by Joanne Rock
“Depends.” He tugged her down a few rows toward the rail he would have to hop to get back on the field. “You might have to do the umbrella trick to get past the media after the big splash your video made.”
She fished in her handbag and pulled out her brand-new Scrapers purse-size model still in the shrink-wrap. “I’ve got just the thing.”
“Then it’s a date.” He kissed her then, his mouth settling over hers with warm possession, a kiss that brought out every camera phone in the area and made Jamie’s thoughts scramble.
“I’m crazy about you, too,” she whispered, keeping the embrace PG out of respect for all the children’s charities his foundation helped. She’d studied up on him online and she’d been more than a little impressed. “Swing for the fences, big guy.”
His grin wrinkled the corners of his eyes and he backed away to take his place on the field.
“Always.”
TALKING SMACK
1
“DON’T STOP.”
Javier Velasquez panted the command over a wave of feel-good endorphins as the woman above him sank her fingernails into his inner thigh. He wanted to praise her, to parcel out some kind word to encourage her. But he couldn’t even remember her name right now when his body throbbed under her touch.
Sweat rolled down his forehead, a testament to how hard he’d worked himself during the first half of their hour together. But this bliss he felt was more than reward enough. He wanted to kiss his nameless female companion senseless for what she was doing with her strong, silky hands…
“Mr. Velasquez,” she said sharply. “Are you resisting?”
The woman was all business when he wanted to revel in the moment. What was it about women that demanded they talk at these times?
“Baby, I can’t resist another minute.” Opening his eyes, he grinned at her and sat up on the physical therapy table. “Let’s ditch this place and go somewhere more private to finish what we’ve started.”
His new athletic trainer straightened from where she’d been working on his groin muscles. The fury in her flushed face couldn’t be mistaken and he knew a moment’s regret for teasing her. It wasn’t her fault his nagging manager had demanded the extra daily sessions with her to prevent another injury this year. He knew these sessions were as much for babysitting purposes as they were for his muscles. If he was in the clubhouse training facility everyday, he couldn’t be out raising hell and having fun.
And that’s what the Chicago Flames coaching staff objected to about him most of all. They couldn’t stand it that their All-Star slugger knew how to have a good time off the field.
“You’d better get your head out of your ass and a muzzle on your mouth, Velasquez.” The woman leveled an accusatory finger at his chest as her eyes narrowed. “If you think you can send me running out of here crying sexual harassment because of a few sorry lines I’ve heard a hundred times, you’re sadly mistaken. Now roll over, champ, and take it like a man.”
She moved to the sink nearby and washed her hands with brisk, efficient movements, pausing midway to change the radio station from some dentist office Muzak to hard rock. She cranked the volume as if she could tune him out totally, then pumped out massage oil from a dispenser bottle she kept strapped to her waist.
Javier studied her, vaguely disappointed he couldn’t coerce her into taking the sweaty session somewhere private. He’d only been half joking about that. The trainer was hot. Even with no makeup and her hair wrenched back in an unforgiving ponytail, she was seriously attractive. The hair swinging against her back was Bond-girl platinum, her figure something any SI swimsuit model would be proud to flaunt. She wasn’t some overinflated product of Miracle Bras or surgery. She was just perfectly proportioned.
“Well?” She’d turned on him while he was fantasizing about her, and her blue eyes glittered with icy challenge. “Are you going to turn over, Mr. Velasquez, or shall I retrieve the cattle prod?”
“Could you at least call me by my first name if you’re going to insult me?” He lay prone as she’d requested, hating the self-indulgent hour spent on his body everyday as if he was some kind of pampered movie star who required a bunch of metrosexual B.S. treatments to appear in public.
Javier had scared off his last athletic trainer by running his mouth and being all-around annoying. In the process, he’d earned himself a week’s vacation from the sessions. But his manager had moved quickly to find someone new.
Enter the Bond girl and her almond-scented massage oil that almost drowned out the scent of sweat in the room. She seemed a hell of a lot more immune to talking smack.
“I would do that, but I don’t think I can use your first name when you can’t be bothered to even remember mine after our third session together.” She went to work on his hamstrings and he willed away the natural pleasure that touch brought.
He’d had female trainers and physical therapists before, so he knew the drill to keep his thoughts platonic. But today, he didn’t feel so inclined to shut down that part of himself. Something about this woman—the facade that said she wasn’t backing down—had awakened his interest.
He swore under his breath that they’d gotten off to such a rough start. “If you tell me one more time, I won’t forget again, I promise.”
If his sleazy pick-up lines hadn’t rattled her, he wasn’t going down that road again. No sense alienating her totally—especially when her hands kneaded him two inches below the family jewels.
And whoa. Had he thought he could keep his thoughts platonic? Her touch was like a freaking lightning strike to his johnson.
“It’s Lisa Whatley.” Her dispassionate words reminded him she wasn’t feeling him the way he was feeling her.
For that matter, relationships between players and team trainers were strictly off-limits in the Chicago Flames organization, so it was probably just as well that she had discipline. God knew, Javier didn’t need to court any more trouble with management or he’d be kissing a fat contract goodbye. He’d pushed his luck with his risk-taking ways this season.
But he’d perfected the art of squeezing every ounce of fun out of life and he wasn’t about to stop now. He’d learned to go for the jugular when his older brother—a father figure to Javier—had died young without ever having experienced a fraction of the joys life had to offer. Manuel’s self-sacrificing ways had put Javier through school while Manuel had a heart attack at twenty-nine without ever getting to follow his own dreams. Javier had made a mission out of living enough dreams for both of them.
“Right. Lisa.” He filed that away in his memory banks and knew he wouldn’t forget again. As of today, the trainer had made an impression on him. “If I can’t send you running, maybe I can convince you to knock off early once in a while? You know, make both our jobs a little easier?”
The rule against fraternizing with team staffers didn’t matter so much if no one knew, right? He debated his chances of spiriting Lisa away from the Flames’ headquarters for an afternoon of fun.
She never paused her methodic strokes up his hamstring, the gentle kneading interspersed with light pummeling now that the hard stretches were complete.
“You’re trying to corrupt me?” She swapped to his other leg and he lifted his head up off the table to catch a view of her in his peripheral vision.
He saw his mistake right away.
She’d bent forward over the utilitarian bed to reach the far side of his body, the movement highlighting a perfectly shaped rear end and taut thighs all too apparent in her sleek black yoga pants.
The visual that translated to in his mind was of her bent over the table and him standing behind her, exploring those curves with his hands before he plunged deep—
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His voice caught on a raspy note as he tried to chase away the image burned in his fevered brain. “Corrupting you, that is.”
“Actually—” she finished her massage with a light slap on his thigh before she turned back to the sink. “I think we�
�ve worked hard enough today where we could afford to call it quits now.”
She ran the water over her hands while Javier wondered how he’d ever get up—er, that is, how he’d ever stand—with her still in the room. His workout shorts wouldn’t begin to hide his sudden inability to handle a little physical therapy, something athletes contended with all the time.
What the hell was the matter with him? This woman had gotten under his skin so fast he’d never seen it coming. Most women vied for his notice, attracted to his career and his paycheck. But this one called him on his bad behavior and gave him serious attitude in return. Hell, yes, he liked Ms. Lisa Whatley.
“Does that work for you?” Lisa turned to peer at him over her shoulder as she dried her hands on a paper towel.
Actually, it had all worked a little too well for him today.
She had him all wound up and damn near speechless—a condition he was not one bit accustomed to feeling.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He wrenched his focus back to a knot in the pine floorboards visible through the hole in the massage table. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When he had his head on straight again and this crazy desire had eased. When he wasn’t salivating over her curves and fantasizing about having her in his bed. He hoped she’d grab her bag and go so he could shake off this unwise attraction.
She didn’t.
Instead, she dropped onto a low trampoline nearby used for a variety of leg and knee rehab.
“So tell me, Javier,” she began, resting her arms on her knees as she shifted into a comfortable position. “Why are you trying to destroy yourself at such an early age?”
LISA WHATLEY WASN’T ABOUT to waste the inroads she’d made with the Chicago Flames All-Star player this afternoon. She’d been hired to do more than administer to the guy’s physical well-being. The head of the training staff for the Flames was an old friend and he’d shared his worries about Velasquez’s over-the-top behavior.
The slugger had gotten in a motorcycle accident during the off-season and hadn’t been wearing a helmet. Then he’d been fined for bungee jumping off a public bridge frequented by thrill seekers. And while no one had ever gotten into legal trouble over the stunt before, the local cops had hoped ticketing Velasquez would serve as an example to others.
Basically, the third baseman had engaged in all kinds of risky behavior, and the team management wanted him to stop. While they could hardly order a psych eval, they could encourage staffers to talk sense into him.
Lisa hadn’t promised any miracles, but she had been drawn to the temporary gig because she could identify with that need to live on the edge. She’d been there herself and survived to tell the tale although—heaven knew—it had been touch and go for a while after she’d crashed a prop plane she’d been trying to fly without a license. Walking away from that accident with the chance to reevaluate her choices in life had made her empathize with Javier’s situation. She didn’t know the reasons behind his risk taking yet, but she identified with him enough that there wasn’t a chance she could refuse to work with him.
Javier didn’t answer her question for a long moment. Finally, he levered himself up to a sitting position on the table and tugged a fresh towel out of a bin nearby to wrap around his neck.
“Is this for my file, Lisa Whatley?” He clenched an end of the towel in each hand, twisting it. “Because I can go right back to harassing you if you’re calling an end to the truce already.”
“We have a truce?” She hadn’t expected to be even remotely charmed by a man who flirted with danger for fun. After conquering her own daredevil impulses, she’d tended to gravitate toward men with quieter temperaments to reinforce her healthier lifestyle choices.
Yet she found herself wanting to know more about him and not just because of his thrill seeking. After only three days of working with him, she could see his intense commitment to his sport. Sure, he’d made a few asinine comments to her today, but he’d waited until he’d put in his time with her. No whining or excuses about not wanting to perform any of the monotonous and occasionally painful exercises he surely found boring. He obviously took excellent care of himself with or without her, and she admired that kind of physical discipline. She understood better than most people how difficult that was to maintain, especially after an injury like he’d had the previous season.
She’d gone into physical therapy after the grueling months of recovery from her accident. Regaining the use of her leg after the way she’d torn up her hip had been difficult, but she’d been intellectually fascinated by the process enough to launch a career.
“Yes.” His dark eyes glittered and she allowed herself a moment to admire his Latin good looks. Tall and dark-skinned, he had pale green eyes that were a surprising combination with the rich color of his skin. His short hair was deep brown, and his features were sharply patrician from the high cheekbones to the straight arrow nose. And as a power hitter, he was strong as an ox, arms full of muscle. “That’s what the first-name basis means. I’ll stop trying to scare you off, but you cease and desist any attempt to get inside my head.”
Her jaw fell open. “I asked you one question. It was direct and straightforward, with no subterfuge.” She shrugged her shoulders and stood. “Forgive my curiosity to know what’s eating you, but as someone who has dangled at the end of a busted bungee cord and known the merits of cliff diving firsthand, I thought we might have something to talk about besides your lame attempt to pick me up.”
Turning on her heel, her gym shoes squeaked on the tile as she marched for the door with a head of steam. He beat her to it. Planting himself between her and the knob before she reached it, her hand connected with his abs instead.
She yanked back her fingers, unwilling to touch him any more than she had to. Attraction between them would be more than problematic—it would get her fired and could be the final straw in Javier’s touchy relationship with the Flames’ management. She couldn’t afford to get hot and bothered from the sincerity in his eyes or the sizzle in his touch.
“I’m an ass.” He held his hands up in surrender, conceding the point. “It’s common knowledge around the League. I guess I assumed you’d been briefed on that character flaw.”
His hands fell to his sides, but he didn’t step away from the door. His quick apology had chased away her irritation anyhow. Ah, who was she kidding? Mouthy Javier had utterly charmed her.
“The character flaw section of the file was too much dense reading, so I skipped it.” She didn’t plan on letting him get away with anything, suspecting he would steamroll any woman who couldn’t hold her own.
But he took no offense, grinning at her in a way that made her heart sit up and take notice.
“That’s great. I can start with a clean slate.” He reached out to her, surprising her by taking her hand in both of his. “Forget what I said. Forget that I’m notoriously difficult to work with. How about we get out of here and have a drink? Get to know each other in an environment that doesn’t involve me being naked or you having a job to do.”
Her hand tingled where he touched her. Not like a friendly hum of happiness at being touched, either. This was more like an electric jolt that buzzed with high voltage and singed her in its wake. She yanked her hand back, rattled. She’d touched him plenty of times, so this shouldn’t have been a big deal.
But then again, it had been the first time he’d touched her. The results were skin-tingling.
“You know that’s unethical for a staff trainer.” For a moment, she wondered if this was yet another of his ploys to send her running from this job so he could ditch the mandated workouts in favor of training however he wanted. Or to replace training with activities that were more fun.
Like sky diving.
But Javier didn’t seem the type to be anything less than forthright about his motives. Subtlety didn’t seem to be a commodity he prized, judging by his recent dust-up with the Boston Aces’ catcher, or his ease in confessing to the media where he’d been du
ring the off-season when he took off for the far corners of the world to chase new thrills.
“But you don’t work with the whole team, right? You’re working with me on a temporary basis. And the coaches aren’t going to keep me on a leash forever.”
“Do they have you on a leash now?” She couldn’t resist the jab since she’d never met anyone less restrained. “From what I hear, you don’t answer to anyone. But any way you look at it, I’m an athletic trainer, not a personal trainer. I can’t go out for drinks with you.”
She shouldered past him, determined not to succumb to the he-man appeal of a guy who lived for the moment. She didn’t need that kind of temptation even though she hadn’t indulged her adrenaline-seeking side in almost eight years. Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to put herself in his path in the first place. Who would have thought he could touch an old nerve she’d figured was long dead?
Who’d have thought she could experience such a sharp attraction for a man she’d only just met?
“Wait.” He followed her out of the physical therapy area and into the weight room. The Flames’ training facility was big and impressive, and she had a long way to walk before she would be home free from the man who’d sent a lightning bolt through her so damn unexpectedly today.
“I can’t.” She shook her head and kept on moving, not sure if she could outrun the invitation in his sea-glass eyes. “I’ve got things to do today and I need to—”
He laid a broad palm on her shoulder without gripping it, his touch alone halting her in her tracks. She closed her eyes against the expected jolt and wondered how the hell she’d gone from helping this man to running from him in the course of a brief therapy session.
She was the one who needed therapy, damn it, and not the physical kind.
“Lisa.” He turned her around with her name, proving he’d kept his word to remember it this time. “You say you’ve known the lure of a bungee jump before. How do you feel about something less risky but still fun?”