away and lobbed the bag over her shoulder.

  He exhaled. Absently rubbed his chest again. She was right. He even said it aloud.

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Remember, take a rest until I see you next.’

  Clutching that towel, he walked forward to see her out. ‘I won’t lift a single weight,’ he confirmed. ‘I won’t even think of this room.’

  I definitely won’t think of you.

  Her brow slowly creased; she’d noticed him advancing and took a step back. ‘I can see myself out.’

  ‘If you prefer. There’s just one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What happened …’ His hand fisted in the towel before he tossed it aside. ‘It’s not in the past.’

  Her eyes rounded with alarm. ‘Alex, you agreed. There’s nothing more to say.’

  ‘Correct. I’m all done talking.’

  With his good arm, he reached and drew her near. He saw her eyes flare and knew a moment when she might have told him to back off and let her be. But then the breath seemed to leave her body, her lids grew heavy and he saw her heart glistening there in her eyes. He was right. This situation—this maddening push and pull—couldn’t go on. Now was the time to end it. And end it his way.

  Even as Alex’s head slanted over hers and Libby drifted off into the caress, some weak, desperate part of her cried out that this should not, could not, happen. But as the kiss deepened and her head grew light, eventually she forgot the reasons why. The slow velvet slide of his tongue over hers, the way his hands pressed her gloriously near … she could only wonder at the amount of strength it had taken yesterday to tear herself away.

  This may be dangerous, but it felt so infinitely right. This minute she only knew she was absorbed by sensation. Absorbed, and lifted up, by him.

  Her palms ironed up over his bare hot chest at the same time his hands pressed down over her back. His head angled as he curled over her, his touch sculpting her behind, hooking around her thigh and urging it to curl around his hip as his pelvis locked with hers. She felt the perspiration building on his skin, the glide of his hand scrooping around her thigh, sliding lower toward her knee—

  Breathless—terrified—she yanked away.

  Oh, God, she’d vowed this wouldn’t happen again.

  She didn’t want him to know.

  ‘This is a working relationship,’ she grated out, trembling.

  ‘Who says it can’t be more?’

  Alex gathered her in and the next she knew they were kissing again, and this time he wasn’t playing. Now he delivered his full punch, and the effects left her reeling, helpless. Giddy. He whipped up a hurricane inside of her, a dark powerful storm that tossed her off course and hurled her places that promised such blissful satisfaction. But the edges of her mind were still calling. As much as she might want to—and she wanted to so badly—she couldn’t go through with any of this.

  This time when she broke the kiss, their lips remained close. She couldn’t get enough air. Couldn’t stop the hot flood of emotion.

  ‘You don’t … don’t understand.’

  His brow furrowed and eyes turned dark. He shook his head. ‘No, Libby, I’m afraid I don’t.’ He searched her eyes. ‘Has someone hurt you?’

  She wanted to tell him everything. Say, yes, as a matter of fact she had been hurt and deeply. She’d had a wonderful life, what she thought had been a wonderful fiancé, then the world had crashed in and she hadn’t been with a man since. When Scott had rejected her—when his tight expression had told her the thought of touching her repelled him—it had left scars that made her leg injury seem like a scratch.

  Alex’s gaze pierced hers as a different light flashed in his eyes. ‘Are you seeing someone else?’

  As if.

  ‘The point is, Alex, I didn’t sign up for this.’

  ‘Sometimes life throws us a curve ball.’

  She coughed out a humourless laugh. ‘Thanks for the tip.’

  He studied her and finally blew out a long defeated breath. He even slid a foot back. ‘Look, what if we calm down and give each other a break?’

  ‘I like that idea. On one condition.’ She implored him with her eyes. ‘You don’t ever try to touch me again.’

  As Libby walked out, Alex’s every muscle clenched, ready to leap and drag her back. Because he didn’t believe her. She wanted him to hold her again. Kiss her again. What the hell was stopping her?

  He tried to put himself in her shoes. Seemed her job meant everything to her, as much as his career meant to him. She didn’t want to jeopardise her reputation or professional integrity by becoming intimately involved with a client who had made no secret of his need to attain an early checkmark for his shoulder.

  But her need to avoid him went deeper than that.

  Imagining her marching out his front door, Alex strode in the opposite direction, down toward the rowers, then he strode back and, fuelled by frustration, kicked a treadmill, and kicked it again. He hadn’t felt this keyed up since he was a kid with no good way to expend his energy. But huffing around and fracturing his foot wouldn’t help. Learning more about Libby might.

  His mobile sat on the ledge outside the sauna. He snapped it up. When Eli answered, he got to the point. ‘What else do you know about Libby Henderson?’

  Silence echoed down the line before Eli replied, ‘What’s wrong? She’s not doing her job?’

  ‘Eli, I’ll give you three seconds. What else do you know?’

  Eli blew out a long breath before he began to talk, and as he explained and the pieces fell into place, Alex sank lower and lower until he was sitting, gobsmacked, on the floor. He cursed under his breath. Tried to shake off the tingles racing over his skin. He’d had no idea. Not a bloody clue. But now when he thought about Libby’s cool facade, about the way she’d literally jumped out of her skin today when he’d reached for her leg …

  His gut twisted and his head dropped to his knees.

  How did you tell someone something like that? He’d never told anyone about his deepest wounds … the hurts, and shame, he pushed aside every day.

  ‘Alex? You there?’

  His stomach churning, Alex lifted his head. He felt wrung out, as if he’d spent a day behind the wheel navigating the toughest track on the circuit.

  ‘Yeah,’ he groaned, holding his brow. ‘I’m here.’

  ‘I’ll come over.’

  ‘No. I’m fine.’

  ‘It shouldn’t make a difference—’

  ‘You’re wrong, Eli,’ he cut in. ‘It makes a difference.’ Then he asked the obvious. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because you didn’t need to know.’

  Alex let go the breath he’d been holding. His friend was right. He hadn’t needed to know about Libby’s accident. When he’d hired her, those kinds of personal details were none of his business. Now …

  He pushed to his feet.

  That detail changed everything.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AFTER a very unsettling day that had started in the most unsettling way, Libby let herself into her apartment. Dropping everything, she filled the tub, peeled off
her clothes, then sank into the wonderful warm suds. Her head resting against a vinyl pillow, she closed her eyes and sighed. She felt drained. Confused.

  What was she supposed to do now?

  This morning, despite her best efforts to avoid another incident, Alex had kissed her soundly again, and for a second time she’d kissed him back. Even now her cheeks burned remembering how easily she’d succumbed. Worse, despite ultimately turning her back and walking away, a silly self-destructive part of her couldn’t help but wish he would take her in his arms again. One dose of Alex Wolfe had been bad enough. Now that she’d tasted him twice, she was in grave danger of becoming addicted.

  After Scott, she’d let herself get close to only one man. Leo Tamms had gone to her university, majored in civil engineering and had asked her out three times. She thought they’d got on well. On their last date, they’d even kissed goodnight. One day in the cafeteria he’d asked why she walked with a limp—she hadn’t perfected her gait back then. In his eyes she could see Leo suspected anyway, so she’d garnered her strength and told him her story. Leo had seemed interested, sympathetic, but he hadn’t asked her out again. In fact, whenever he saw her coming, he slipped a one-eighty and streaked the other way.

  That episode had hurt almost as much as Scott’s rejection. It confirmed the doubt that had lurked at the back of her mind since the accident—that many people were shallow enough to judge others by their wrapping rather than what they really offered, which was underneath. Was Alex Wolfe one of those people?

  Twenty minutes later, feeling more relaxed, Libby dried off. Tying the ribbon sash of her floor-length negligee, she moved into the kitchen, opened the fridge and eyed some leftover chicken stir-fry. But her appetite had been MIA all day. Her stomach was too full of butterflies with her wondering what would come next in this ill-fated game Alex seemed intent on playing. So she poured a glass of milk to line her stomach and, sipping, crossed into the living room.