Gold Medal Hero

by Jena Petrie

  ***

  In most respects Sunday passed in much the same manner as Saturday, except for the absence of Renton, thank God. She didn't need Sleazy reappearing to spoil her good humour. Strangers continued to offer their support, leaving her cocooned in a big bubble of happiness; until the end of the day when a strong arm snaked around her—

  "Gotcha!"

  Connor! Oh, thank God, only Connor.

  "You've got ice-cream on the side of your mouth. Can I lick it off?"

  Bailey let out a shaky laugh, but only till he leaned in, trapped her arm between their bodies, and licked.

  "Mm. Chocolate. Didn't buy me one."

  "Me neither." She pushed him to an arm's length away. "Nat. She won the shouting competition so she had to shout ice-creams."

  "Is that so? And why weren’t you the winner?"

  "Nat's more practised than me. I did try," she added, in case he got the wrong message and added it to a list of her misdemeanours.

  "So, have a good time?" Connor kept with her slower pace as they walked towards the car.

  "Yeah. I did. Especially as a number of people congratulated me on my article. Made me feel more accepted."

  "Good. I got congratulations too."

  "Oh?"

  "On my choice of girlfriend."

  Chuckling, she whacked his arm playfully. "Does everyone know I've shacked up with you? Grapevine sure works fast—"

  "Especially at a regatta. Think of it as a bonus, hon."

  Frowning, she stopped. "A bonus? How?"

  Connor's hand slid over her head like a caress. "Don't you realize, babe? You're a celebrity. Everyone thinks you're a champion for what you did with that newspaper article. They're all on your side so if you have any more trouble with Renton, you're—"

  A shiver had cursed through her at the reminder. "Thanks. And yeah, the people who spoke to me all referred to the article. S-Sleazy's one." Felt like eating worms, saying his name out loud.

  "No-one in rowing would believe that story, certainly not once they learned you'd moved in with me. Dougal was right." Connor stepped forward, unlocking the car.

  "Who's Dougal?"

  "CEO." Her driver slid onto his seat. "The one who gave me permission to speak at your club dinner." He clicked his belt in place. "Come on. Or are you staying here all night?"

  So he'd been pushed into going to Dunedin. Slowly, Bailey walked around the vehicle but Connor didn't wait till she'd climbed in before switching on the engine, and he drove off towards the gate before she'd even clipped her seat belt.

  "Dougal's the guy who suggested I use the opportunity of the dinner to emphasize my good character to the people down south."

  "So, not your idea."

  "Hadn't had time to think. He'd only just hit me with the story and my head was still spinning." After waiting for several cars to pass, Connor drove onto the busy road.

  "And? What else did he say? Get the girl to move in?" Bailey shoved Connor's hand off her thigh. "Persuade her to be your girlfriend, at least till all this bad publicity blows over?" God, she'd been a fool.

  His fingers squashed her wrist in a crushing clasp. "He did not. He commented on the photos and how genuine we looked as a couple—"

  "Yeah. We did."

  "So, when I admitted I was interested in you, he encouraged me to get you up here. Believe me, Bailey, persuading you was totally my idea. Didn't I start while we were still at Mt Cook? It was also nothing to do with Renton, or his article, or the fear of reprisals from anyone. It was all me. Me, you understand." He pointed to his chest. "And, in case you're in any doubt, I'm still interested in taking our relationship further. Anytime you're ready, I'll be there and don’t you ever forget it. I want you like I've never wanted a woman before and that's the truth."

  "Okay, okay, I get the message." But doubt still clung like a barnacle and the moment he pulled to a stop in the garage she climbed out. "You must be starving after all the rowing you've done today. Do you want dinner now or just a snack?"

  He reached over his shoulder and rubbed a muscle. "Hamburger'd be good."

  "A hamburger. That'd be a meal for me but I guess you've got a different idea?"

  "Right on, babe. At least you're getting used to my big appetite."

  Preparing a burger in record time should have released the tension that had built after their argument, but not with Connor only a couple of feet away, sipping his bottle of water instead of gulping it down as usual and watching her every action with uncanny intensity, as if with X-ray vision. She grabbed the bag of buns from the freezer, pulled one out and shoved it in the microwave. While it thawed she gathered ingredients; butter, tomatoes, an onion, a patty, lettuce, sauce, and beetroot. "Well, aren't you going to shower?"

  Arms folded across his broad chest, he appeared in no hurry. "Do I need to?"

  "Probably quicker than spraying cologne all over yourself." While oil heated in the pan she slapped butter on each half of the bun, dumped them in and turned to the vegetables.

  "How about a shower and then a few squirts?"

  "Please yourself." Still in no mood to be condescending, she sliced tomatoes faster than a chef, then onions the same. But another rub of his shoulder made her pause. "Sore?"

  "A bit."

  "Warm it under the shower. That should help."

  "Your fingers might be even better."

  "You're only guessing." She pointed the knife at him. "I might know nothing of massage."

  "Honey, anything that gets your hands directly on my body will help," and with the mere flash of a smile, he pushed away from the wall and left the room.

  Footsteps behind her on the vinyl floor gave away his presence only a few minutes later, followed by his hands on each side of her waist. Not a grip exactly but a gentle hold, making her feel secure in one sense, but on edge in another. What now?

  "Photos?" His tone sounded so mild, she was fooled into swivelling out of his hold to glance back before her nerves hit the top of the thermometer scale.

  "Wh-what?" The white T-shirt showed off his tan and she gulped at how good he looked.

  "You did take photos of the rowing this weekend, didn't you?"

  Oh! Tension evaporated so fast it left her weak. Nothing could have prepared her for such an instant change of tone and subject. "A few, but everything happened so fast, getting a good shot wasn’t easy."

  "Can I see?"

  "Thought you were hungry." If her growly tone didn't make him realise she still suffered from their fight, this would. Using the slice, she scooped up the patty and flipped it over, making the oil in the pan sizzle and spit.

  "Settle, settle," he warned, his hand on her wrist. "I didn't mean this minute. Finish the cooking first. Preferably without excess oil, or burning. You can get your camera while I'm eating."

  A deep sigh eased the tension as she assembled his meal. "There you are."

  Leaving him to eat, she knelt on the floor, downloaded the photos onto her laptop that she'd placed on the coffee table and scrolled through them all. "Come and see," she invited when he towered over her, and she slipped onto the sofa beside him. Instead of using the special facility, she operated a slide show with the mouse buttons, moving slowly from picture to picture to watch his reaction with each new view.

  "Stop!" It was the first one that showed him in stroke seat.

  Yes! She released the strand of hair she'd been winding round her finger. "How does it feel being back as stroke?"

  "Like I'm home." Straightening, he smiled, slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

  "What about the rows? This eight, for instance." She nodded at the screen. "How did you feel those young guys performed as crewmembers and individually?"

  "Surprisingly well." Connor dropped a light kiss on her forehead. "The photos are good, hon, but what are you going to do with them?"

  Apart from printing that one and adding it to her mural? "No idea. Maybe give each crew member a copy but really, it was just an ex
periment." Standing, she clicked out of the programme and closed the computer. "Something I do automatically, like always having my camera with me. Surprised you're not used to it by now."

  "Oh, I am." Suddenly she was sitting again only this time, on his lap, her back against his chest. "Still getting used to having you here though, babe." Connor's arms wrapped around her, holding her in place while his beard rubbed her cheek. "Still enjoying your company," and when he gently kissed the side of her face, she smiled, and turned towards him.

  This was where she belonged; in his arms. Safe, in his embrace.

  If only Renton hadn't turned up today.

  Damn, but now she'd remembered, she could no longer enjoy Connor's playful mood. What did the sleaze have in mind this time round?

  ***

  Like yesterday, Connor's right arm slipped over his shoulder to rub the spot on his back. Sure, he'd made no mention of any injury but training couldn't be good for it.

  Still, she watched all the same. Watched while he frowned, squirmed, and rubbed the spot, even as he ate his pasta salad. The moment he put the fork down and rubbed again she couldn't stop herself from asking. "Got a problem there?"

  "Just a sore muscle." The fingers of his left hand squeezed the paper serviette into a tight ball. "It'll come right."

  "Of course it will; after I've treated it. Lie on the floor."

  "Oh, so you can massage, and apparently you're an expert too, as well as in cooking, muesli making and turning me on." Censure covered his face at the last phrase instead of his familiar, expected grin, and although the frown lasted only a second, his fingers immediately found the spot again and rubbed some more.

  "Thanks for the compliment but stop changing the subject. What's caused this problem? It must be affecting your rowing quite badly."

  "Went for a row in the single after training," he grumbled as he did a shoulder roll.

  "Without a break? I thought one training session would be enough for a morning. Or do you need to build up muscles you only use in sweep oar rowing?"

  "I need practice for nationals." The shoulder roll changed to a shrug.

  "Well, it's no wonder you're sore. You should have gone to an official masseuse."

  "And miss having your fingers caress my body?" His hand shot out, snagged her wrist and pulled her close for a quick kiss on her palm. Only then did he whip off his T-shirt, grab a cushion from the sofa and drop to the floor. "Not a chance."

  "Then I hope my massaging measures up to the high standard of a professional."

  "Anything that involves your hands on my body will be welcome, sweetheart," and he turned his head and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

  Trust him to find some sexual innuendo in the situation. Still, any woman would be happy to slide her fingers over this taut body and she may as well enjoy the experience when there was nothing sexual involved.

  With a little oil on her hands her fingers skimmed over the hard planes of his back and shoulders, over muscles so firm she'd be lucky to locate the problem.

  "That's it! That's the spot." His head had jerked up as her fingers found a bunched up mass over his shoulder blade.

  "It feels like the knot in a rope," she explained, pressing and rubbing as he lowered his head again. "No wonder it's been bothering you. Am I doing alright?"

  "Doing great but keep talking, okay?"

  "What about? The regatta?"

  "No. Nationals. Did any of the girls talk to you about that?"

  Her insides did a full stomach flip, landing hard. "No."

  "I got news of our club's arrangements today. The others got theirs last week and apparently Nat's already planning for the four of you. I'll have to travel with my club and we're going early to practice on the course."

  "How early?"

  "Saturday. Can't leave our squad training before then."

  "What about us?"

  "Apparently Michelle has to work the emergency shifts on Saturday and Sunday so Nat's planning for you all to fly from Auckland to Christchurch on the Monday, hire a car and drive the rest of the way. Of course you need to contact her to confirm you'll go with them and I'll see you there."

  Oh, God. How to tell him? She leaned on his tight muscle. "I can't go, Connor. I'm sorry, but—"

  "Can't go? What the hell do you mean, can't go?" He stood so abruptly the action threw her onto her haunches and now she had to stretch her neck to look up at him as he towered aggressively over her.

  Cautiously, she stood. "I—"

  "It's nationals, for God's sake, Bailey! The New Zealand Rowing Championships and you're supposed to be my best supporter. It's one of the main reasons I wanted you here. Besides, it's not as if you've got a job. If one comes up beforehand you can tell them you need that week off. Shouldn't be a problem if you give enough warning."

  "Aren't you listening? I can't go, Connor! I've made other arrangements." Would he ever understand? Could he? Or would that be expecting too much when his whole future depended on this regatta? So desperate to sit, she almost fell over the arm of a nearby chair as she slid into its softness. "Nationals clashes with another project I've planned. There's only a small window of opportunity and the period of nationals is my only chance. I'll drive, if that's okay, and be home again by Sunday afternoon. I expect that's when you get back?"

  Instantly, his face appeared right in front of hers and far too close while his big hands gripped the chair arms beside her, holding her prisoner. "And what is this oh-so-important project?"

  Those hands could do a lot of damage if his anger took control. "An interview, with a previous Olympic gold medal winner. He's sick, and the family have warned that if I leave it any later I could miss out. He's going downhill pretty fast."

  "Then do it earlier, woman!" As if his solution solved everything, he dismissed her plan and stepped back. "Bring it forward. Go to both."

  "I can't. He's receiving treatment now, has a few days of rest, and then he's going to Australia to be with his family for the end. I'm very lucky he's agreed to be interviewed during those few days. I'm sorry, but please understand. After all, you suggested I concentrate on writing sports articles, and this comes into that category."

  Arms folded across his chest made him look like a one-hundred year-old rimu tree—tall, solid, and straight. No bending of that body, or mind, apparently. Even his voice portrayed superiority.

  "These champs are especially important for me; the very best way to demonstrate my ability to the selectors. They'll be taking particular note of the results and times."

  "You've got your reputation and your Olympic win to back you."

  "Doesn't count in their eyes. This is a new season and abilities can change. New rowers come to their notice and—"

  "You expect me to be present every time they watch? That's impossible. No audience is allowed during Trials. Even the media's excluded."

  "Everyone will be at Nationals, Bailey." Like his voice, his eyes had turned steel-cold, harsh, and dark. Not relaying their usual warmth at all.

  "You're asking me to give up everything to be with you for that week? Even risk blowing this chance of achieving my goal and selling to a magazine? Well, sorry, Connor, but it's not going to happen. Reneging on the arrangement would show me up to be unreliable, with poor organizational skills and zero planning ability. The editor would swipe me off her list of possible contributors if I cancelled now."

  "Proof you should have checked with me before making any arrangements."

  Fingernails dug into her soft palms. "Truthfully, I never thought of nationals. With no crew to cox this time, the champs didn't affect me personally. But you're right. I should have checked. I'm sorry." Such a feeble, selfish excuse, but real enough when the pain still felt like knife attack every time she remembered her old crew. "And when did you ever have a girlfriend at Nationals to support you anyway? If I don't go, it'll just be the same as in previous years."

  "But it's not the same as previously, is it?" Accusation still filled his tone.
"You're here. You've moved in. Everyone thinks you're my girlfriend. They're not going to believe it if I can't produce the proof."

  "Then talk about me when you're there. Show them photos of us together. Ring me when others are listening." Again and again she shook her head. "How many times do I have to say it? I'm sorry, but I can't back away from this opportunity in Whangarei." Tears of frustration threatened, affecting the smooth flow of her voice. "You'll just have to manage without me."

  Immediately, he turned on his heel and marched through the door, as if the problem was too great to overcome. Too great to talk through.

  Gone for good, or only till he accepted her decision?

  Or would this be the end for them?

  As if in confirmation, the back door slammed. A minute later his car engine roared to life.

  Leaving her. After only one fight.

  Didn't the man have any staying power?

  CHAPTER 16

  Connor climbed in the car and drove, but his mind wasn't on the road. It wasn't on the car either, or the weather.

  It was on Bailey.

  Bailey, who hadn't been prepared to give the support he'd asked for.

  Expected.

  Needed.

  Craved.

  Sure he'd encouraged her to follow her dream and write for magazines but he'd never anticipated her goal would clash with his own. Without her presence at Nationals how could he show her off to other rowers and supporters as planned? And how could he finally prove himself an equal in every way with his taller, older and more experienced crew mates?

  Ever since that first day when she'd mentioned being a cox, that goal had been forming until it identified as hope that she'd become his for life.

  His. Sounded good that did, but now it'd never happen. In the few short weeks of knowing her he'd gone from never believing he'd find someone, to finding her, loving her, and...

  Yeah, loving her.

  Bile swelled in his throat but he forced it down. Loving her totally sucked when she didn't love him. Would be going to Nationals in support of him if she did. Would stick with him through thick and thin and yeah, make love with him, too.

  Not that he should blame her for being unable to carry though with the sex. That last boyfriend must have been a right arsehole.