Authors: Robyn Grady
‘I
don’t have any siblings.’
‘Your
parents alive?’
‘And
well.’
‘What
did you do before becoming a physio?’
As
he pushed to his feet, she saw a certain glint in his eye and her insides
wrenched. Seemed he had a few questions of his own … questions she wasn’t
entirely comfortable with answering. Time to pull up the brake.
She
curled some hair behind an ear. ‘I didn’t mean to pry so deeply. We got
sidetracked and I was interested …’
Her
words trailed off as he angled more toward her. The air between them seemed to
crackle when he said in a deep sure tone, ‘I’m interested too.’
She
let out a pent-up breath. The emotion in his eyes looked sincere. But how much
was she prepared to divulge? Although her accident and subsequent amputation
weren’t federal secrets, she’d made it her policy not to wallow in the past.
She certainly didn’t want pity, which was often people’s first reaction.
Dismissive,
she hitched up one shoulder. ‘My family history isn’t that exciting.’
‘I’m
sure being the female world surf champion would’ve been anything but boring.’
Her
stomach pitched and a chill crept over her scalp. She felt unsteady. Worse, she
felt like a downright fool. He
knew
about her past? And he’d said nothing! What other information had he gathered?
Although
she was boiling inside, somehow she kept her tone civil. ‘You should have
mentioned that you knew.’
‘Perhaps
you should have mentioned it first.’
Her
hands balled. He might be world famous but, honestly, who did he think he was?
‘My
past, Mr Wolfe, is hardly detrimental to my current career. If anything, it’s
advantageous.’
He
quizzed her eyes and the unspoken question hung between them.
Then why not put it in your résumé?
The
uncomfortable silence stretched out. Feeling off centre—trapped—she forged a
look at her watch. Way past time she was gone.
‘I
should leave,’ she said, rearranging her bag’s shoulder strap. ‘I’ll be late
for my next appointment.’
After
hesitating only a heartbeat, he nodded and agreed. ‘I’ll see you out.’
He
moved to take her elbow. Instinctively she jerked away. Too friendly.
‘No
need,’ she said. ‘You lock up here. I’ll see myself out.’
As
she turned away, at the far end of the garage parked near a battered dartboard,
a car caught her eye. Rusted, uncared for, the bonnet was buckled, as if the
driver had slammed into a tree. What was that wreck doing among these trophies?
But she wasn’t about to ask. This conversation had got way too personal
already.
Leaving
Alex behind, she made a beeline for the garage’s exit.
From
now on she would keep her thoughts and questions to herself. And, as much as
she could, her hands as well.
TWO
weeks later, Alex was shunting a hand through his hair, pacing the floorboards
of his home office. Libby Henderson had left thirty minutes earlier. As usual
she’d been the consummate professional at their regular morning session. Had
performed her duties with routine perfection.
Alex
stopped and glared at his feet.
That
woman was driving him mad.
Not
because she was inadequate with regard to his treatments. From time to time he
might hint that things weren’t moving quickly enough, but in truth her slow and
steady approach seemed to be paying off; his shoulder was twice as strong as it
had been. His problem with Ms Henderson—what niggled him to the core—was far
more complicated than that.
Other
than the brief time he and Libby had spent in his garage when they’d exchanged
titbits about each other’s pasts, she was a clam. Tight-lipped, focused only on
business and, more to the point, doing it all
her
way. Although he hadn’t wanted to commit to paper his
confidential proposition with regard to China—fine fodder for blackmail should
it fall into the wrong hands—he believed he’d been clear when they’d struck
their deal. In conjunction with therapy, he needed her help returning to the
track in not six but
four
weeks. In
exchange for this service, he would pay an exorbitant fee and sing her praises
the world over. She’d agreed they were on the same page. However, despite her
verbal acceptance of his terms, he was far from convinced that Libby Henderson
was anyone’s man, so to speak, but her own. That troubled him.
But
there was more.
When
they were together in the mornings, despite her pronounced reserve, he’d become
more aware of a certain thrumming connection. The soothing sound of her voice.
Her unconscious habit of curling hair behind an ear. The slant of her smile
when he’d performed some exercise to her satisfaction. She’d grown on him, and
the longer she maintained her emotional distance, the thicker the wall she put
up, the more determined he was to knock it down. But neither charm nor mutual
silence—not even obvious agitation—seemed to make a dent in her brickwork.
The
homemade medal, hanging on its ribbon on the wall, seemed to call. As usual, memories
of his gratitude to Carter and earliest commitment to his sport swam up. Alex
couldn’t change his mind about Round Four. He lived to race. To
win
. China meant valuable points that
would tally toward this year’s championship. So what to do about Libby? Would
she or wouldn’t she give him what he needed?
Other
than Annabelle, he’d never met a woman like her. Polite but also unremittingly
cool. This morning he’d asked how often she surfed nowadays. The look she gave
could freeze the Gobi. Was conversing with him so distasteful?
Or
was her reserve caused by something deeper … some past hurt perhaps? He’d never
tried to penetrate Annabelle’s veneer; neither brother nor sister wanted to dig
around those old wounds. But Libby …
Filling
his lungs, Alex hunted down his phone, punched in a speed dial and, mind set,
waited to be connected. He’d been as good as locked away here, hell-bent on
withholding any ammunition about his condition or imminent comeback to the
press. But his arm was out of its sling. No one would guess anything was wrong
with his shoulder. Frankly, he’d go stir-crazy if he didn’t break out and soon.
He
knew the perfect person with whom to share some R and R. The same person who
needed to be asked a straight question and, in return, give a straight answer.
Phone
ringing in his ear, Alex lowered into his chair, smiling.
He
only needed to create the right atmosphere.
In
her city practice, Libby sat at her desk, staring at a scramble of near-legible
notes. Almost noon and she hadn’t got close to nutting out the speech she
needed to give this time next month. A formal national dinner with her peers,
she wanted her words on the podium to shine and inspire. And yet here she was,
scrubbing her brow, wishing she could focus on her words.
Instead
she was thinking about the irascible Alex Wolfe and his penchant for being
alternately charming or painfully difficult.
Each
morning she’d show up at Alex’s mansion, and just as routinely he would
complain about whatever exercise she asked him to perform. Although his
shoulder was free of its sling and they’d progressed to using resistance bands
and light weights, clearly he considered the work needlessly repetitive and
beneath him. But even demigods had to show humility and face their vulnerabilities
sometime. Alex’s time was now. Either that or he might find himself in hospital
again—this time, perhaps, under the knife.
Lately,
she felt at her wits’ end. After that day in his garage when personal details
had cropped up to momentarily misalign their relationship, she’d let him know
that she was there for business and business only, and yet no matter what she
suggested or how she suggested it, he seemed more committed to challenging her
efforts or creating a more casual atmosphere than anything else. Clearly he
didn’t comprehend the possible consequences. But she wasn’t about to roll over
and let him run her show, even if a part of her understood his reluctance.
Doodling
a shell alongside her speech salutation, Libby recalled a time when she hadn’t
let anyone get through to her either. Where Alex was too ‘above it all,’ during
the first weeks of her rehabilitation she’d been filled with anger and
frustration. She’d lost the surf, her fiancé … heck, she’d lost a
limb
. To her mind she didn’t need to work
at getting well. What was the point?
Thank
heaven that phase had soon passed and she’d come out the other end valuing,
beyond anything, the perseverance of people who had not only stood by her, but
had also said, with both patience and courage, how things needed to be if she
wanted to get the most out of life. Like those people who had helped her, she
wouldn’t give up on Alex, no matter what trivialising tactic he used to try to
manipulate the situation. His recovery meant a lot to him. It meant a lot to
her too.
A
harried padding of footfalls sounded on the corridor carpet. Short on breath,
face flushed, Payton rushed into the room.
‘You’ll
never guess who’s here!’
Putting
a lid on her surprise, Libby calmly set down her pen and sat straighter. ‘Given
that blush, I’m guessing Alex Wolfe.’
A
tall broad-shouldered figure was already stalking up behind Payton. Then Alex
was standing in her doorway, smiling that irrepressible smile. Her autonomic
reaction to his presence never failed to astound Libby. Her stomach muscles
contracted, her insides warmed and glowed and, immediately light-headed, her
gaze soaked up the hypnotic message in his eyes, then dipped to appreciate the
intoxicating masculine tilt of his lips.
No
wonder poor Payton was beside herself.
Looking
as if she were about to melt, Payton kept her gaze on their visitor. ‘I said
you wouldn’t mind if he came straight through.’
‘That’s
fine, Payton.’ Libby pushed up on slightly unsteady feet. ‘The front bell just
rang, if you’d like to see who it is.’
Edging
around their visitor, Payton reluctantly headed off.
When
they were alone, Libby skirted her desk and, leaning against the edge, crossed
her arms. ‘This is a surprise.’
His
brows shot up. ‘You don’t remember?’
Libby
stopped breathing. Did they have an appointment she’d forgotten? Not possible.
‘Remember
what?’
With
that lazy delectable stride that sent her heartbeat racing all the more, he
sauntered forward. ‘It’s our two-week anniversary.’
Libby
couldn’t help it. She laughed. In between being chronically difficult, Alex
could also be infinitely charming.