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CHAPTER 8
Chase
I could still feel Emma on my fingers. She’d been so slick, dripping with desire. Now I knew, without a doubt. She wanted me like I wanted her. That insane, consuming inferno I felt all the time, melting down even the strongest of firewalls? She had it burning inside of her, too.
Now that I knew that, there was no turning back. The sounds she’d made in that closet? I kept replaying them in my head as I headed back to my room. I thought about heading over to hers. But I didn’t need to stalk her. I didn’t need to rush her, either. It would happen. I was certain of it.
So I didn’t stop by her room after I got back from the restaurant, but I did send her a text:
Chase: Sorry that happened where it did.
Not sorry it happened.
Can’t wait to see you again.
Will be thinking of you all night.
I didn’t hear back from her, but I didn’t expect to. She’d left in a rush, upset. I was pissed at myself that I’d put her in that situation. After all my self-restraint, I’d impulsively hauled her into a closet in the middle of a crowded restaurant. It wasn’t like me. I was used to always staying in tight control, laser-focused on my goals. My teammates teased me that I even scheduled my hook ups. And they were kind of right about that. I knew when my schedule could tolerate a night with more play and less sleep, and I knew when it couldn’t. I didn’t have trouble with impulse control.
Except tonight. When I’d walked in and seen Emma in that sexy, backless red shirt it was like the wind got knocked out of me. I already found her insanely hot, of course, but I’d never seen her dressed up before. She was a fucking siren. Then seeing her with Chris’s hands all over her, I’d nearly raced across the room like I parted the water swimming, drilling a path through the crowd so I could kick his ass for touching my woman.
Only she wasn’t my woman, and Chris wasn’t doing anything wrong. He could talk to anyone he liked. Even if every time he made her laugh it felt a hell of a lot like a sharp needle sticking directly into my eye. I’d kept my distance, just to be safe. I didn’t need to sock Chris in the jaw a week and a half before the games. He might piss me off, but he did not deserve that. So I stayed away.
Until I couldn’t any longer. Watching her out on the dance floor, the way her body moved, feeling the rhythm so instinctively, her hips swaying, her ass shaking, that was it. There was no way I could stay away from her. And once I had my hands on her, I knew there was no going back. Emma and I belonged together.
But I’d keep that fact to myself. For now. I could get a little intense, I knew that. OK, more than a little.
For now, I’d let her sleep the night alone. Then we only had one day left in San Antonio together, and a whole weekend apart before we all re-convened for one last week of training in Atlanta before flying to Rio. I’d give her all the time and space she needed. But if those hot, quivering, panting pleas she’d made in that supply closet told the truth—and I knew they had—it wouldn’t take long for her to surrender.
§
The next morning, I had to skip my usual appointment with Emma following my morning workout. It was our last day in San Antonio, so our head coach called a team meeting. The schedule for the whole day was all messed up, with a later afternoon workout than usual and then a team dinner. Fuck bonding, I wanted to see Emma.
As soon as I got out from the meeting, I texted her.
Chase: Where are you?
Emma: At the pool.
What? I’d spent the last three and a half hours at the pool and I hadn’t seen her once. The morning she’d snuck in to watch me and sat on the bleachers I’d spotted her instantly. She had a strong magnetic pull. I couldn’t believe she was there and I hadn’t seen her.
But after some fruitless pacing around the swim center, I realized what she meant. She was at the hotel pool, that small, shallow thing where people laid around in lounge chairs. Sometimes kids got into it wearing flotation devices. A recreational pool. What a strange concept.
I strode over there and found her. At 10 a.m. on a Thursday morning she had the pool to herself. Or, I should say, we had it to ourselves. And she was wearing a bikini.
I’d be lying if I said seeing her lying there in next-to-nothing didn’t instantly flood me with all sorts of nasty, dirty thoughts. Those long, shapely legs, her smooth skin and those perfect breasts I’d had in my mouth last night. The woman made me crazy.
Engrossed in reading, she didn’t look up until I sat down on a lounger next to her.
“What are you reading?”
“Oh, nothing.” She closed the cover on her Kindle and set it under her chair.
“Was it a romance?”
“Maybe.” She started laughing. That made me really want to know what she’d been reading.
“Were you at a sex scene?”
“I am not answering that.” But she laughed some more. Excellent. I wanted her to have sex on the brain as much as I did. Only that really wouldn’t be possible, since I’d pretty much maxed out the potential time devoted to the subject.
“Do you have some time in your schedule right now?” She sat up in the lounge chair. Yes, I liked that bikini a lot, simple and revealing and so easy to unfasten. “I could work on you if you’re free. I thought you had another workout now.”
“The schedule’s all screwy today. I have another workout in 45 minutes, so why don’t we just hang out.”
“Sorry, what was that?”
I knew she was giving me shit. I, Chase Carter, King of Swimming, did not just hang out. She was right. But that’s exactly what I wanted to do right now, because I wouldn’t be sitting around twiddling my thumbs. I’d be spending time with Emma in a bikini and I honestly couldn’t imagine anything I’d rather do. Except maybe spend time with her out of the bikini.
“I thought you just suggested we ‘hang out,’ like relax,” she continued with a teasing lilt in her tone. “But I must have misheard you.”
“Are you sassing me, Miss?”
“I would never do that. I’m a professional.” But then, in the middle of our fun, light banter, her face fell. Her features clouded with guilt. “Chase, I need to talk to you about last night.”
“Emma—” I started, wanting to reassure her, chase away whatever bad feelings she was having about what had happened between us. There was nothing bad about it, except where we’d chosen to do it.
“Let me,” she insisted, taking a deep breath. “I just want you to know, you can count on me to be professional with you, Chase. You need a good physical therapist to see you through the games. I can do that. Even though things got weird last night.”
I reached out and took her hand. She stopped, looking at where we touched. “Things did not get weird between us. Things got right.”
“We shouldn’t have—”
“Emma, there’s what should be, and there’s what is.” I looked into her eyes, wanting her to not just listen but understand. But she was wearing sunglasses, so it was hard to gauge her reaction. “Yes, it would be less complicated if we didn’t feel this way. But we do.”
She swallowed and nodded. “It’s complicated, though.”
“But it’s right. I’m so glad I’ve met you. Even though the timing is crazy.”
“And I’m supposed to be a professional.”
Was that a wobble in her voice? No, this wasn’t supposed to be fraught with tension. What was happening between us was good. Wasn’t it?
“You’re all stressed out,” I stated the obvious. “I know, why don’t you let me massage you for a change?”
“What?”
I shifted my chair closer and took her foot in my hand. “Your calf muscle gets sore sometimes, right? From an old injury?”
“Sometimes.” She bit her lip, unsure, looking at where I held her foot.
“You lie back and relax and let me work that out.” I had none of the training she did, but I’d had enough people work on my muscles to pick up a thing or
two. Plus, touching Emma had an intoxicating power, working a spell on me as I massaged and stroked my way up, then down her lower leg. She leaned back in the chair. With those dark sunglasses I couldn’t tell if she was watching, but I could feel her awareness. The energy that passed between us, the erotic charge as I moved my hands over her smooth skin.
