Race For Love

by Nana Malone

  He shrugged. "Okay suit yourself. But we're going to lay some ground rules." As he spoke, he piled chicken salad onto the thick slices of fresh baked wheat bread. He cut two sandwiches and carried them to the table. After grabbing them both water he sat.

  "Rules?" She wasn’t looking forward to this, but the sooner she knew what she was dealing with, the better she'd feel.

  "For starters, no more aides. Everyone goes. I know it probably made sense when you first got home, but not anymore. I can help you with anything you need help with."

  She flushed when she thought about how she needed help getting in the shower sometimes. "I'm not sure how I feel—"

  "It's a rule Kisima. It will make you rely on yourself to do things. Modify where you need to, but it makes you self-sufficient. You have full mobility of your legs. I want you to start using them."

  She'd expected that. "Fine, whatever."

  "Glad to see you so amenable to my rules today. Next, no giving up, no running, no telling me to leave because shit is hard. Some of what I ask you to do will be painful and it will hurt, but I expect you to work hard, to push through. No quitting."

  "Is that what you think I've been doing for the last several weeks? Giving up?"

  He took a bite and groaned. As he wiped his mouth he spoke around the napkin. “We make a pretty good team." When he was done chewing, he added, "Oh, and you're going to start taking your pain meds."

  "No. You can't force me and I won't take them."

  "Usually I can't get people to kick their meds, but you won’t take them. Why not?"

  "None of your business. But that's one rule that's not happening."

  He held up a hand. "Look, you're going to be in pain. That small bit I had you do just now, you're going to be hurting from in a few hours. You need sleep. The meds will help you get that."

  He could say whatever he wanted, but she wasn't budging. "You don't need to know why, but you do need to know that I'm not doing it."

  He sighed. "We don’t have time to argue. What if I limited the medication to acetaminophen and ibuprofen? No narcotics, then will you work with me? This will all go more smoothly if you don't feel like hot buttered ass all the time."

  The laugh bubbled out of her mouth before she even knew what was happening. He grinned and winked at her. He also nudged her plate closer, encouraging her to eat. In that moment she decided that the man should do nothing but smile all the time.

  "Wow, that's a sound I haven't heard in a long time."

  She shouldn't have jumped. It was just Christian — and it's not like they were doing anything wrong. Except, the idea of doing something wrong with a guy like Derek Donovan didn't seem like a bad idea at all. Christian leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Hey. Honestly, I didn't expect the two of you to be laughing. And if there was laughter I expected it of the maniacal variety with one of you standing over the other's body."

  "We're just getting acquainted. Derek has some rules he wants me to abide by."

  Christian's brows rose. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

  Derek smiled coolly. "All geared around getting her mobility back. Things she can and honestly should already be doing for herself. As well as how hard I expect her to work."

  "Great news." Christian grinned at her. And to avoid talking to him, she took a huge bite of her sandwich. He frowned. "Kiss, what are you eating? Let me call up to Marta to have her bring you the fresh gazpacho. The carbs won't be good for you until you get back on your feet again. Honestly, why did you struggle to make something when Marta would have just taken care of it." He turned to Derek. "I'm sorry about that. She has it in her head that she needs to be super strong all the time. I keep trying to tell her that she should let me take care of her."

  Kiss flushed hot with shame and anger. This was why she didn't want to come back here. That feeling like she couldn't be trusted to take care of herself. Food got decided for her, cars picked out, clothes laid out. It suffocated her.

  Derek raised a brow. "Well, there are some studies that show that low fat, high carb diets can aid with wound healing, besides, she's going to need the energy in a few minutes." He shrugged and slid his gaze over her again. "Besides, she can stand to gain a few pounds."

  Kiss wanted to simultaneously slap and hug Derek. "I like chicken salad so I'm going to eat it. Besides, one of Derek's new rules is that I cook for myself. I think it's a great idea."

  Christian's tight frown said he clearly didn't agree. "You can't be serious. She's practically an—"

  Derek shook his head. "Be careful what you say next. I also have a strict policy of what words I allow around my trainees. If you're going to say anything that will undermine her progress and suggest in any way that she may not make a full recovery, she doesn't need to hear it. Isn't that right, Kisima?"

  Okay, not like she liked him, but that was awesome.

  Derek darted his glance between them before he said, "I'm going to go ahead and take this to my room, and give you guys some privacy.”

  She shook her head. "You don't have to do that."

  Christian missed the cue. "Actually it would be nice to have my girl all to myself. For a bit." Emphasis on the “my.”

  Derek's easy-going countenance shifted slightly, like he was thinking up ways to kill Christian. But then the smile was back. "I'll leave you to it and get settled. Kisima be ready to work in thirty."

  Christian balked. "But you just got here. Surely you can't expect her to just jump in."

  "I can and I do." Both men squared off.

  Kiss put a hand on Christian's arm. "Why do I feel like I just got a golden shower. I keep telling you I'm not into the freaky shit." Derek barked out a laugh, then restrained himself immediately. Christian just looked irritated.

  When Derek's footsteps faded along the expanse of hardwood floor, she turned her glare to Christian. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  He shrugged. "I don’t think I like the guy."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "There's something about the way he looks at you."

  She gestured at herself and the chair. "You mean with pity and derision? Come on. You're being crazy."

  "I feel it. I'm telling you. Maybe I shouldn't go on my trip. Give you a hand around here. Maybe find you someone else. Clearly this guy doesn't know what he's talking about."

  Christian had been planning this trip for over a month. Gifford Racing wanted him at their London headquarters for planning meetings for the upcoming season. "Go, it's important. I'll be fine. I need to do this."

  He slid his gaze around. "Maybe, but if you need me..."

  She shifted in her chair and winced at the pain along with that lingering look he gave her. What the fuck was that all about? "I know where to find you. Bring me Cadbury's chocolate, the one with hazelnut."

  He kissed her forehead and she fought the urge to shrug him off. Why was it she was more anxious to get to training than she was to stay in Christian's arms?

  "Of course." He held on a breath too long like always. He was so close that for one terrifying moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. But he didn't. "Kiss, there is something else."

  "Oh yeah?" She inched her head back so they weren't in such close kissing range.

  "I was thinking, when I get back, we can go out?"

  "To celebrate me driving again? I'm down for that." She smiled but still tried to buy her some mere inches. She loved him, but there was friendship, and then there was close-talking friendship. And they were not there yet.

  He sighed and shook his head. "No, uh, more like a date. But we can make it a celebration too."

  Shit. For months she'd sensed the subtle change in their dynamic and she'd let it go because she didn't want to do the awkward, awful thing. She cared about him and didn't want to hurt him. "A-a date?"

  He nodded. "C'mon, Kiss. We've known each other forever and we care about each other. Not to mention that neither one of us seems to be able to make it work with other people."

  Ye
ah, what about the hot and heavy stuff? He was missing the most important component. "Christian, I don't think—"

  He shook his head. "Look, how about you don't answer now. Think about it and give me an answer when I get back. Either way, dinner's on me. But, I hope you say yes."

  As she watched him walk out, all she could think was that she had one more unpleasant task to look forward to.

  6

  "'Sup, D3?"

  Derek smiled as he cradled his phone between his shoulder and ear and unpacked his bag. When their father had married Sarah, Dylan had given him the nickname because all three kids had D names. Delilah, Dylan and Derek. He was the youngest. The name had stuck.

  "What's up, asshole? So am I actually going to see you now that I'm in town or what?" Ever since Dylan had joined the FBI a couple of years ago, he'd seen his brother less and less. Usually only twice a year. It was a stroke of luck that Dylan was working a case in Los Angeles now.

  "I don't know, you make it sound so appealing," his brother drawled.

  "Shut up and tell me you have your pick up lines picked out. My boy Ray, who left the Jags last year to play for the Lakers, is going to hook us up at some it club this weekend. You can't back out on me."

  His brother sighed. "You realize I'm out here to work, right, not party it up with starlets?"

  "You're really not going to meet your brother for a drink?"

  Dylan was notorious. Even as a kid he'd been like an old man in a kid's body. Always the responsible one. Always the one taking on the mantle of looking out for everyone. The little adult. Clubbing wasn't really his thing. Therefore, Derek made it his personal mission to see that his big brother had some fun every now and again.

  "No, I'll be there. Just tell me where. I just want it to be known it's under protest."

  Kind of like he was here under protest? He couldn't believe she'd called. What’s more, he couldn't believe he'd said yes. Just thinking about Kisima set his teeth on edge. He kept trying to remind himself that she was just one more spoiled, beautiful, rich girl who thought she could skate by in life. But fuck, he wanted this one.

  From the moment she'd jutted her chin out at him and challenged his assumption about her recovery, he was a goner. There was only one word to describe what he felt when she'd told him it wasn't going to work out...relief. Okay, first, annoyance, then relief. And now, like an idiot, he'd walked right back into the lion's den wearing a meat suit.

  But he wanted to work. And a small part of him was terrified that Kallie's influence would prove stronger than the truth. He had to find alternatives. But that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

  Although, he glanced around at his surroundings, if he had to be here under protest, there were worse places to be. The room Kisima had given him was huge. And thankfully, the bed was a California King, so his feet wouldn't dangle off. The bathroom had a shower big enough to host a party in, and the stereo system was state of the art to make him nearly weep.

  But a sick room didn't change the fact that he was going to have a hell of a time with her. He didn't need them to be best friends forever, but they did need to get along. Be on the same team, on the same page. And it would certainly help if that challenge he saw in her eyes didn't make him want to bite her lip. He cleared his throat and dragged his attention back to his brother. "Just like that bar in Adams Morgan when I came to DC? You went home with that blonde under protest?"

  He could hear the humor in his brother's voice when he said, "Well, you'd worked so hard to get me to talk to her, so I figured it was only right for me to at least put my back into it."

  "The things you do for family." Derek chortled. He'd missed this. Missed his big brother. Dylan was the only person that knew exactly what it felt like when their mother had walked out because she realized she didn’t want to be a mother.

  "I'm all about self sacrifice." Dylan was quiet for a moment, then asked, "So how's it going, you getting settled in?"

  Derek glanced around. "Yeah, you know, it could be worse." That was a hell of an understatement. The carpet in his room was so plush that his feet all but sank in with every step he took. He could fucking live in there. Fuck, the bathroom even had its own sauna.

  "And you? You feeling okay about the gig?"

  He recognized the worry in Dylan's voice. "You can relax D2. I'm cool. I'm confident about this appeal. I'll only be here for a few weeks, then I'll be back where I belong. Besides, do you really want to talk about my new patient, or do you want to talk about who gets Sofia Vergara when she walks into the club this weekend?"

  Keep it light. As close as he and his brother were, he still didn't want to go into exactly how he was feeling. Or mention the terror that nipped at his heels while he ran toward resolution. This all had to work out the way he'd planned. There was only one outcome he was willing to accept and it didn't involve accepting the status quo. He would help Kisima, and then he'd be out. He wouldn't be here long. He'd be returning to his life in no time.

  "Clearly she likes grown men so that puts you out of the running, little brother."

  "We'll see about that. Listen, I'll text you details, okay? I need to commence the torture." Derek checked the clock. He figured he'd given Prince Charming enough time to clear out. Something about the guy rubbed him the wrong way. It shouldn't matter, but it did.

  "Cool, see you this weekend."

  As he hung up with Dylan and grabbed his plate, he sucked in a deep breath. He could keep his shit under control. She was just a client. No big deal. All he had to do was get through the assessment session with her. He could keep his hormones under control for that long. He hoped. Just remember Kallie. Remember why fucking her is a bad idea.

  ***

  War. This was war. And Derek and Kiss had drawn their battle lines. As for positive things she could say about him went, he was punctual. That was the extent of it. They hadn't even started yet and she was pretty sure she was going to hate every single minute of this torture.

  When she'd met him at the front door of the gym, he'd taken one look at her chair and scowled. Well, tough titties for him. He was going to have to deal with the fact that she was in a wheelchair. It wasn't by choice.

  He was silent for a minute before he said, "So, Christian is your boyfriend?"

  She slid him a glance. "I'm not sure if that's any of your business."

  "Well, considering that for the next month or so, I'll be your trainer, confessor, teacher, object of your disdain, and at times your only ally, it kind of is my business. I need to know if he'll be standing in the way of your progress." He inclined his head toward the guesthouse. "From the way it seemed back there, I felt like I was stepping on toes or whatever."

  "He is not my boyfriend."

  "Ah, I see. He just wishes he was."

  She scoffed. "He does not. He's practically my brother."

  Derek shrugged as he swiped his keycard at the gym and opened the handicap doors to let her in. "Practically and exactly aren't the same things."

  "It's not like that with us. We're really close is all. I grew up here. He thinks it's his job to protect me."

  Derek clamped his jaw shut. The muscle just under his cheekbone worked.

  "What?"

  He raised his brows as he turned on the lights to the rehab facility that TJ had had installed. "What, what?"

  "You clearly have something to say."

  "Not my business."

  "Oh really?" She cocked her head to the side that didn't send shards of crystalized pain through her body. "What happened to my father confessor?"

  He crossed his arms. "Okay, if that's how you want it. He's controlling, overbearing. Thinks he knows best and he's holding you back. He thinks he's helping you by doing everything for you, but it's hurting you. You've used your shoulder more in the two hours I've been here than you have in the last couple of weeks since you've been cleared to start working out. It's not good for you and he's impeding your progress."

  He stood close to her chair
and she could feel the heat rising off of him. He was so tall she had to force herself to look up so she could see him. More pain. "Okay, Dr. Phil. I see you have a problem with Christian. Not to worry though, he'll be in London for a few weeks so you can feel free to torture me at will."

  "Great," he muttered, not looking at all happy about the prospect.

  "Fine."

  "Let's get started then." His body was rigid.

  What the hell had bitten him on the ass? "Let the fun begin. Why are you so pissed off, if I'm the one about to be tortured? And you talk about my sunny disposition. You know what they say about a guy with an attitude?"

  "What's that?"

  She grinned. "The only way you'll ever get laid is if you crawl up a chicken's ass and wait."

  His lips twitched first. Then his shoulders. His head dropped last as a low, sexy rumble rolled out of him. "You have a smart mouth."

  "Thank you. It goes with my brain. Now weren't you the one who said this would be painless if we worked together?"

  "That I did. Let's get on with the painless."

  As it turned out, painless was a misnomer. For the next hour she hurt. Everything hurt. Even parts of her that hadn't been injured. Hell, even her face hurt. He had her using weights, and checking her range of motion in the chair, out of the chair, and on the equipment around the room.

  Just when she thought she might pass out from the pain he said, "That's enough for now. Let's head back and I'll put together your training plan based on what I've seen this afternoon."

  She sagged in the chair. "You go ahead, I'm gonna just sit here and pass out for a few minutes."

  "You're not ready to quit on me are you?"

  She leveled him with a direct gaze. "What, and turn out to be the pampered princess you created in your imagination. I'm going to love proving you wrong too much for that. Bring it on." And she meant every word...just as soon as she had a shower and some rest. Fuck the shower, her bed was far more appealing at the moment.