by Karla Doyle
If she didn’t break free of his touch in the next five seconds, she was totally going to cave. “I really have to get to work.” She shimmied left, away from his wayward fingers, but he blocked her by putting his lips on the shell of her ear. A most effective tactic, as he knew well after their night together. “Sam, I have to make buttercream icing.” Oh God, his tongue, teasing that spot below her earlobe. She could barely breathe. “And do fondant.”
“I don’t have a clue what ‘doing fondant’ means, but you make it sound sexy as hell.”
Her brain was saying “go” but her body was screaming “go for it.” Her brain got enough activity. Her body, certain parts in particular, had catching up to do.
“Okay. Dinner. Now I really have to get to the shop.”
He let her slip beneath his arm, only to snag her around the waist and drag her up against him. “Tonight’s too far away.”
Every inch of her body heated to the melting point. Because of his strong arms wrapped around her, his palms splayed over her ass, yes, but also from his eyes. He didn’t shutter them like so many men. Men of all ages, not just younger ones.
Well, crap. She’d accused him of immature, dramatic behavior, but she’d been equally guilty. If she’d had a minute’s patience, or had simply come out and asked him what was on his mind, odds were he’d have told her. Since their first personal training session, she’d known Sam to be upfront. Also, spontaneous and carefree. She could certainly use a dose of that in her life.
“Sorry for getting my panties in a knot.”
His chuckle tickled her ear, sent vibrations all the way to her toes. “I have a solution for that. I’ll show you later.”
Oh, she just bet he would. Sam was right—tonight was too far away.
SAM
“Great work, Marguerite. Excellent form.” Sam kept his hands close to his client’s arms as she finished her final set of military presses with the five-pound dumbbells. “And you’re done.” He relieved her of the weights and handed her a towel, smiling as she dabbed at her temple. “I think you’re ready to take things up a notch next time. How do you feel about that?”
“I still can’t believe you have me doing these things.” She slid her fine-boned hand into his and allowed him to help her to her feet. Once she’d steadied herself, she withdrew her hand, using it to push her tightly curled hair into place—even though it hadn’t moved during her training session. “Yes, I do believe I’m ready for whatever you’ve got planned. Bring it on, as you young people say.”
“That’s my girl. I’ll have a new plan ready for your next session.”
“I’m not sure if I’m excited or terrified about that.”
“You’re excited,” he said, walking her to the change room with a hand at her elbow. “A woman with your gumption doesn’t get terrified.”
“Flatterer.”
“Just calling it like I see it, Marguerite.”
His most senior client patted his arm before taking the final steps—unaided—to the women’s dressing room.
He stopped by the cardio machines to chat with a couple of members. Casual conversation and encouragement, sure, but mainly he wanted to be near the ladies’ room when Marguerite reappeared.
She’d come a long way since her first day at Focus Fitness, when she’d walked through the front door, using a cane and her granddaughter’s arm for support. Three months later, she barely needed the cane. Made him damn proud. Of her, and of the club Brian was building. The club they were building.
He excused himself from a convo about last night’s ball game—of which he hadn’t seen an inning—and headed for his client. He offered his arm and she took it, shaking her head as she did.
“Such fussing over me. You do realize I’m too old for you.”
“If you say so, Marguerite.” They passed Brian at the reception desk. Sam pushed and held the heavy front door, rather than press the button that would open it slowly and automatically. A small thing, but it’d please Marguerite, for multiple reasons. “Stairs today, or should we be lazy and take the ramp?”
She nodded at the steps while squeezing his arm. “With all these muscles, I can’t imagine you’re ever lazy.” A soft pink tinted her pale cheeks. “Don’t mind an old lady flirting with you, I’m harmless. But I could help you with that bare ring finger of yours. My granddaughter is lovely. Twenty-eight, a physiotherapist, quite spry. She’s the one who brought me here, maybe you remember her?”
“Of course. She’s a beauty.” He winked. “Like her grandmother.”
Marguerite’s granddaughter was gorgeous. As in, epically stunning. The red-haired bombshell with a fiery attitude had essentially threatened his life should her grandmother come to any harm while at the club. Totally hot, but he’d been in the process of getting his shit together at the time, and now there was Leigh.
He stood aside while Marguerite eased into the driver’s seat of her Cadillac. He closed her door carefully and lifted his hand in a wave.
Instead of leaving, she lowered her window. “I have Frances’s card right here.”
“Thank you.” And…the card was in his hand. “See you Tuesday, Marguerite.” He took the wide, metal-grate steps by twos, turning the card over and over in his hand as he headed inside.
Why the hell had he taken the damn thing? To be polite, maybe. Because old habits die hard and he’d automatically added Frances McKenna to his “future possibilities” list—yeah. Shit.
Brian stood at the front counter, tapping away at the computer. Pretty rare moment for both of them to be client-free. Sam wandered over and grabbed his water from the fridge. A reusable bottle, not one from inventory. The mature, environmentally responsible option. Also what was best for the club’s bottom line, since Brian refused to let him pay for anything.
Focus Fitness was Brian’s baby, a dream he was working his ass off to make a successful reality. The big man—literally, as well as figuratively—had everything on track. Career, business plans, a rock-solid relationship with his soulmate.
Sam didn’t begrudge his buddy any of those things, but seeing it all up close, the possibilities he’d missed while coasting through life left him hollow. He wanted more. Was ready for more.
“You’re doing a great job with Marguerite.” Brian closed the spreadsheet he was working on and leaned on the counter, facing Sam. “Not only is she moving around a lot better since you started working with her, she’s got a new spark. Holds her chin up higher and smiles easier.”
“She’s really taken to the training programs. Stomps all over that, ‘you can’t teach an old dog new tricks’ theory.”
“I suggest you don’t use that analogy in her presence.” Brian laughed while ducking a friendly right-hand jab. “And on that topic, how’re things with you?” He glanced at the handful of members currently utilizing the facility, including one very attractive client who’d made no secret she’d like her training with Sam to get a lot more personal. “Still swearing off the casual stuff?”
“Trying to.”
“But all those hot women won’t take no for an answer, right?”
“Exactly. I try threatening them with my big stick, but that just makes them more determined to have me.”
Brian snorted. “Good to know your ego’s intact. No comment on your stick.”
The downside of telling your best buddy everything—he knew everything. Including the crap Sam had gone through several months back when one of his recent hookups had called to inform him a trip to the doctor was in order. Liquid nitrogen treatments to get rid of human papilloma virus had shown him exactly how small his stick could get. Frightened turtle—oh hell yeah.
Still, he’d gotten lucky that HPV was the wakeup call he’d received. Especially considering all the times he’d shrugged off protection over the years. He’d been a real dick with his dick.
Sam hung around while Brian created a custom smoothie for a client. The three of them made small talk, and in the course of the following f
ive minutes or so, covered baseball stats, the enduring hotness of Halle Berry and how Brian’s client could increase his Omega-3 intake. Then, without coming off like a salesman at all, Brian sold the guy a bag full of nutritional products and signed him up for another ten sessions of personal training. Brian was a force to be reckoned with, now more than ever.
Nothing like feeling proud and envious of your best friend at the same time.
“Almost time for my two o’clock.” Sam pulled up the client’s file on his tablet. “Mrs. Dwyer. Never misses a single minute of her training sessions.”
“Your female clients never do.” Brian’s expression shifted. Still smiling, but more sincere than amused. “Hey, before you go…thanks again for stepping in and taking over so I could be at the hospital with Cassie. I would’ve had to shut the doors if you weren’t here. Hell, I couldn’t do half of this, every day,” he nodded around the club, “if you hadn’t taken a leap and come on board.”
“Leaping is my specialty. And I’ve always got your back, man. Though I hope the next time I cover for you it’s under happier circumstances.”
“Odds of that are pretty good.” Now, a big, unabashed grin spread across Brian’s face. “After that scare with her appendix rupturing, I’m done waiting for the timing to be perfect or any other bullshit like that. We’re setting a date for the wedding.”
“Smart move.” He slapped Brian on the shoulder. “You two belong together. Permanently.”
“Hell of an endorsement, coming from a die-hard player.”
“Not so die-hard.”
Brian’s ginger eyebrows rose. “Never thought I’d see the day. Thinking of retiring your little black book?”
Good question. “Thinking about it.” He pulled Frances McKenna’s card from his pocket and placed it on the desk. “Starting with this.”
Chapter 4
LEIGH
Closing time, at last. It hadn’t been busier than any other early-summer Saturday, but Leigh was down several hours in the sleep department, thanks to Sam. Thanks very much to Sam.
She couldn’t live this way in her day-to-day reality. Not with the constant juggling of business and parenthood, but she could hack the fatigue for a couple of nights. And on that note, she had work to accomplish before her dinner date.
At least she didn’t have to squeeze in any baking tonight. All the orders had been picked up and the new ones that’d come in today weren’t due until the middle of the week at the earliest.
Normally, this kind of reprieve warranted unwinding with a DVD and a big glass of wine, usually with Lennox sharing the sofa. Having a ten-year-old daughter meant never having to make excuses for watching princess movies. Because really, there was no limit to the amount of times Leigh could watch Enchanted. The music, the handsome suitors, that incredible scene where they dance and Robert sings into Giselle’s ear…gah, so romantic.
Leigh’s cell rumbled in her back pocket. An incoming text notification, but at the moment, the tone seemed to be notifying her to step out of dreamland and get shit done.
She swiped to open the text from Tim—a simple update on the weekend activities and general itinerary for the week ahead. A friendly, courteous, responsible message. Nothing romantic about it, nor should there be at this point.
Even when she and Tim had tried to be more than best friends and co-parents, there’d never been any grand romantic gestures. The same went for the few short-term boyfriends and occasional casual dates that’d come and gone over the years.
Maybe she expected too much. All those happily-ever-after princess movies had set the bar pretty damn high for real-life men.
Leigh flipped the sign on the door. The floors needed washing and the counters required wiping before she could head out. Yet the best she could do at the moment was stand in the middle of her shop, leaning on the mop and sighing. She had the deep, resigned sighing thing perfected to an art.
Another chime sounded in her pocket. Probably a picture coming in—she’d asked Tim to text one of Lennox holding the fish they’d caught earlier. No amount of busy prevented Leigh from missing her girl, from wanting to be included in every single minute of Lennox’s life.
Leigh swiped her finger across the screen and re-entered her code. A bubble with the number one waited on the corner of the messages icon. She tapped it. Not a text from Tim. This one was from Sam.
Hey, Cinderella.
His timing couldn’t be more perfect.
She didn’t turn to face the storefront, but God, the pull to do so was crazy strong. To see the smile that would undoubtedly be in place on his handsome face. The twinkle in his eyes.
She tucked the mop handle under her arm and tapped in a reply.
Prince Charming… Are you here to take me to the ball?
Princess, I’ll take you anywhere you want. And I guarantee there will be balls involved.
A laugh burst from her lips. Thank goodness she had a solid hold on the cell, or she might’ve dropped it into the bucket. Her thumbs hovered over the letters, but another message popped onto the screen before she could reply.
Turn around. I want to see that gorgeous smile.
Now she really had to mop the floor, because she’d melted into a pile of goo, right there on the spot. She stuffed the phone in her back pocket and turned, her heart flip-flopping like a schoolgirl with a crush. She pushed the cleaning supplies to the corner, then moved toward the entrance.
Sam tracked her every step of the way, his openly appreciative gaze sending a bubbly kind of tingle through her, top to bottom. The deadbolt clicked beneath her palm. Sam didn’t wait. He pushed the door open, then closed and locked it without looking away from her for a second.
“You were in my head. All day.” His warm, strong arms folded around her, hauled her tight to his body as he walked them deeper into the store. “I kept thinking about what I want to do with you tonight.”
“Bake more cookies?”
“If you have orders that need doing, then yeah.”
She shook her head more enthusiastically than necessary. “I don’t.”
“Good.” Effortlessly, he lifted her. Oh, so sinfully, he smiled. “Because I have other plans for us.”
“I like the sound of that.” Let him think she meant the plans. She’d savor the for us privately.
He set her on the edge of the counter. Hands firmly on her waist, he held her in place, his groin pressed tight against her core, softening her limited defenses with his hard body and charming smile. “You feel so good.”
“So do you.” God, did he ever. And for the moment, she had carte blanche to feel as much of him as she wanted—which happened to be every inch, many times over.
Sam wasn’t a massive guy, but he was solid. Six feet of lean, hard muscle, currently wrapped up like a sexy present in well-worn jeans and a mossy-green, button-front shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway to the elbow.
Right there, she had her target. While she had a healthy appreciation for the entire male body, good forearms always made her a little weak in the knees. Sam’s forearms were a whole lot better than good, and since she wasn’t on her feet, no need to worry about her knees giving out.
She unlocked her fingers from the back of his neck and slid them down. A brief stop to knead his trapezius and shoulders, his nicely shaped biceps, then it was skin on skin as she curled her hands over his forearms.
His move to pull her closer caused his muscles to flex under her palms. Mmm…so strong. She ran her hands up and down, pushing his shirtsleeves higher for more access, then toyed with the hair dusting his tanned forearms. Not too long or thick. Sort of soft, yet somehow, a little bit coarse. Perfectly masculine.
“You were doing that last night,” he said, as she smoothed the hair on his arm.
“Was I?”
“Yeah.” His voice had dropped to a deep, delicious rasp. “Every time my face was between your legs.”
She meant to answer, really, she did. But when she opened her mouth, not
hing came out. Well, except maybe some drool.
“Babe, you’re killing me here. Your touch. The way you look at me with those incredible eyes.”
She was affecting him? Wow.
He stepped back and helped her off the counter. “Grab your purse,” he nodded toward the door, “and let’s get out of here.”
“I can’t. I still have work to do. Mop the floor, wipe down all the counters, put out the garbage.”
“You really are Cinderella.” He winked, unleashing the trademark charming smile while giving her hand a little tug. “Come on, Leigh. Good times are just beyond that door, I promise.”
“I believe you, but—”
“No ‘but.’” Another tug, this one more determined. “Forget the work, it’ll wait until tomorrow.”
“It would wait, but I won’t let it.” She reclaimed her hands, shoving the clammy things in her back pockets to prevent fidgeting. “I’m a single mom and a sole entrepreneur. I always know what needs to be done to stay on top of things and I don’t quit until that list is clear. If I did, everything would start to snowball behind me.”
His gaze shifted to the mop bucket, then back to her face. “Leigh, it’s some light cleaning. What’ll it take, half an hour, tops? That’s barely a couple of flakes, definitely not a snowball.”
“That’s how snowballs start, Sam. With a few innocent flakes.” She rounded the counter, needing a physical buffer between them. “Do you see why this—whatever this is we’re doing—won’t work?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
A bitter laugh left her lips. “Exactly my point. You show up looking hot and handsome, wanting to take me out for a fun evening, and I ruin it by lecturing you about responsibility. You’re twenty-eight, spontaneous, and carefree. I’m forty-two, methodical and obsessive-compulsive about my schedule. We’re not in sync. Not outside the bedroom.” She shook her head, another of those resigned sighs leaving her lips. “I have work to finish. You should go.”