Authors: Robyn Grady
His
eyes smouldered and that hot pulse in her belly squeezed and sizzled. When the
beating slid to a lower dangerous point, Libby pushed to her feet, too quickly
as it turned out. She tipped to one side and threw out an arm to steady
herself. But Alex Wolfe was already there, standing close, an arm circling her
waist, his solid frame effortlessly providing the support she needed.
She
was five-six, but she had to arc her neck way back to look into his face …
which was a mistake. When those entrancing lidded eyes fused with hers, she
imagined that his hold around her middle cinched, bringing her front to within
a hair’s-breadth of his … close to his chest … to those legs.
Giddy,
she broke his hold and took two steps back.
As
she willed the fire from her face and got herself together, he asked, ‘Are you
all right?’
‘Perfectly.
Thank you.’ Shifting the bangs off her cheeks, she gathered herself and resumed
a businesslike air. ‘I presume you know where my practice is.’
‘All
treatments will be conducted here.’
Her
brows shot up. ‘My equipment’s at work.’
‘I’ll
be honest.’ His free hand slid into his trouser pocket and his legs braced
wider apart. ‘I’m concerned about the press. I have enough on my mind without
watching out for headlines speculating on whether I’m a washed-up cripple.’
Her
insides wrenching, Libby flinched.
In
the second it took to compose her expression, Alex frowned as if he’d glimpsed
and wondered at her lapse. With knees locked, she offered an indulgent smile.
‘I
understand you might want to shield yourself. But I’m afraid—’
‘Everything
you need will be brought in. I’ll have my assistant organise it. And I’ll
double your fee to cover any inconvenience and time difficulties.’
She
shut her dropped jaw.
Was
she reading him right?
Double your fee …?
We’ll prove him wrong …? You’ll bring me through …?
Did he think he could
bribe her into cutting short his treatment so he could make his Round Four?
Clearly Alex Wolfe wasn’t familiar with the terms
caution
or
compromise
. He
knew only one way to get things done.
His
way. If she didn’t agree to his conditions—his offer—no doubt he’d find someone
who would.
Which
left her two choices.
She
could bow to the inevitable, agree that all work be carried out on his private
premises and take the fortune he offered as well as give the all clear when he
deemed, whether he was fit to return to driving in her opinion or not. Or she
could tell him she couldn’t be manipulated by his charm or his pride. That her
ethics were more important to her than money. More important than anything.
But
there was a third option.
Decided,
she looked him in the eye. ‘I’ll speak with your assistant. Get the ball
rolling. We’ll start tomorrow morning.’
A
shadow swept over his expression, so fast she almost missed it. She recognised
the emotion. Disappointment. He’d thought she’d put up more of a fight before
capitulating to his terms, even for show’s sake. Pity she couldn’t set him
straight, but that would come … when the time was right.
She
headed for the door. ‘I’ll be back in the office in half an hour. Your
assistant can call me any time after that.’
With
long fluid strides he caught up, a satisfied smile tilting his lips. ‘I do
believe I’ll enjoy working with you, doc.’
Doc
. Walking side by side down the hall,
Libby grinned.
‘Perhaps
I ought to wear a white coat and stethoscope when I call next,’ she said, a
slightly mocking edge to her voice.
‘Feel
free to wear whatever makes you comfortable. I will.’
‘Oh,
there won’t be much need for clothes,’ she said, stopping before the front
doors. ‘On your part, at least.’
His
hold on the handle froze.
Swallowing
the grin, she brushed his hand aside, opened the door and stepped out. ‘See you
tomorrow. Nine sharp.’
Walking
away, she felt his surprise and curiosity drilling her back. But if her last
comment was loosely inappropriate, she was okay with it. He’d needed to be
pulled up and using his own level of language.
Alex
Wolfe didn’t know how well she understood his mind. She knew about burning
passions. About setting a goal and never losing sight of it. She also knew how
it felt to lose the capacity to chase and hold onto your dream. To have to
reinvent yourself and leave that other more natural you behind.
Six
weeks rehabilitation? Hell, Alex Wolfe didn’t know how lucky he was.
But
slow and steady won the race.
This
race anyway. She’d get him into a routine, he’d feel the positive results and
when the time came she’d make him see how detrimental—possibly catastrophic—returning
to the track too soon could be. Until then she’d be on her guard. She couldn’t
deny that those subtle looks, his unmistakable body language, his casual touch,
affected her, and Alex knew it. He assumed he could manipulate her, charm her,
perhaps even intimidate her into getting what he wanted.
Unfortunately
for Alex Wolfe … not a chance.
Libby
slid into the driver’s seat. She was about to turn the ignition when her
stomach twisted, like it had earlier when he’d tossed off that unconscious slap
in the face. Her hand ran down her left thigh, over the patella. Then her
fingertips traced the line where she and the lower limb prosthesis became one.
Washed-up cripple …
Long
ago she had finished crying and asking herself,
What did I do to deserve this?
With the support of family, friends
and professionals she’d moved from beneath those dark clouds of self-pity.
Helping to rehabilitate others had brought new and worthwhile meaning to her
life. But sitting here, remembering the gleam in Alex Wolfe’s eyes when he’d
looked at her that certain way, she couldn’t mistake the pang in her chest or
the choking thickness in her throat.
Her
hand skimmed the shin she couldn’t feel.
Would
Alex Wolfe see her as less of a woman if he knew?
LEANING
his good shoulder against a patio column, Alex kept his eye on Libby Henderson’s
silver sedan as it looped the circular drive and headed out. An intrigued smile
lifted one corner of his mouth.
Ms
Henderson was an attractive prospect, particularly with those large
amber-coloured eyes that seemed to both cloak her emotions as well as swirl
with boundless possibilities. Her hair, which flowed past her shoulders in soft
waves, was a captivating silvery blond, a consequence, no doubt, of a lifetime
spent in Australia’s surf-and-sun conditions. Of medium height, her lithe
figure had curves in all the right places. If she’d tried to hide that fact
beneath her designer business suit, she’d failed and she knew it.
Perhaps
best of all, he thought as he watched her car disappear beyond the auto iron
entry gates, Libby Henderson had spunk.
She’d
as good as accepted his offer—to work here on him,
with
him. However, she’d let him know that he didn’t intimidate
her, even if they were aware of each other in a primal man-wants-woman way.
When her palm had cupped his fist, she’d felt the zap as much as he had. But
her comeback regarding the insignificance of what clothes he did or did not
wear during their sessions had been priceless. Few people could pull him up
like that. Coming from Ms Henderson, he couldn’t say he minded.
Clearly,
she was the right person for the job. With his past, he didn’t wait around for
miracles, nevertheless he had faith that Libby Henderson’s clients believed she
could work them. Regardless, he would have little trouble persuading her and,
as a consequence, others that he was indeed fit to drive again when he deemed
it should be so. And if she needed a hand in helping her decision along, he
wasn’t opposed to the idea. In fact, now that he’d met her, he was more than
intrigued by the prospect.
Recalling
the natural wiggle in her walk, he pushed off the column.
Until
that time, he needed to focus elsewhere. Needed to keep busy. Tomorrow midday,
a videoconference with the Australian CEO of his bestselling signature-brand
aftershave was scheduled. Before then, he’d go through projection figures for
an additional anticipated range. Along with earnings from his extensive
investment portfolio, he certainly didn’t need the money, but a man would be a
fool not to strike when his iron was hot. Current and potential sponsors
agreed: Alex Wolfe was
steaming
. He
intended to keep it that way.
About
to head in, he pulled up. Eli Steele’s sleek black sports car was slinking up
the drive. Grinning, Alex crossed back to the patio’s edge. Not only was his
assistant smart in a business sense, he had a good head for cars. Eli wouldn’t
be working for him if he didn’t.
‘I
take it that was your physiotherapist driving off,’ Eli said, easing out the
driver’s side door. ‘How’d it go?’
‘Well.’
After Eli made his way up the steps, Alex clapped his friend on the back with
his free hand. ‘You did a fine job finding her.’
Eli
drove a set of fingers over his scalp, ruffling his neat dark hair. ‘So she’s
on board?’
‘I’ve
explained I need to be back in the seat no later than Round Four.’ Two weeks
shy of the six weeks the team doctor had insisted upon, which would leave him
in a good position to retain his title.
Inside
the vestibule, they hung a right and sauntered down the hall which led to Alex’s
home office.
‘And
she said she can accommodate?’ Eli asked.
‘Was
there any doubt?’
‘Only
on my part, it seems.’
Frowning,
Alex stopped. ‘Run that by me again?’
Eli
kept walking. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m convinced she does great work, but from
what I’ve read she seems to have a granite mindset as well. I didn’t think she’d
roll over and agree to your time frame that easily.’
Outside
the billiards room, Eli waited for his boss to catch up.
Digesting
the information, Alex began to walk again. ‘You sound unhappy about her being
onside.’
‘You
want to race,’ Eli explained, ‘and you want to win. Clearly you can handle
pain. But, Alex, you don’t want to risk this injury getting worse. This is the
second time that joint has given you trouble. Third time it’ll be easier to
damage still. If that happens you could be out for a lot longer than six weeks.’
They
entered the office, its walls lined with framed shots capturing some heady
moments on the track as well as the winner’s podium—holding up a plate at
Monaco, shooting champagne over an ecstatic crowd. Alex’s favourite trophy by
far was a homemade medal, which hung on a haberdashery store’s dark blue
ribbon. Made out of an inexpensive key ring and a portion of a wheel spike, the
good-luck charm had been given to him many years ago by his mentor, a man to
whom Alex owed everything—Carter White. Encouragement, belief. Carter had given
the rebel teen Alex had once been the tools needed to succeed, which included
the gift of a caring father figure Alex had sorely lacked at home. He really
ought to pick up the phone and call Carter sometime.