“The Jupiter Adventure Race is nowhere near that difficult.” He leaned across the gears to pin her number on her shirt. “It’s only a three-mile run with ten obstacles, and I’ll be with you the whole way. This is the perfect thing to get you out of your head, to force you to react minute-by-minute and go where the course takes you.”
She swallowed hard, her breathing getting more and more shallow. “What if I get injured before the tournament?”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ll be right beside you. Anytime you feel strained or overexerted, I’ll help you or we’ll skip that obstacle and go around.”
“Don’t you need lots of upper-body strength for these kinds of things? The courses are designed for men, aren’t they?” Anxiety swelled in her throat until it threatened to choke her. “I can’t do it. I won’t.”
“You can, and you will.” He took her sore, reddened wrist in his hand, smoothing his thumb down the stinging welts. Without dropping his eyes from hers, he raised it to his mouth and brushed a soft, lingering kiss over the tender flesh.
Involuntarily, Regan shuddered.
“You’ll be fine,” he assured her one last time, clasping shut the colored wristband and reaching for his own set of race accoutrements. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
“That’s what you said last time,” she muttered to herself, then grabbed her timing chip and reluctantly stood up from the car.
* * *
Regan’s tension was so palpable as they waited at the starting line that Ben thought his muscles might seize up through airborne osmosis. She wrung her hands in front of her, shifted from foot to foot and had gone from an unending stream of objections to an ominous, poised silence.
He ached to gather her in his arms, to press her slight form against his chest and remind her that she was a professional athlete with a hundred-mile-an-hour serve and that he would never, ever put her in a situation he thought she couldn’t handle.
Except that wasn’t true anymore, was it? He’d let her down in the biggest way possible—and it looked increasingly as though he might be forced to do it again as soon as the race was over.
He’d fought so many internal battles on the drive to her house that at times he could barely concentrate on the road. In the end he decided that he had to bring her here, to push her out of her self-destructive, cyclical thinking one last time before the tournament of her career. He’d find a way to keep the full story of Des’s deception under wraps until after the Baron’s. Because although he was desperate to tell her and clear his name in her estimation, Ben knew it would be too much upheaval so close to the Grand Slam. She needed to believe in her manager for just a few more days.
The instant he saw her wrist he realized he’d been right on the first point—she was driving herself crazy. And as soon as she started asking questions, he knew he’d been a fool to think he could keep her in the dark much longer.
As he watched her size up her competitors warily, he hoped to God he’d made the right decision. He hoped she greeted tomorrow strong and full of her own power, not shattered into pieces by the revelation of her trusted manager’s underhandedness.
A beefy man in sleeveless spandex shoved his way to the front of the crowd, nearly knocking Regan off her feet in his haste. Instinctively Ben put a steadying hand on her arm, and she glanced up at him with fury in her eyes.
“I’ll never forgive you for this.”
“That’s fair.” And he meant it.
Then a man with a megaphone reminded everyone of the event ground rules and safety procedures, an air horn announced the start of the race and they were off, the clumped pack of runners immediately loosening as they made their way to the first obstacle at a variety of speeds.
Regan jogged at his side, wearing an expression of grim determination.
“Don’t worry too much about speed,” Ben called as they approached the first obstacle—a row of stacked hay bales that competitors were already vaulting. “For you, this is about reacting without thinking, letting your instinct rule your head.”
Her only response was a glare so accusatory that he had to bite his lip to keep the smile off his face. Damn, he’d missed her.
Regan reached the hay bales, which came up to her ribs. She planted two hands on the top and attempted to haul herself up, but there was nowhere for her feet to get purchase and she swore in frustration. Ben was behind her in a flash, his hands at her waist.
“You jump, I lift. One, two, three.” And she was up. He levered himself up and over alongside her, and in seconds they were running toward the next obstacle.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” She pointed toward the rope suspended over a wide, muddy puddle.
“What do you think?”
“I’m not supposed to think, remember?”
He rolled his eyes. “You swing over the puddle.”
Suddenly she sprinted ahead of him, seizing the rope from the hand of the course marshal who held it at the ready. Ben watched bemusedly as she prepared to swing, then ramped up his own speed to join her as he was struck by a worrying revelation.
“Regan, wait,” he shouted, hurrying to the obstacle. “You need to hold it higher than that or—”
But she was off, and when the rope ran out of swing two-thirds of the way over the puddle, she had no choice but to jump off into the ankle-deep mud.
Ben completed the obstacle, bracing for the tongue-lashing over her sodden sneakers. But when he reached her, Regan was smiling. It was reluctant and tenuous, but it lit up her face nonetheless.
She indicated her muddy feet. “Oops.”
“Par for the course.” He grinned. “Onward.”
They climbed up netting, crawled through tires, scrambled over platforms and weaved around traffic cones. Mud splashed over their legs, dirt streaked their faces and sweat plastered their clothes to their backs. And with each obstacle Regan’s step quickened, her face brightened and her movements had the light, graceful freedom he only saw in her very best moments on the court.
It’s working, he thought as she cheerfully shouldered a heavy sandbag and began to trudge up an incline. He set off after her, relief weakening his spine even as gratitude stiffened it. It’s working.
Or so he thought. When they jogged up to the second-to-last obstacle, Regan stopped so short that he nearly crashed into her.
“No way.” She shook her head. “I’m not doing this one.”
Ben took in the shallow trough of ice cubes and freezing water. An elastic net stretched over the top of it, forcing competitors to commando-crawl through the frigid liquid, with a high-pressure hose mounted on the edge, its powerful spray positioned in just the right spot to blast the face of an oncoming runner.
His heart thrilled at the sight of it. It was exactly the kind of obstacle that drew him back to these limits-testing races. Not physically difficult, but a mental and sensory overload.
If this didn’t shock Regan out of her anxiety, nothing would.
“You most certainly are,” he replied. “There are only two obstacles left and you’ve completed every one so far. Let’s finish with a full house.”
“I can’t. I’m serious. Not this one.”
The eyes she turned on him were scared and pleading, and the next thing he knew his palm was on her cheek, his thumb smoothing the delicate skin beneath her eye. She put her hand over his, and hard, unyielding realization shuddered through him.
This was a lover’s touch.
He wasn’t her coach anymore, and she wasn’t his client. But the force pulling them together was fiercer and hotter than ever—and now there was nothing standing in its way.
“We’re going to do this.” Although he wasn’t completely sure of his own meaning, she nodded, her eyes soft with comprehension.
She br
oke away from him and stared one more time at the obstacle.
“Do you want me to go first or second?” he asked.
“Second.” She glanced at him briefly, the barest hint of a smile on her lips. “I like to know you’re behind me.”
“Always.”
And then they were off, Regan raising the net and belly flopping into the trough with him only a few seconds behind. The shock of the freezing water stole his breath, and the resistance of the net stymied his instinctive effort to raise himself onto his hands and knees. The equally cold spray from the hose struck him full in the face, but he could make out the soles of Regan’s sneakers ahead of him. As soon as he could fill his lungs he began shouting encouragement, exhorting her to keep pushing, that she was nearly there.
After what felt like ten minutes but couldn’t have been more than two, he dragged himself over the wooden lip at the end of the trough, gasping and spluttering and shivering, pretty sure he had ice cubes in his underwear. Regan was already on her feet, soaking wet and dripping onto the packed dirt, her grin a white arc in the dark brown mud caked on her face.
“One more and we’re done.” She stuck out her hand, and he let her haul him to his feet. “Time to run.”
Together they sprinted to the final obstacle, a sheer climb up a seven-foot wall. Without speaking Ben crouched with his back to the wall and held out his cupped hands. As if she could read his mind, Regan planted one foot in his hands, the other on his shoulder, and as he pushed up she jumped to grab the edge of the wall and pull herself onto the top.
Ben backed a few steps away from the wall to size it up. He was no great free-runner or slam dunk expert like most of the other competitors effortlessly hurling themselves to the top. Although his height gave him some advantage, his top-heavy build and tennis-honed shoulders meant he was better suited to powerful serves than getting altitude.
And then Regan beamed at him from atop the wall, and it was like the strong, steady pulse of a lighthouse beckoning him safely to shore.
He took three running steps and jumped.
He just caught the edge at the top. The surface scraped his palms, his wet sneakers squeaked against the wall face as he struggled to get purchase and the muscles in his arms shrieked in protest as he hauled his weight up and over. But he made it. He was with her.
“How do we get down?” she asked, eyeing up the long drop.
“I’ll show you.” He lowered himself slowly down the other side and then dropped the remaining inches to the ground. He motioned for Regan to hang off the edge as he’d done, then moved underneath her.
“Fall,” he urged. “I’ll catch you.”
Without a second’s hesitation she did just that, and then she was in his arms, wet and muddy and the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Instead of lowering her to the ground he pushed her against the wall, and as she wrapped her legs around his waist her eyes glittered with pleased surprise.
He pushed a lock of dirt-stiffened hair off her forehead. “You were amazing. I knew you could handle this.”
One of her hands found the back of his neck, the other kneaded his shoulder. “Not without you. I was only able to finish because you’re my coach.”
He shook his head. “Not anymore.” Then he kissed her, and the taste of dirt and salt and muddy water was as sweet as anything that had ever passed his lips.
Chapter Twelve
“Hey buddy, remember me?” Regan leaned over to greet the greyhound who’d run excitedly up to the door, then seemed to change his mind and was now peering at her cautiously from a few feet away.
“Boris, don’t be rude.” Ben pulled off his muddy shoes and lined them up next to hers on the front step. “He’s always shy around new people. He’ll get over it, don’t worry.”
“I’m more worried about tracking this mud all over your house. I’ve already ruined the upholstery in your car, I don’t want to do the same to your living room.”
“Upholstery is a generous term for the few patches of fluff still clinging to those seats.” He grinned. “Something tells me you’re going to object, but normally I strip down right here on the step and sprint to the shower. If I’m lucky, it rains overnight and my clothes are that much cleaner when I finally force myself to deal with them.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. She’d been riding so high on adrenaline that when Ben suggested they head to his place, her nodded agreement was distracted, underscored by a fleeting sense of gratitude that she didn’t have to face her big, empty house again tonight. Now she felt the full implication of her decision for the first time, and it was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying.
“I’m not sure a tabloid photo of me slipping naked into your house is really the publicity I want at the moment.”
“It’s too dark for photos, plus all my neighbors are old people who go to bed at nine o’clock.” As if to prove a point, he pulled his shirt over his head and slung it over the railing, leaving her to gape at the broad expanse of moonlit skin, from the shadow of hair between his pecs to the stacked muscles of his abs. Although he didn’t have the chiseled definition of someone who spent a lot of time in the weight room, Ben Percy was obviously a man in very good shape.
He shucked off his shorts and socks and, clad only in a pair of compression underwear that hit midthigh and left little to the imagination, he held up his hands.
“See? No flashbulbs, no paparazzi springing out of the woodwork.” He tugged on the hem of her tank top, yanking her a stumbling step closer. “Get out of these wet clothes. I’ll turn on the water.” Then he strode past her into the house, Boris trotting close on his heels.
Alone with her thoughts for the first time since Ben turned up on her doorstep, she pivoted to stare out into the night. Crickets chirped their late-spring songs, a light breeze rustled the tall palms and the sound of a car passing down a nearby road swelled and then receded.
“What on earth am I doing?”
Her plan for tonight had been to double-check her packing list, tidy her email inbox and watch reruns of Law & Order: SVU until she was tired enough to sleep. Instead she’d run a three-mile obstacle course with the coach who still hadn’t given her a reason for his disappearance, and with whom she was now seriously considering having sex.
Be honest. With whom she’d very much decided to have sex.
There was every reason not to. He was clearly withholding an explanation, she had no idea whether he’d vanish again and a night in his bed was not the most responsible way to prepare for tomorrow’s long journey.
She remembered the view of the waves from the balcony of the hotel in Palm Beach, the way they’d crashed and roared and called to her more loudly than ever before. She remembered the way Ben had appeared behind her that night, just as she was envying the ocean its freedom.
Without another thought she pulled her sodden tank top and sports bra over her head, stripped off her shorts and underwear, loosened her ponytail and headed into the house, slamming the door behind her.
She followed the trail of wet footprints to the bathroom door. Boris lay in front of it, regarding her skeptically with his head on his paws. She could hear the sound of the shower and bent down to scratch his ears.
“I’ll take good care of him, I promise,” she whispered, then pushed open the door.
Regan waded through the fragrant, wafting steam, yanked back the shower curtain and stepped inside. Ben was very wet and very naked, and as he turned to greet her, the smile fell from his face.
“Oh, wow,” he breathed, looking her up and down.
She felt her face flush, at once thrilled and made shy by the approval that showed in every part of his body. “I’m really bad at sexy talk. Pretend I just said something sultry and clever about being a dirty girl who needs to get cleaned up, okay?”
“You don’t need to say an
ything.” He reached for her.
His skin was slick and smooth under the pummeling water and Regan let her hands go on an indulgent exploration of his incredible contours, from muscled arms to tight butt to rock-hard thighs. The sheer size of him made her feel feminine and delicate, which wasn’t always the case with her own athletic, gym-honed frame. He leaned down to capture her mouth, then dropped his head even lower to take one hard nipple between his lips.
Regan moaned as tantalizing sensation rippled through her, setting off an almost unbearable throbbing between her legs. Although Ben gripped her hips as he continued his sensual assault on her breasts, when she was finally able to drag her eyes open, she wasn’t sure how much longer her knees would be willing to support her.
With an incredible effort of will, she guided his head away from her body. He straightened to look at her, his eyes hooded with desire, and she noted with some relief that the water was running clean in the drain. She didn’t want to get mud all over his sheets, but she didn’t think she could last another minute having to stand up.
“Where can we—”
But before she could finish her sentence Ben had backed her up against the tiled wall and was on his knees, trailing tender kisses between her breasts, down her stomach, lingering over her lower abdomen. Just as the dampness between her legs began to seriously compete with the amount of water pouring out of the shower, he nudged her thighs apart and closed his lips on her pulsating core.
The pleading whimper that ripped unbidden from her throat would’ve embarrassed Regan if she’d had even a single brain cell left to devote to awareness. Instead she was utterly consumed by sensation, by the hot laving of Ben’s tongue, by the warm thickness of his wet hair under her hand, by the agonizingly unhurried movement of the finger he used to trace her swollen opening, teasing her with the tiniest push inside.
As her thighs began their telltale tremble, her breathing quickened and her vision blurred. Her groan was guttural, primal, and she planted one hand on his shoulder as she felt herself beginning to collapse forward, losing control. In response he moved his hand from her hip to her knee and shoved it back against the wall, leaving her fully open to his ministrations.
Love in Straight Sets Page 17