The VIP Doubles Down (Wager of Hearts Book 3)

by Nancy Herkness

  She was the oldest of the three girls his father’s remarriage had brought into their previously all-male household. She had been nine when Gavin was thirteen. The two younger daughters had followed their mother’s lead, treating Gavin as a cross between a wild animal and a freak. Ruth had decided to adopt Gavin.

  Today she was married to the man who had taken over Miller’s Feed and Dry Goods, and was mother to two children. But for reasons he could never fathom, she remained his staunch ally in his battles with his stepmother.

  Gavin, have you looked in the box I sent you? You’ll want to see what’s in there, I promise.

  He didn’t understand why she had to make such a big deal out of the shipping carton that had arrived a couple of weeks before. Irritated, he shot back, Why don’t you just tell me what you think is so damned important about it?

  Ruth’s response came immediately. It’s too complicated. Just open it. And don’t be cranky. I’m the one who likes you.

  Her last crack made him snort out a laugh. Liking is all relative with relatives, he wrote back, but I apologize for being a curmudgeon.

  His stepsister retorted, We don’t know what that means out here in the sticks of Illinois.

  He snorted again.

  The truth was that he had opened the damned box. It held the autographed first editions of his books that he’d sent to his father as they were published. Once Gavin saw the pristine books neatly wrapped in plastic, exactly as he’d sent them, he’d slammed the box shut again.

  He hadn’t expected his father to read them. Kenneth Miller read only the ledgers of the family feed store or biographies of Civil War generals. But Gavin had foolishly hoped for some acknowledgment that his ambition to be a writer had worked out after all.

  He’d shoved the box into a corner at his beach house in Southampton, where he didn’t have to be reminded of it or the wrench of disappointment it had delivered.

  His cell phone buzzed as it scooted across the mahogany desktop. He seized it, hoping it was Allie saying she could come tomorrow. Instead, he saw Nathan Trainor’s name on the screen.

  He considered not answering, but he owed the man an apology. “Trainor, you know I’m a jerk, so I shouldn’t have to say this, but I’m sorry.”

  The CEO’s dry chuckle sounded over the phone. “Kudos for not beating around the bush, but it lacks a certain sincerity.”

  “Oh, it’s sincere. I just don’t handle pity well.”

  “You confuse pity with friendship,” Trainor said, his tone serious. “There’s an important distinction.”

  Gavin kneaded his forehead. “I don’t handle friendship well, either. We writers are loners by nature. I’m still not sure why you and Archer put up with me.”

  “Now we get to the pity part.” The humor was back in Trainor’s voice, and Gavin relaxed. “And since you’re so pitiful, Chloe and I would like you to have dinner at our place on Saturday. It’s short notice, but some friends are visiting from out of town. We thought you’d like them, and vice versa.”

  Gavin’s pity radar went on full alert. “I’m not planning to slit my wrists over the weekend.”

  Trainor’s sigh was heavy. “For God’s sake, it’s a simple dinner invitation.”

  Why did he care about Trainor’s motivation anyway? He had nothing planned for Saturday night, and Trainor’s friends were always interesting. “Sorry. I forgot the pity/friendship distinction again. I’ll attend with alacrity. Thank you.”

  “Come at seven.”

  “Are Archer and his new bride on the guest list as well?”

  “If I say yes, will you refuse to join us?”

  Gavin laughed. “No, I owe him an apology, too.”

  “With that to look forward to, I have no doubt that he will accept the invitation.” Trainor hung up.

  Gavin checked his phone for voice mail, just to make sure Allie hadn’t called while he was talking with the CEO. Still nothing from the physical therapist.

  He turned back to the computer, trying to conjure up the scenarios he’d been playing with as Allie discussed Julian’s need for a different love interest. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not conceive of a different kind of woman for Julian.

  It seemed that his muse didn’t share Allie’s conviction that Julian was capable of real love.

  Allie turned off the treadmill and braced her arms on it as she gasped for breath. She and Troy had rented a truck to haul home the exercise machine from Havilland Rehab when the center had updated their equipment. Although it took up most of the floor space in their bedroom, Troy had wanted it to keep fit for the leading-man roles he hoped to land.

  Allie was grateful for it since she no longer had access to Havilland’s gym. On grim winter days, it was a luxury to run indoors. Today she had needed to sprint off the anxiety tightening her throat because Gavin Miller hadn’t called back about a session tomorrow. She scrubbed her face with a towel, took a gulp of water, and eyed the treadmill. The rehab center had to stay on the cutting edge of technology, but most people would still consider her machine state-of-the-art. She might get another month’s rent out of selling it.

  She pulled out her earbuds and peeled off her sweaty workout shirt. Maybe she should give up and leave New York. Now that her marriage and her job had ended, not much held her here.

  But the thought of returning to Sanctuary was unappealing. There were so many memories of the happy times with Troy there. Even worse, they’d been a couple for so long that everyone thought of them together. Going back as the divorced half of that unit would be painful.

  She draped her damp shirt over the rail of the treadmill. The truth was more complicated than that. New York had changed her. For all her nostalgia, Sanctuary felt like a place to visit, not live.

  “I guess Troy rubbed off on me,” she said, stooping to pet the cat who’d returned once the noise of the treadmill had ceased. “I got ambitious.”

  Pie jumped up on the bed, dislodging Allie’s cell phone so it slid onto the floor. “Hey, be careful! I can’t afford a broken screen right now.” When she scooped up the phone to make sure it was intact, the icon for a voice message stared out at her.

  “Well, shoot, why didn’t I hear the ding?” She checked the volume to find it on mute. She must have forgotten to reset it after her session with Gavin. Hope bubbled up when she saw the message was from the writer.

  His voice rolled out of the phone—deep, curt, and commanding. “Schedule me for two hours tomorrow, whenever you can fit it in.”

  She whooped, making Pie lift her head and blink at her reprovingly. Allie swept the cat up in her arms and danced around the bed. “He wants me back. Mama’s going to be able to keep you in kitty litter another couple of weeks.”

  The next morning, Allie felt a pinch of worry when it was Ludmilla who opened the door instead of Gavin. But the housekeeper waved her inside. “Come in, come in. Mr. Gavin ask me to take you to gym. He gets phone call.”

  Allie had already unpacked most of her equipment when Gavin came down the gym stairs. “My apologies for keeping you waiting,” he said. “Business matters.”

  He smiled, and she found it hard to draw in a full breath. His eyes gleamed jade green. His white teeth flashed against his olive skin. He focused on her with an intensity that sent vibrations zinging around in her chest before they settled low in her belly.

  “I brought you here under false pretenses,” he said.

  That killed all the delicious shivers. “I’m sorry?”

  “I don’t think I can let your ants stampede over me for two full hours.”

  She forced a cheery tone. “That would be too long to spend on just electrical stim. I have several treatments planned.”

  Those green eyes glinted with interest. “I see I have a very limited understanding of physical therapy. What other delights are in store for me?”

  “In addition to the e-stim, I was going to suggest some heat, some massage, and some gentle stretching.”

  The inter
est turned into something more unsettling. “A massage? I’m on board with that program.”

  Relief made her knees a little shaky. She’d get the full two hours after all. And she’d be stroking the bare skin of that sculpted back. She pulled her thoughts up short, even as she licked her lips.

  He pinned her with his gaze. “We also have to talk.”

  “Talk?”

  “Isn’t that part of the therapy?”

  “Um, to a certain extent.” Where was he going with this?

  He gave a brief nod. “Good. What’s first?”

  “On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst, tell me how bad the pain is now.”

  He tilted his head to several different angles. She noted when his face tightened with distress. “Around a seven.”

  “How was it after the e-stim yesterday?”

  “Maybe a five.”

  “That’s a good sign,” she said. “Now I’d like to look at your alignment.”

  He held his arms out from his sides. “At your service. I even dressed the part today.”

  She had already noticed he wasn’t wearing one of his expensive sweaters. Instead, he was sporting a black athletic shirt and training pants, the thin, sweat-wicking fabric outlining the hard curves of his muscles. It made her all the more aware of his body in a way she shouldn’t be.

  “Good choice,” she said. “Would you stand with your feet about hip distance apart? Let your arms hang naturally at your sides.”

  With a slightly mocking half smile, he took up the stance she requested. She walked behind him to give herself a moment to force her brain into therapist mode. Closing her eyes, she envisioned the way Gavin’s body would look if it were in perfect balance, without injury or stressors. Then she opened her eyes to compare the reality.

  His pain practically leaped out at her. It showed in the way his shoulders were canted, in the angle of his neck, in the unconscious flexing of his fingers, and in the twist of his torso.

  All her attention centered on how to ease the soreness he was feeling as she walked around, scanning his body from every angle.

  “That is one ferocious frown,” he said. “Am I in worse shape than I think?”

  Now she’d worried him, which wasn’t conducive to the relaxed mood she hoped to create. “You’re just off-kilter, and I know how unpleasant that can be.”

  His eyes raked down her body, sending the blood to her cheeks. “I’m guessing that you’ve never been out of alignment.”

  “I’m only human, but I know how to counteract physical stress better than the average person.” As proven by the amount of time she’d spent on the treadmill working off the trauma of her divorce.

  “Physician, heal thyself?” He pivoted toward the massage table, and Allie pressed her hands to her telltale cheeks. Thank goodness he would be facedown for most of the session so he couldn’t see her.

  Hoisting himself onto the table, Gavin shucked off his shirt and tossed it to catch on a nearby weight machine. Her cheeks notched up several more degrees of heat at the display of the rippling planes of his torso with its glaze of dark hair. “Why don’t you lie down and get comfortable while I make the environment more soothing.”

  Miller glanced around the room and snorted. “Soothing is not an adjective I would apply to a gym.”

  “You’d be surprised at what miracles I can work,” Allie said.

  He swiveled his legs onto the table to sit with his arms loosely crossed on his knees. “You have surprised me often enough that you no longer surprise me.”

  “Is that an oxymoron of some kind?”

  “It’s the description of a woman who isn’t quite what she seems.”

  Allie found the light switch and flipped off all but the wall sconces. “I’ve never thought of myself as mysterious. I kind of like it.”

  “I’m not sure mysterious is the right word. You have layers.”

  “Like an onion.”

  He looked as though he’d eaten roadkill. “Please don’t quote that nauseating aphorism about peeling back the layers and sometimes crying.”

  “You did it, not me.”

  He gave her a sharp sideways look and rolled onto his stomach, fitting his face into the headrest.

  Allie chalked up a point for herself before she set up her tablet to play both photos and music and placed it on the floor where he could see it.

  As the sound of a waterfall twined with the strumming of a sitar, Gavin said, “I feel the urge to chant ‘Om.’”

  “If it relaxes you, feel free.” She attached the stim pads to the bare skin of his neck and back, focusing on the trigger points of his tension rather than the powerful geometry of his muscles.

  “Do you meditate?” he asked in a deep, half-muffled voice that evoked images of wrinkled sheets and pillows in Allie’s wayward mind.

  “I try to. It’s not so easy.”

  “You have a lot on your mind, do you?”

  He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to talk. She decided to consider his last question rhetorical. “I’m going to put the blanket over you now. And then I’m going to microwave some rice heat pillows to add another element of relaxation before I turn on the e-stim. I’ll be right back.”

  She’d spotted the microwave during her last visit. It was built into a sleek wooden unit that also held a minifridge and a water dispenser.

  “There’s a microwave in my gym?”

  “You mean you don’t nuke pizza down here?” It was probably meant for exactly what she was doing: warming up heat packs.

  “Ludmilla would have my head.”

  “Which is why I thought you would do it.”

  A muted huff came from the massage table. “You and Archer. Always needling.”

  Allie felt a sense of satisfaction as she pulled the warm, wintergreen-scented pillows out of the microwave. Being mentioned along with his illustrious friend meant she was making progress. Maybe this job would pan out after all.

  She laid the pillows over his blanket-covered shoulders. She heard him sniff as the minty aroma swirled in the air. “This seems more like spa day than physical therapy,” he muttered.

  “Just wait until we get to the massage,” she said, turning on the stim unit. “Tell me when the current feels good to you.” She took it up gradually again.

  “More,” he said as she hit one level higher than the last session.

  “Pushing it too high won’t make it work better, you know.”

  “My friends will tell you that I’m always pushing.”

  She edged the dial up until it hit the maximum. “That’s as high as it goes.”

  “Wimpy machine.”

  “I’ll bring a stun gun tomorrow.”

  That got a laugh out of him before he asked a question she’d hoped to avoid. “What sort of woman did you and your mother feel would suit Julian Best?”

  She blew out a frustrated breath but kept her voice calm. “I don’t think that discussing Julian will help you relax the way your muscles need you to.”

  “Discussing Julian is why I asked you back here.”

  So that’s what his warning about false pretenses meant. She considered just doing what he wanted. It would guarantee her the job for a few more days, at the very least. But her professional pride and personal compassion wouldn’t allow that. “How about a deal? We spend an hour and a half working on your physical issues and thirty minutes discussing Julian Best.”

  “An hour on each.”

  “I can tell you everything Mama and I made up about Julian in twenty minutes.”

  “We’re going to do something called brainstorming.”

  “You want me to brainstorm with you? I don’t know anything about writing books.”

  He lifted his head and rolled onto his side, making his dark hair wave wildly around the sharp planes of his face while the heat packs thudded onto the floor. “I feel at a disadvantage negotiating without being able to see my opponent’s face.”

  “Hey, I’m on your
side.”

  “That remains to be seen.” He pinned her with his gaze. “An hour and a half on physical therapy and an hour on Julian. I’ll pay you for the extra time.”

  Her heart leaped. Another half an hour of pay. “I feel like I’d be cheating you to take extra money for talking about a . . . a nonexistent person.”

  “While I may not be using your professional skills, I would not dream of asking for your time for free.” He held out his open hand in a gesture of entreaty. “Humor me.”

  Okay, she’d tried to turn him down. “Agreed. Now please lie down and try to relax.” Without thinking, she reached out to give his upper arm a little tug. When she touched him, he flinched and dropped his gaze to where her fingers were wrapped around the swelling ridges of his biceps. She jerked her hand away. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” he rasped. “Quite the contrary. I just wasn’t prepared. Time for me to get back to relaxing.”

  He flipped onto his stomach with a slight hitch in his movement, dragging the blanket back over his shoulders. Allie walked around to replace the rice packs on his shoulders. She stared at the back of his head as though she could see into his mind to decipher his odd reaction.

  While the e-stim did its work, Allie perched on the nearby weight bench and debated how much of her made-up Julian Best stories to share with the writer. They were wildly romantic fantasies that she was sure would make Gavin snicker. She sighed. If she had to talk for an hour, she couldn’t afford to edit out any material.

  The stim unit shut down, and Gavin began to stir. She rested her hand on his blanket-covered back. “Stay still. I’m going to detach the stim pads and start the massage. That way your muscles don’t have time to tense up again.”

  “I’m beginning to like physical therapy.”

  Allie smirked. “That’s because we haven’t gotten to the hard part yet.”

  Chapter 7

  As she removed the stim pads, every brush of the therapist’s fingertips sent flickering sparks racing across Gavin’s skin. How was he supposed to relax when the stampeding ants had nothing on Allie’s electrical charge?

  He was a mature adult. He could control his responses.