British Bad Boys: A Bad Boy Romance Boxed Set

by Marissa Farrar

  “I’ve designed a programme that will lower her body fat percentage while increasing muscle mass.” He made a negating sign with his hand. “That doesn’t mean she’ll be muscle bound or look less feminine. That means her arms, her legs, her gluts, her core,” he gave her belly a pat with the flat of his hand and she tried not to grind her teeth, “will be more well defined, stronger, more fit to do what her body’s designed for.” All this explanation was to the cameras that were right up in their faces. Finally, he turned to her. “Okay, Michaels, let’s get you there.” She could have sworn there was a little glint of evil in his eyes.

  By mid-morning, day one, Lauren’s worst fears were being realised. Wolf Jennings was the drill sergeant from hell, and she fully expected to die before dinner. All those jumpy-squatty thingies and frog hops had names. But she was too oxygen deprived to remember them as she grunted and wheezed and gasped through each one endless times with endless corrections from Wolf, that arsehole, Jennings. He was nothing like the man she’d been so hot for at the pub.

  All through their endless torture session, he happily, and personably, shared his training tools with the whole television audience. She was too busy gasping for breath and grunting out one more rep to hear any of his little tidbits.

  In proper military fashion, he’d taken to calling her Michaels, making her do endless squats and lunges – she could remember what those were called because she did gazillions of them. They were all intermingled with what he called explosive cardio. She could completely understand why it was called that when after one particularly hard set of relays back and forth across the gym, she was sure her heart would explode. Then when it didn’t, he made her hold the plank position for what surely must have been hours.

  To her surprise, there was plenty of food, almost more than she could eat, and it was all very tasty. He reminded her that she wasn’t eating to lose weight, but to gain muscle, as she damn near fell asleep in her Mexican avocado chicken before lunch break was over. Then there was an hour with the nutritionist and a little private time, which she spent preparing a journal to share her insights and training experience on the Physicality Blog. She’d barely started it before she fell asleep. Too soon, it was time for afternoon torture, which involved what was surely hours on the treadmill because it was pissing down with rain outside. She might as well be in a gym in London for all the contact she’d had with the beauties of the Lake District so far. While she put one foot in front of the other endlessly, Wolf ignored her and talked to the viewers about the value of cardio.

  ***

  “Well, Misty, the comments and responses on Facebook and Twitter so far have not been favourable toward Lauren Michaels.” Del looked down at his iPad. “The general consensus seems to be that she should try harder or give someone else a chance.”

  “Possibly a bit of sour grapes there, don’t you think, Del,” Misty said.

  The knot tightened again in Lauren’s chest, the one that hadn’t let up since she’d arrived at the Wolf’s Lair three days ago. She sat watching the day’s wrap-up and commentary while treating a blister on her heel. How was it that no one minded Wolf Jennings being a twat? Why did they just all assume she deserved it? She really was trying and, while the crowds of women lined the mezzanine to ogle Wolf in his shorts and tank top, no one was there to cheer her on. They just wanted to watch Wolf torture her. She turned off the TV and carefully crawled into bed because every part of her body ached. Sleep was the only escape for the next five weeks and three days, but who was counting?

  ***

  “On your knees, Michaels! Do it on your knees. You can’t do a full press-up until we strengthen those spaghetti arms. Do it like this.” He demonstrated the modified press-up. “Now I want you to do as many as you can in thirty seconds.” While thirty seconds lasted forever, as many press-ups as Lauren could do didn’t take long at all before she fell to the mat with her arms trembling. “Damn it Michaels, you gotta be willing to push yourself. I can’t do it for you.” He reset his timer. “Do it again.”

  ***

  “Well this isn’t an auspicious beginning, Misty,” Del Allan said as they observed the training session going on in the gym below. “As much as I admire Claire Amos for believing her people should walk the talk, it’s clear to me that Lauren Michaels’ heart just isn’t in it. One has to wonder why the waste of time, energy and money for someone who doesn’t want to be here when there are so many who really do. I’ve said it before, I hope Physicality has a back-up plan because I’m betting Lauren Michaels won’t make it to the end of the week.”

  “The real question, Del, is not whether Wolf Jennings can ‘get someone there,’ but whether he can motivate someone to want him to. Certainly this is a world away from what Lauren is used to, and apparently she didn’t know she’d be participating until twenty-four hours before.”

  ***

  It was near the end of the fourth day when Lauren finally broke. “I can’t do any more,” she gasped after what seemed like miles of lunge walking back and forth across the gym with a dumb bell in each hand—dumb bells that got heavier with each step. “I need the hot tub. When do I get to use the hot tub?”

  “When you’ve earned it,” Jennings growled. “Now do it again.”

  “I hate you,” she forced the words out, no longer caring if the ever-present cameras picked up her remark or not. She reckoned that would be one more reason for the ‘sack Lauren and hire me’ faction to tweet nasty things about her. It’s not as if she wouldn’t trade places with them in a heartbeat.

  “I’m not here for you to like,” came the reply. “Keep your back straight, shoulders back. Head up!”

  She was halfway across the gym when one of the dumb bells slipped from her sweaty fingers, hit the floor with a loud crash, and she tripped over it, going into a belly flop in the middle of the gym.

  “Get up. Keep going,” Wolf yelled, jogging effortlessly to her side. “Don’t be a wimp, Michaels. Finish it. I don’t train babies. Stop whining and keep going.”

  “I hate you.” This time she all but yelled it as she hefted the sweaty dumb bell and forced her way forward a couple more steps before she dropped the weight again—this time on her foot. It was only a glancing blow. She jerked away just in time, but it was enough. It was fucking enough! She dropped the other weight next to its fallen compadre and stormed back across the gym.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He said, “You’re not done yet.”

  “Oh, yes I am.” She grabbed up her sports drink and her towel.

  “What? Are you a quitter, Michaels?” Jennings stepped in front of her effectively blocking her way, “Is that it?”

  “What I am is sick of you yelling at me, sick of you treating me like a sub-human.” She hadn’t planned it, but when he didn’t move, it just happened. A quick twist of the lid on her sports drink and she let it fly. Her aim was true, hitting Jennings in the face with a shower of bright orange Lucozade. Then she stomped off toward her room. She hadn’t expected him to follow her, but then there were a lot of things she hadn’t expected about the man she’d met at the pub less than a week ago.

  Legs still screaming from the workout, she took the stairs two at a time with him gaining on her fast. At the top, he called after her. “They’re taking bets on how soon you’ll quit. Did you know that, Michaels?”

  She stopped, dead in her tracks, as though she were suddenly frozen to the spot. For a second she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and headed back toward the stairs, stopping in front of him to meet his cold glare. “Then they’ll lose.”

  Fucking hell! Did she just say that? Surely she didn’t mean it. She would do almost anything to get out of this chamber of horrors, and yet here she was marching back downstairs, picking up the goddamned dumb bells, taking a deep breath and willing her legs to move forward. When she got to the end, instead of stopping, she gave Jennings a defiant glare, from where he now st
ood at the foot of the stairs, then she turned and headed back across. Somewhere a long way off, she could hear gasps and chatter from Wolf’s mezzanine fan club, but it didn’t matter. The world around her narrowed to the in and out drag of her breath, the pain in her quads and the slow step and lunge, step and lunge, that pulled her forward.

  At the end, she dropped the dumb bells and bent over gasping, eyes clenched shut, hands on her knees. When at last she had the strength to stand up, she was surprised to find him next to, hair still dewed in orange. He handed her a bottle of water and a towel. While she drank, he wiped his face on his shirt.

  She didn’t look at him, she was still battling the urge to cry. She knew all eyes were on her. After the drama she was now embarrassed to have caused, that was a given. But it was only Wolf Jenning’s eyes she felt in ways that were somehow even more intimate than his kiss at the pub. At last she handed him back the bottle and struggled to meet his gaze.

  “That’s better,” he said. “Now drop and give me ten. Pull a stunt like that again and I’ll shove you on the treadmill till your Reeboks wear out.”

  She did as he ordered, counting each press-up out loud and hardly feeling the effort, dazed as she was by what had just happened.

  ***

  In the Closet, still sticky from the drenching, Wolf all but fell into the chair and waited. The room was affectionately called such because it was the only space other than the bathrooms, where there were no cameras. It was for Skyping with Claire privately. He didn’t have to wait long. He took a deep breath and answered the call, offering no greeting. “Claire, I’m sorry, I swear … that woman … I thought she’d broken her foot. I thought …” he ran a shaky hand through his wet hair and gulped a breath. “I nearly lost it. I thought I was—”

  “You thought you were going to kiss her,” Claire said. So did I, so did millions of other people.” She raised a hand cutting off his response. “Before you say anything else, check the tweets.”

  Lauren Michaels kicks arse!

  I was half hoping he’d spank her.

  He can spank me anytime.

  I’d drop and give him ten.

  I thought he was going to kiss her

  Bets on how long before he does kiss her?

  Where do I sign up for sports drink removal detail?

  About time she drenched him. He’s her trainer not her torturer.

  Well at least not everyone was anti-her, Lauren thought with half a smile as she sat in bed scrolling through the tweets and checking the video clips from a very long day. It was yet another one in which she hadn’t been at her best. She’d certainly not meant to lose it and douse Jennings. She seriously thought she had more control than that, but he’d pushed her. He deserved it.

  She was an impressive person. She was the best at what she did, and she was used to having people’s respect. How could she have allowed herself to be reduced to random acts of violence with sport drinks? And worse yet, how could the whole experience have ended up feeling so much like foreplay?

  Jennings had been strangely absent after the drenching. A renowned sports therapist had been brought in to give her a much-needed massage. She’d then spent quality time in the kitchen with the cook showing her how to fix a fabulous tuna steak dinner in under fifteen minutes. Not long after that she’d seen Jennings come out of the Closet. The hard set of his jaw and the tight line of his lips made her wonder if he had been called on the carpet. Strange that. She’d have thought it would be her getting the reprimand. But instead she got a pat on the back.

  Claire sent a gushing email, saying the little sports drink bath was a spot of genius, like the whole thing had been planned. Well if that’s what she thought, fine. According to Claire, the day’s little battle had sent the ratings through the roof. The number of people signing up for the follow-along version of Wolf’s training programme had skyrocketed, and the incident was trending on Twitter and Facebook. The team in charge of the online responses was working overtime, and Claire suspected they’d have to hire extra help.

  Del Allen, however, was still convinced that Lauren would drop out. Let him think what he wanted.

  Chapter 5

  It Gets Real

  Their first dry day dawned clear and bright, and Lauren was surprised when her uniform for the morning turned out to be walking gear. “The physical challenge of choice in the Lake District is fell running,” Wolf explained to the camera. “For those who prefer a little more certainty of footing, as well as more leisure to enjoy the wonderful views, it’s fell walking,” he added, checking Lauren’s Fitbit, “Walking is the cornerstone to a healthy lifestyle. And there’s no place like Lakeland to enjoy the experience.”

  He had said enjoy. They may have been up since stupid o’clock, but Lauren was awake enough to hear that much. Enjoying was hardly what she would have called it. As they started the ascent up Walla Crag, her lungs went into shock and her legs burned. Still, even she had to admit, being out in the fresh air and the gorgeous Lakeland surroundings beat the hell out of any gym torture Wolf had put her through. That still didn’t make it easier. It was just a nicer kind of torture.

  When she stopped to gasp for breath, Wolf moved to her side not even breathing hard. “This is an easy walk, Michaels. Kids do it. Parents with toddlers on their backs do it. Even pensioners do it.”

  Huffing and gasping, she turned her back to the camera that continually filmed her humiliation for the world to see and, for his eyes only, she subtly gave him the finger.

  The bastard only chuckled and leaned in close. “If you think you’ve got the energy for it.”

  Jesus! Did he actually say that, or was she so oxygen deprived that she was imagining things? Before she could dwell on it, the drill sergeant returned in spades.

  “Move it Michaels! I’m not running a spa. Push it. I’m not getting any younger.”

  Bringing to mind every foul name she could think of to call him, if she’d had the oxygen to speak, she pushed forward, the internal name-calling becoming a mantra that kept her moving ever upward. By the time she reached the summit of Walla Crag, she hated him with a hate that burned almost as much as her air-deprived lungs – until she took in the view. Then hatred dissipated, leaving room for nothing but awe. Far below Derwent Water mirrored the blue of the sky with its few candy floss clouds. Beyond that the Lakeland fells rose up in all their majesty. For just a moment, she forgot how bad she hurt, until she slipped on a wet rock. She yelped – she might well have uttered a curse for the camera. But before her butt hit the ground, Wolf had her around the waist, settling her back on her feet.

  “Careful, Michaels. One of the dangers of walking here is looking at the gorgeous scenery when you should be paying attention to where you’re stepping. Always stop before you look. Besides,” he whispered next to her ear, “stopping to take in the view is a great way to catch your breath.”

  With her still reeling from the first intimations that the man she’d met in the pub might still actually exist, Jennings turned toward the camera, explaining why walking was its own reward—with or without the Lakeland views. The views, however, most definitely made the challenge worthwhile, Lauren thought.

  But it went downhill from there – literally, as Lauren discovered descents were at least as painful as going up. Different muscles screamed and seized. Joints strained from taking her full weight on the downward haul. Her body found a hundred not-so-subtle ways to call her a traitor, and it wasn’t even noon by the time they got back to the Wolf’s Lair.

  Lunch was followed by a Pilates session with a woman who looked angelic, but once Lauren was under her spell, she was pretty sure the chick moonlighted in a dungeon somewhere. Still she wasn’t nearly so stiff by the time she hit the shower. There were a lot of tweets and comments on the great Lakeland views.

  Perhaps fell running is in Lauren Michaels’ future?

  Maybe even the Bob Graham Round? Now there’s a challenge for her!

  Lauren didn’t know what the hell t
he Bob Graham Round was. She hadn’t thought about the challenge she’d face at the end of the six weeks. Right now she just wanted to survive it. She’d have to research this Bob Graham Round when she had a little more time. But it would have to wait until after their end of the week interviews in the studio.

  ***

  The studio lounge overlooked the gym in front with a backdrop of the Lakeland fells behind. She sat next to Wolf in the not-so-comfy chairs affectionately known as the hot seats. Misty and Del faced them.

  “It’s been a week,” Del began, “and frankly, Lauren, there were a lot of us who didn’t think you’d make it this far. Is it a testament to your toughness, or is it due to Wolf’s skills as a trainer?”

  “I really don’t know how to answer that,” she responded. “I’m still dazed by it all.”

  “Some say it’s just dumb luck,” Del pushed. “What do you say to that?”

  Next to her Wolf tensed. His hands contracted to tight fists around the chair arms.

  Before she could respond the presenter pressed on. “You’ve been badly behaved, ill tempered, lazy and uncooperative from the get-go. All you have to do is read down through the twitter feed to see that. You’ve made Wolf’s job a nightmare, and I am seriously wondering why Claire Amos thought you the best person to put in this position, when clearly you’re not cut out for anything that doesn’t involve spin and marketing.”

  Lauren was used to dealing with aggressive people. If she didn’t have a thick skin, she wouldn’t have gotten where she was in the business, and still Del’s remarks felt like a gut-punch.

  “Your stats are looking a little better after a week, Lauren,” Misty spoke up in an effort to defuse the situation. “Body fat down a little, muscle mass up a bit.” The stats flashed across the screen. “Tell us, after a week of intensive training, do you have a challenge in mind for the end of your six weeks, you know, to put Wolf’s training skills and your fitness to the test?”