“I don’t work here in Texas,” she clarified. “I’m from Florida. Your manager hired me for the next month.” Then she straightened up, shoulders back, posture erect. Like something else under my towel.
“But I assure you,” she continued. “I’m fully qualified. I’ve been a licensed massage therapist for five years, specializing in sports massage. I’ve worked with a lot of athletes. I’m going to make sure you’re ready for the games.”
“Is that right?” I cocked an eyebrow, wanting to tease her a little. There was something sweet about her attempt to reassure me, as if she were trying to reassure herself as well. I didn’t doubt her credentials. What I doubted was my ability to stay cool, removed and professional while this pretty little thing put her hands all over me.
“Absolutely.” She nodded her head, so serious. I almost expected a military-style salute.
“So I can just put up my feet and relax for the next few weeks? No more workouts? You’ve got it covered?”
Her eyes widened, taking me seriously for a moment, before her face relaxed into a smile. It brightened her right up. She had toffee-colored hair, all sorts of sunshiny highlights blending in, plus golden flecks in her eyes.
“All right, then.” I climbed up onto the table, lying on my stomach. It seemed like the least X-rated option.
“We only have a half-hour today, so would you like me to focus on your back and shoulders?”
I grunted my “yes” as she placed her hands at the center of my back, starting with slow strokes.
“I’ll give you medium pressure to begin, and you tell me how much more to give. I want to get to know exactly how you like it.”
That sounded good to me. I closed my eyes and tried to release my tension. All the pressure, the years of training, the eyes on me, all leading up to eight days in Rio. Nine events, five individual, four relays. I wouldn’t let the thought of failure enter into my mind. I could see it all playing out exactly as planned. I ran it like a video in my mind, before I swam, before I slept, on a constant loop, visualizing my success. Always on, always going, always targeted toward my goal.
I groaned as she kneaded into the tired, sore muscles of my upper back. My rhomboid, deltoid, trapezius, how well I knew them all. And she seemed to know them intimately as well, her hands intuitively seeking out all of my aching spots, digging in with exactly the right touch to give me release.
“More,” I groaned, a few times, guiding her, letting her know exactly how I wanted it. She was good at taking direction. She seemed to know exactly what I needed.
I’d sent more than a few therapists packing, usually due to their overly light touch but sometimes because they seemed so fucking clueless. A good massage therapist was part art, part science. They needed all the training, the understanding of anatomy and hand techniques. But they also needed the skill to read their clients, being guided by not only verbal instructions but physical cues.
Emma fell into sync with me instantly, seamlessly, seemingly without effort. I could feel myself relaxing with her, giving myself over to her ministrations, letting my mind go free as she pressed and stroked, kneaded and coaxed the pain and tension from my overworked limbs.
“OK, that’s all we have time for today,” she said after what seemed to be about five minutes after she’d began.
“Yeah?” I asked, uncharacteristically disoriented. I didn’t usually lose track of time. Time, down to the fraction of a second, governed my life.
“Sorry, tomorrow we have forty-five minutes. But today I’m doing sessions with some other members of your team.”
“No.” The word came out before I realized what I was saying. I hadn’t planned on it, but I knew instantly those other sessions weren’t going to happen.
“What?” she asked, looking at me, confused. I sat up, keeping my towel wrapped around my hips as I looked down into her eyes.
“Tell me everyone you’re supposed to be working with.” I knew I could be commanding. Authoritative. Type-A. I’d heard it all. Show me a top-tier athlete with a passive personality? That wasn’t me.
“Um…” After a last, hesitant glance at me, she grabbed a clipboard with her schedule. I took it from her and looked down the roster.
Chris, I knew it. He was supposed to be on this table next. And Matt. No goddamned way. They were my teammates and like brothers to me, but they fucked their way through women like it was their job. They’d get one look at Emma and it would be all over. They’d be turning on the charm, conning her like snake oil salesmen, doing anything and everything to get inside her pants.
Fitted yoga pants, to be exact, hugging her lithe, shapely legs. Her round, tight ass. Damn it. I moved the clipboard down into a more secure location, covering up like a high school kid with a math textbook.
“I’m going to need you a lot more than planned.” I stood, towering over her, close enough I could tell she’d drawn in her breath. Did I startle her? Scare her a little? Or something else? I couldn’t read her, but I wanted to. That was unusual for me, too.
“I’m going to go make some changes to your schedule.” I strode toward the door, waiting to put down the clipboard until I’d turned my back to her. “I’ll be seeing you later tonight.”
“What?” I could hear her say before the door closed behind me.
Whatever the male form of a diva was, sure, you could call me that. But I had a lot riding on this next month. I had everything riding on
it.
And it wasn’t just me. My teammates were relying on me, countless companies wanting product placements, the PR crew working the games. Hell, millions of fans worldwide were counting on me to win.
All eyes were on me. I knew exactly what I needed to do to reach my goal. My coaches, my teammates, my rigorous, relentless training schedule.
And Emma. All to myself. Any time. Morning, noon or night.
I wasn’t going to share. She would not be working with any other members of the team. I didn’t expect much pushback from our managers, and definitely not from the coaches. They were much more used to me being dissatisfied with services.
The fact that I’d found someone so good I wanted her all to myself? They’d probably high five each other. Especially since I could bankroll any additional expense. I’d cover the cost of hiring on a replacement for the remaining team members, no problem.
Emma was mine.
iBooks: itunes.apple.com/us/book/
in-deep/id1120982833?ls=1&mt=11
GoodReads TBR: goodreads.com/
book/show/30359117-in-deep
UNDENIABLE (DOM & GIGI)
He’s the one she couldn’t have. She’s the one he couldn’t forget.
They haven’t seen each other in four years. He’s been serving with the Special Forces. She’s finished college. They’ve had time to move on. Neither one has.
Now there’s a death threat. Her family’s business has pissed off a drug cartel. Her life’s in danger.
They’re thrown together, on the run. He has to keep her safe from everyone. Including himself.
NOTE: Undeniable is a standalone hot adult romance. It’s the fifth story in the Beg for It series—which can be read in any order—about the dominant, alpha males in the Kavanaugh family and the strong, sexy women who make them finally meet their match.
EXCERPT
Gigi