Torso up, exhaling into the stretch, I answered honestly. “Sometimes. But I don’t think about it much.”
“Is your family still there?”
“Yes.” Funny, when she said family I pictured my friends, Liam, Jax and Ian. The ones I’d been with through hell and back. It had been too long since we’d all gotten together.
“Do you miss them?”
“Yup.” I didn’t explain my answer. I’d made my peace with my parents, but we’d never been that close anyway. As for explaining anything else? Too complicated.
It was time to turn the tables. After she eased me down, I looked at her with a gleam in my eye.
“Have you gone for your run, yet?”
“No, I slept until eight. I’m such a slacker.” There was that smile from her again. Was she teasing me for getting up early? So sassy.
“Why don’t you lie back?” I suggested. “I’ll stretch you.” OK, I hadn’t intended that with a double meaning. I’d really meant I could stretch her hamstring for her. But now that I’d mentioned it…
“No, that’s fine, you’d don’t have to.” She looked away, flushing. Seemed like her mind had gone the dirty route as well. Interesting.
“Have you already stretched?”
“No, but—”
“I can’t have my favorite physical therapist hitting a trail and pulling a hamstring. Where would that leave me?”
She cracked a smile. “So, this is really all about you, then?”
“Or you could think of all the little children out there rooting for me. Where will they be if I don’t even medal in Rio? All because my therapist didn’t take proper care of herself.”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes a bit, but I could tell she found it funny. Score one for me. She studiously avoided making eye contact while I stretched her. I’d done it a hundred times, with male and female teammates. Athletes grew accustomed to touching, squeezing and prodding, all with little-to-no clothing.
But I could tell we were both intensely aware of our intimacy as I pressed and pulled, my hands along her supple and lithe limbs. As I drew my hand along her hip, I saw her intake of breath. My stroke along her thigh made her tense before she relaxed into the stretch.
I knew my gaze darkened as I discovered I could practically fold her leg right up her torso. She was really flexible. That opened up so many opportunities, inspired such creativity. Had I thought I had a day of training ahead of me? Wouldn’t it be better to blow off some steam right here in the hotel room?
She was out of my suite before I even knew what had happened.
“Thanks!” she called out over her shoulder as she bolted.
Huh. I didn’t think I’d crossed any lines, in any obvious way at least. Maybe she was a mind reader. Running a hand through my hair, I resigned myself to Plan A. There were gold medals hanging in the balance, after all. Better to stick to my training regimen and play it safe.
§
“Which flavor smoothie do you want? Berry? Or peanut butter and chocolate?”
“Who is this calling me at this late hour?”
Her teasing made me smile. Not that many people teased me. I was too revered, too feared for that. But Emma liked doing it, in her gentle, sweet manner. I’d only known her three days and I already found myself craving her presence. Which led me to do dorky things like call her right after I’d said good night to her after our evening session.
“I’m going to make us smoothies tomorrow morning. I need to take your order.”
We fell into an easy banter, her telling me that I was trying to fatten her up, me assuring her I liked her just the way she was. It was easier to talk to her when I wasn’t so close, looking at her slim hips and long legs, her breasts the perfect size to cup in my hands. On the phone, sitting on the couch, I could relax more.
“Are you seeing anyone?” See what kinds of questions rolled out of my mouth once I relaxed? Maybe it was better if I stayed tense.
She paused, then answered slowly. “No…why do you ask?”
Because I’m only narrowly avoiding violating all kinds of professional standards of conduct. I thought that. But instead, like all people without a good answer, I skirted around the question. “When’s the last time you were serious with someone?”
I could hear her blow out an exhale. Was that a heavy question? I really didn’t have so much experience with this get-to-know-you phase with a woman.
“I’m not sure you need to know the dating history of your physical therapist.” She didn’t answer my question, but I could hear a light, teasing warmth in her voice. I still had her engaged.
“Are we on a need-to-know basis? I hadn’t realized this was a secret ops military thing.”
She laughed and I could picture her doing it, maybe looking down as she held the phone to her ear.
“I don’t know you all that well.” The more she hesitated, the more I wanted to know. What was her story? Had she just broken up with someone?
“I think this is how people get to know each other.” I sounded light. I hoped I did at least. This wasn’t the kind of thing I did every day, making overtures, extending myself.
“All right. But you need to tell me all about yourself, too,” she warned.
“Agreed.”
She started in, giving me the basic run down, the brief, fly-by version of her unsuccessful dating history: two cheaters and a straight-up swindler. Apparently her most recent boyfriend—over ten months ago—had been a real hustler, borrowing money from her all the time, always with an explanation, a compelling story about how things were on the upswing.
“I was such an idiot,” she summed it up.
“Sounds like he was the idiot.” I hated the idea of some asshole taking advantage of her. I could picture the kind of smooth-talking guy she described. He could stand a swift punch to the jaw.
“I’ve got a real knack for picking them,” she admitted, going on to tell me about how her first love and then her second had interpreted the word monogamy much differently than her. I didn’t like it, not one bit, hearing about her getting cheated on. Or hearing about her having fallen for anyone else.
“My best friend Tori says I need to toughen up,” she continued. “Stop being such a sucker.”
“Maybe you just need to date the right guy?”
The silence between us as we sat on the phone spoke volumes. What was I saying, exactly? Was I volunteering for that role? Was I even the good guy I thought I was? I didn’t exactly have the perfect dating history myself.
As if on cue, she asked, “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nope,” I answered honestly. My relentless training schedule didn’t leave a lot of time for much of anything else, never mind a romantic relationship. My solo status had contributed to my reputation in the press for being a driven, cold machine. And it wasn’t just reporters who labeled me that way. What was it my last girlfriend had called me? Oh yes, that’s right.
“I have to be honest,” I said with a sigh, wondering why exactly I felt the need. “I don’t have the best track record. The last woman I dated broke up with me by throwing a bunch of dishes around my kitchen and calling me a robot.”
“Nice,” she commented. I couldn’t tell from her neutral tone which side she was on. But I pushed forward, airing my dirty laundry. I guess I figured it was better to get it all out in the open.
“I don’t know if I deserved the broken dishes, but the robot part?” I shrugged my shoulders, sitting on the couch. “She had a point. I train every day, all day.”
“That doesn’t leave a lot of room for dating.” Now she sounded more sympathetic. I guess honesty had its benefits.
“I’ve always dated the pool,” I confessed. “And I’m not into three-ways.”
She laughed again, soft and light.
“I don’t share.” My voice came out low and gravelly, and again, we fell into silence, this time a heated one. I mulled over my choices, what I could say next. I knew I should take
the conversation into a polite, clear goodnight. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to take the conversation from phone to in-person to not so much talking at all.
“Would you—” I started inviting her back over to my suite at the same moment she said, “Guess I should be heading to bed.”
“Right!” I covered my ass. I hadn’t just been about to say something wildly inappropriate. Something that might make her run in the other direction instead of stay on as my physical therapist for the next month.
“What were you going to say?” she asked.
“Would you like a berry smoothie tomorrow?” Quick thinking. I had a feeling she didn’t totally buy it.
“You don’t have to, Chase. But, yes, I do like berry smoothies.”
“Berry it is.”
Sitting there off the phone I kept thinking of her. What did she sleep in? A little T-shirt and shorts? Just a tank top and panties? It was hot in San Antonio. Maybe she wasn’t big on air conditioning. Maybe she had the window cracked for a breeze in the hot night and wore a whole lot of nothing.
It wasn’t fair. She’d seen me nearly naked. She got to touch me all over. I’d gotten to touch her hamstring. I’d liked it, but it was like getting just a taste of an amazing meal. It only made you want more.
She devoted herself to helping others, figuring out their needs and tending to them. Did anyone do that for her? What made her tick? I wanted to find out.
But I didn’t exactly know how to go about it. I wasn’t kidding when I’d told her I’d dated the pool. I’d never had time to devote to a girlfriend. In my early twenties, one too many relationships I’d thought were causal had escalated, at least on the woman’s side, and blown up in my face. I’d learned my lesson. It was far easier to fly solo in pursuit of my golden goal.
Despite what the tabloids said, depicting me and some of my teammates as the bad boys of swimming, I didn’t enjoy hurting people. I mostly just devoted myself to my sport. I’d spent a lot more nights alone than I had with company.
Right now was a hell of a time to rock the boat. Any coach worth his salt would tell me, “don’t try anything new before a major competition.” And what was more major than the Olympics? That was as big as it got for a swimmer. Emma was right. Better to keep this simple.
I remembered the dish-throwing episode. I didn’t want any more of that. How could I honestly even be thinking about starting something a month before the biggest, most intense competition of my life? A casual hook up, sure, that would make sense. A night of fun, blowing off steam.
But that wasn’t me. And for some reason I just knew, that wasn’t Emma, either. Something in her seemed both fragile and still, like a bird, watchful, curious, observant. I wanted to get as close as I could and find out more about her, but it would take time and patience.
The thing was, I didn’t have time, not right now. And I certainly didn’t need anything messy or complicated in my life. So over the next month, I’d just get to know her better in a professional colleague-type capacity, athlete and therapist. No big deal.
At least that was what I told myself.
CHAPTER 5
Emma
The next day I saw him swim.
I hadn’t really planned on it. I woke up early, so I decided to go for a walk before meeting him at his room at nine. My entire body buzzed with anticipation. I tried to tell myself it was just that I was excited about this assignment, on my way to the Olympics, scooping Chase.
But it was the man, himself. I loved being around him. Of all the problems I’d expected to run into, I was completely unprepared for that.
I’d heard that Chase was cold, so focused and driven and intense he bordered on inhuman. I’d wondered how I could make him notice me, get on his radar and then gain his confidence and trust. But the man I’d met seemed to genuinely want to get to know me. He’d even offered to make me a smoothie of my choice.
I’d heard that he slept his way through women, taking full advantage of his God-like physique and celebrity status. I’d wondered if I’d see him acting like an ass, throwing away women like used dishrags, kicking them out of his hotel room crying. But I hadn’t seen that. Granted, this was only the fourth day I’d spent around him so it wasn’t as if I could vouch for all of his past behavior. But the man I’d met didn’t go out picking up random women at night. If he’d had a woman in his bed from a one-night-stand, I’d know. We spent a lot of time together.
I could tell that was exactly what some of his teammates did. They constantly hit on members of the team’s entourage. Interestingly, they never hit on me. It wasn’t exactly shocking, but I did find it curious. I didn’t look like a swimsuit model by any stretch of the imagination. My strictly B-cups and slim hips were more made for running than enticing men like Jessica Rabbit. But I was a fit 25-year-old woman, accustomed to a certain amount of attention and interest. When I walked into a bar it wasn’t as if every man’s jaw dropped to the floor, but usually a few made their way over with a cheesy line or two.
From Chase’s teammates? Nothing. Even from the lady-killers of the bunch, the ones I realized I’d had on my client roster before Chase had taken me all to himself. They hit on most anything that moved, and a fair number of women moved right up close to them in very short skirts. To me, though, they had only a polite smile and a nod. Like I was their sister. Or like I was already taken. By Chase.
I didn’t know how I felt about it. Add it to the long and growing list. Last night on the phone with Chase I’d practically been ready to hang up and run over to his hotel room to have hot and sweaty, pounding sex all night long. Good thing we’d ended the conversation before I’d slipped on my running sneakers.
Already warm enough early in the morning for a thin tank top and shorts, I made my way around the hotel complex adjacent to the sports center. It was huge and hosted teams from all over the world. I didn’t have time for a run, but stretching my legs felt like a smart thing to do with all my restless energy before I saw Chase.
Except I realized I didn’t have to wait. I could see him now, couldn’t I? I saw the natatorium in the distance, with the gigantic Olympic-sized swimming pool, 18-lanes wide. You could probably see it from the moon. Texas liked to do things big.
I couldn’t resist. With a new spring in my step, I beelined it to the pool, excited about getting a sneak peek at Chase. This was when he did his first swim workout of the day. Not to be confused with his dry-land exercise program, or his afternoon swim workout. No wonder the man had a reputation as intense. He had to be.
Opening the door, I didn’t hear much, just a few voices over by the pool. I snuck my way over to the side, then closer where I could grab a seat in the viewing area. There were about 12 swimmers doing laps. Which one was Chase?
The minute I spotted him, I knew. There were people swimming in the pool, and there was one flying.
Breathless, I watched him part the water, his long, powerful arms carving out a straight and true path. He barely seemed to exert any effort, gliding through the lane as if propelled by an unseen force. A rocket, maybe? I knew he’d explained to me that these early a.m. workouts weren’t even for speed. They were laid-back. Relaxed.
If that was what Chase Carter looked like when he kicked back, I couldn’t imagine him going for it. A shiver traveled down my spine. How many hours had he devoted to reach that kind of peak physical performance? How much effort had it taken to push himself to the absolute limit and beyond? I’m not going to lie, I felt awed.
And a twinge of something else. Unease? Guilt, perhaps? It wasn’t as if I were there trying to dig for a story to ruin his good name. The kind of pieces I liked writing for our blog were feel-good stories, celebrating the best in people. There was enough mud-slinging and hatred in the world without my contributing to it.
But I was spending the next month with him trying to do something he’d very much tried not to do: uncover and share his past. What had happened all those years ago in the boating accident? Why did he never t
alk about it? Was it just because it was a difficult memory? Or was there more?
How would he feel if a story ran about his past? I’d have anonymity, so I could do it without him ever knowing it was me. But even if I focused on his strengths, how he’d overcome adversity, he still might feel violated and upset.
I could talk to him before I wrote it, ask his permission. And risk him saying no. Or I could quit. I could pack up my bags and be on the next flight home. I was sure the team managers could find someone else to take care of Chase in the coming weeks. I’d had to use every connection I had and then some to get into this job. Everyone wanted to have a part in securing Olympic victory.
But sitting there watching pure magic happen in the pool right before my eyes at 8:30 a.m. on a Thursday morning in July, I knew I couldn’t leave. I was part of it now, for a whole bundle of reasons I couldn’t even try to untangle. For one, I didn’t have the time. I had an appointment I needed to keep with a superhero, right after I slipped out from the pool undetected and crept out the back to go meet him at his suite.
“What’d you think?” That was the first thing he said when he sauntered up to meet me. Hotel staff had given me a card to his room, but I still felt awkward about using it so I stood outside the door. It seemed too intimate to let myself in.
“About what?” Nice work playing dumb, I congratulated myself. Now maybe I could divert his attention. Where was something distracting when you needed it? And, no, the ripples of his ab muscles didn’t count. They were most definitely not helping.
“I saw you watching me swim this morning.” He flashed me a crooked smile. And if that weren’t enough to make my knees weak, he gave me a sly wink. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re a fan.”
“How do you know I was there to watch you swim?” I managed a saucy retort. “There were a bunch of people in the pool. Maybe I was there to watch one of your teammates?”
In Deep: Chase & Emma (All In Book 1) Page 4