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Instead of a flirtatious comeback, he nodded, subdued, acknowledging I could have been doing that. Then he headed into the kitchen and started taking things out of the freezer. I followed him, still feeling some of that awe I’d experienced as a spectator in the stands. Hand on the counter, I searched for the right thing to say.
“You swim really fast.” As soon as it left my mouth, I nearly swore I sounded so dumb. Telling the fastest swimmer in the world, “gee, you’re really fast!” And I thought I had a writer’s gift with words?
But it did make him smile again. “You think?”
“I know some people who manage the U.S. Olympic team. I can put in a few good words for you if you’d like.”
“That’s nice of you.” He started making the smoothie, adding frozen strawberries, blueberries and bananas plus a bunch of other ingredients into a giant bucket-sized blender. But then he said, more seriously, “And of course you’re free to come watch anyone you want to, Brian or Chris.” He punched the ON button with more force than required.
I waited until the blender stopped. “Chase, you know I was there to watch you swim.”
He looked up. “You were?”
I couldn’t believe it. Did he almost look shy? What was going on? I nodded and left the kitchen. It suddenly felt too hot in there, making frozen smoothies and all.
But he followed not too long after. Touching my arm, he stepped close, my skin tingling from the contact. “Give this a try. I can add more berries if you like.”
I swallowed, before I’d even taken a drink. Then I tried the smoothie, creamy frosty perfection. “Wow! What’s in it?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Secret recipe?”
He nodded, that sly devilish gleam in his eyes again. It made me look down as I sipped through my straw.
“So, what’s your workout plan for today?” He was so funny, asking me about my recreational running as if I were the athlete in the room. He touched the small of my back as he passed, heading over to the massage table. He seemed to find a lot of excuses to touch me, lifting up an errant strap of my tank top, tucking a tendril of hair that had escaped my ponytail behind my ear. He kept it casual, nothing inappropriate or unprofessional, but I swear each touch made my stomach flip.
“I’m thinking I’ll run three or four miles, then maybe try to do a little in the weight room.” I felt shy talking about my athletic pursuits in front of The Pinnacle of Human Perfection. But he listened with interest. I took another sip of my smoothie, then set it on a side table, preparing to get to work.
“No, finish it,” he insisted, handing it back to me. “It’s not as good if it’s not cold.”
I noted, astonished, that he’d already gone through his. “How did you finish yours so fast?”
He shrugged. “When you need as many calories as I do every day, you can’t waste any time. You have to get it done.” I laughed, thinking how opposite he was of the rest of humanity, us mere mortals having to actually watch how much we ate.
“Some things I have to do fast,” he admitted. “But other things I take more time to do right.”
That got my attention. I looked up, wondering if I were reading a double meaning into his words, the kind that made me feel all flushed even though I was sipping a frozen drink. He gave me a sexy, flirtatious smirk. Yeah, there was a double meaning all right.
Then he stepped closer, cupping my chin. “They’re hazel today,” he observed, gazing down at me. I didn’t know what he meant, and looked up, curious. “Your eyes,” he explained, brushing his thumb along my cheek. “They change color based on what you wear. Yesterday they looked more coffee-colored.”
Oh. So that’s what he meant. I moved away and busied myself with my smoothie again, telling myself it was just self-consciousness that brought a blush to my cheeks. Not the feel of his hand on me, or the way he studied me, like he didn’t want to miss a thing.
I didn’t, either. He lay face down on that massage table, and I knew I could have worked on him for hours. His body was so magnificent, each and every muscle so defined, such a perfect balance of strong and lean. Touching him was a privilege, worshipping at the altar of male perfection.
I’d never enjoyed my job so much. It didn’t even feel like I was working. And that was the problem.
§
Tori called me the next day and gave me a stern scolding.
“Whatever you do, don’t fall for him!” She knew me all too well. Despite my oh-so-casual “everything’s going fine,” she could read me like a book. “You’ve got the worst luck of anyone I know. You pick such losers—”
“Oh, Chase isn’t a loser!” I burst out before I bit my tongue. Now I’d really blown my cover by gushing.
“Oh shit, you’ve got it bad already! You’ve only been there five days.”
“Nothing’s happened between us.”
“But you want it to!”
I sighed. I couldn’t even deny it. A smart part of my brain still knew it was a bad idea, but the larger, growing part of me was all for it.
“Sit back for a sec and let me remind you of a few things,” Tori instructed.
I did as she told me. I didn’t have a suite like Chase, so I sat there on the bed staring at the bureau listening, dutifully, while Tori reminded me of all the assholes I’d initially thought were so awesome. She assured me that Chase would just be the latest in a long string of jerks I’d been mistaken about. He had a bad reputation for being a machine, ruthless, cold, blah blah blah. And he hated the press. He’d shoved a reporter a few years ago.
I’d seen video of that incident, but I didn’t open my mouth to defend him to Tori. It would only have incriminated me further. But even before I’d gotten to know him, I was on his side about that altercation. When Chase had missed the 2012 Olympics due to an injury, some pushy reporter had gotten in his face with all sorts of obnoxious questions like how did he feel about missing his best opportunity to medal? From the footage I’d seen, Chase hadn’t really shoved him so much as shouldered him to the side so he could get away. It wasn’t Chase’s fault that his shoulders were so massive.
“Emma, you always get sucked in by guys with big egos. He’s got the biggest of them all. You always want to believe the best in everyone. But this time, don’t fall for it. Do your job, get the scoop and don’t let things get messy!”
“Yup, I know.” And I did know. She was right. My own mother had said it to me, and she knew me better than anyone. She hadn’t been talking about Chase, per se, but she’d seen my heart get broken one too many times by creeps. She’d told me I needed to stop being so gullible.
“A guy like Chase would eat your heart for breakfast. And then spit it out.”
“OK, I get it.” I stood up. I’d gotten my marching orders. I knew what I had to do. It would be difficult, but it only made sense. I couldn’t go all ga-ga over this guy just because he had nice abs. Well, more than nice. They were pretty much the best abs I’d ever seen.
Which was why when I showed up for our evening session, I had all the warmth of a prison guard.
“How was your run this afternoon?” Chase asked, looked far too appealing in athletic shorts riding down low. He wasn’t even trying and he looked so good he could stop traffic. On a freeway.
“Fine. Should we get started?”
“All right. Are you in a rush?”
See, that was the problem. Five days in and we’d already gotten in the habit of spending too much time together. Last night I hadn’t even left for almost an hour after I’d worked on him. He’d played me this hilarious YouTube video the Australian swim team had put together, lip-syncing a popular hit song with everyone dancing around. That had led to more lip-syncing searches and laughing and joking about what the U.S. team should do in response. I’d lobbied hard for some Pink. I wasn’t picky about which song. She could do no wrong in my opinion. Chase had insisted on Journey’s epic “Don’t Stop Believin’.” It was that or nothi
ng.
But we couldn’t go there tonight. Tonight I had to stay professional. And get the inside scoop. How the hell was I supposed to do that?
I kept quiet as I massaged his quads. It was too difficult to talk, anyway, he was so huge and powerful and my hands were just too damn close to something else that looked pretty damn huge and powerful. And using warm oil to work out the tension through his chest and shoulders? Nope, I couldn’t manage much small talk then, either. Especially when every now and then he’d make a low, sexy groan of pleasure that nearly drove me insane. Half of me wanted to yell out in frustration, “are you kidding me?” The other half of me wanted to throw down the towel and declare defeat, hopping on top to straddle him and go for a ride all night long.
Once he was lying on his front and I was working his back, it got a little easier. His calf muscles were probably the safest part to touch. I was professional enough to handle them. Even though they were so hard and defined you had to wonder if his calves felt that good...
But anyway, while I was working on his calf muscles, I tried to follow Tori’s advice. I was there to get the scoop. I needed to get on with it.
“So, why did you become a swimmer?” I winced at the way it came out, like Diane Sawyer sitting down to do a one-on-one exclusive interview. Oh well, it was the best I could do when I was feeling so distracted and agitated.
“What?” He didn’t seem to follow my question. I repeated it. He tensed up, even under my massaging fingers. “I guess, to prove I could.”
