The Fearless Maverick. Robyn Grady
the two and drew a picture of a tall strong man, the lacy fringes of ocean waves swirling around his ankles, grey eyes smiling.
Squeezing the pen, Libby bowed her head. As well as she knew her own name, she was certain she would never return to the ocean. As much as she missed the water that was one challenge she didn’t need to face. But would she ever know romantic love again?
She hadn’t let herself dwell before now but, in truth, she missed the company, the sense of sharing, the special warmth of intimacy. And as silly as it sounded, she couldn’t help but wonder.
What would it be like to have all that with Alex?
The next morning, her professional mask firmly in place, Libby arrived at Alex Wolfe’s elite address smack on nine. As he had the day before, Alex greeted her at the door, escorted her inside, then led her into a spacious room—an elaborate home gym toward the rear of the enormous house.
Libby almost gasped. She’d seen licensed gyms less equipped than this. Every type of weight equipment, three state-of-the-art treadmills, six rowing machines, various balls, mats, presses and bars. A small double-glazed window set in an adjacent wood panelled wall indicated a sauna. Did the man host boot-camp parties? That indoor pool she’d imagined must be close by. Not that they’d be using it. She would always love the smell and look of water any way it came—sea, chlorinated or fresh from the sky. But her mermaid days were long over.
Arm in its sling, Alex sauntered over to join her. ‘Should we start with a cup of strong tea before getting into the tough stuff?’
As usual that deep accented voice seeped through Libby’s blood, making her syrupy warm all over. Ignoring the heat, aware of the dangers, she steeled herself, met his gaze and set her work bag on a nearby table. He might be king of his profession but during these sessions, like it or not, she was in charge.
‘We’ll begin with a full assessment.’ She nodded at his immobilised arm. ‘Now that we’ll be concentrating on strengthening your shoulder, there won’t be a need for that.’
With a speculative smile, Alex reached for a fastener. ‘My shirt will need to come off too, I presume.’
‘I’ll help with the buttons.’
When she didn’t hesitate to step forward and assist, his brows hiked but she didn’t react. He could turn on the wicked charm all he liked, but if he’d hoped to put her off balance again today, he could think again. She’d made a pledge and she intended to keep it.
Iron-willed.
Asexual.
Professional.
With the sling removed, she deftly unbuttoned his freshly laundered chambray shirt. The subtle smell of lemons drifted into her lungs, but the scent that truly caught her senses was musky. Pure male. A scent she wasn’t unfamiliar with in her everyday work. But, of course, Alex Wolfe went a mile beyond ‘everyday.’
Last button attended to, she eased the shirt off those dynamite shoulders, then manoeuvred around to release the fabric from his back. As the shirt fell away, her gaze gravitated to the muscular contours, the straight-as-a-die dent of his spine, the lean measure of his hips. Her heart began to pound. She thought she’d prepared herself but, frankly, the sight of this man half naked stole her breath away.
Thrusting back her shoulders, she once again set her mind on the specialist straight and narrow.
‘Let’s start with testing your range of movement.’
She asked that he first raise his arms in front, palm down, as high as possible, then at his sides. Next, internal and external rotation, with his hands behind his back.
While making notes—the ROM around the joint was not full, which meant passive work to help it improve—she said, ‘Now we’ll test the strength.’
His good shoulder squared. ‘Ready when you are, doc.’
Navigating around to face him, Libby found herself analysing that amazing chest and powerhouse arms from a female rather than professional point of view. Big mistake. Her brain began to tingle at the same time her bones seemed to liquefy. She’d laid awake half the night telling herself she could handle whatever today might bring and yet she’d missed the turn-off coming here because she’d been contemplating precisely this moment.
Resisting the urge to wet her lips, she eased her gaze higher and met his amused look. Then one corner of his mouth slowly curved and her face flooded with heat. Caught out, she stuttered an excuse. She hadn’t been ogling. Merely … assessing.
‘You, uh, obviously work out,’ she said, and then inwardly cringed.
Stupid. He was a World Number One. Of course he worked out. No doubt there’d be gyms in his other houses around the world, and the best personal trainers, as well as a food plan to sustain the mind and might of a champion.
She cleared her throat. ‘What I mean to say is … despite your injury, you look great.’
His lips tilted more at the same time he seemed to move slightly closer, lean faintly nearer, and the heat in her cheeks exploded, raging out of control as that natural male scent enveloped her completely.
His gaze skimming her cheek, he murmured, ‘Thank you.’
Gulping back a breath, she averted her gaze and muttered, ‘You’re welcome.’
She imagined that he chuckled to himself before he asked, ‘Where would you like me?’
With unsteady steps, she crossed to a mirror that covered an entire wall. ‘We’ll start here. You in front facing the mirror. I’ll stand behind.’
He took up his position, steely legs in black athlete’s shorts pinned apart. His slightly cleft chin angled up. ‘How’s this?’
Libby was torn between sighing and smirking at the magnificent reflection. As if he didn’t know he looked better than fabulous.
‘That’s fine. Now hold your arms out at right angles to your body.’ His arms rose easily. ‘Any pain?’
‘It feels …’ The chiselled planes of his face pinched. ‘A little weak.’
She grunted. She’d bet more than ‘a little.’
‘I’m going to test that strength. I’ll put one hand here on the uninjured arm and the other here, on your recovering arm.’
As she laid a palm on each bicep, she felt the vibration … his chest rumbling, the sound of a big cat anticipating a full bucket of cream or, perhaps, defending it.
Locking off her imagination, she continued. ‘Now I’ll push lightly.’
‘Would you like me to push too? You know—’ his left bicep flexed twice beneath her hand ‘—push up?’
She met his poker-faced reflection and simmered inside. Damn the man! He’d done that little trick on purpose. This wasn’t a contest or a show. Every session, every minute, counted. He needed to take this seriously.
Filling her lungs, she reassembled her patience. ‘I’ll push down and you try to resist.’
Gently she put weight on each arm. His left stayed parallel. His right came down.
His cool expression dissolved and a crease cut between his brows. ‘That’s no good.’
‘With your injury, it’s normal. We’ll get there.’
‘Yes, we will. In time for China.’
She held off gaping at his implacable tone. But she had no intention of arguing that particular point now. She had a job to do. His shoulder would be fit for a return to the track when she said it was and not a moment before.
‘Would you go over there and lie down, please?’
Holding his injured arm, Alex looked her up and down, as if deciding whether it would weaken his position to comply. Then