Fearless Maverick by Robyn Grady Read Free Book Online Page A

against
the rapid pulse beating high in her throat. He looked even better on his back
than he had standing. The rectus abdominis had been sculpted by a god. The tone
of his trapesius and deltoids were exceptional. The pectoralis majors, dusted
with crisp hair, were as first-rate an example as she’d ever seen—and she’d
seen a few. Powerful, firm, prime flesh. Below that waist band, Libby imagined
another well defined muscle and her mouth went dry.
                 He
pushed up on his good arm and his broad shoulders slanted toward her. ‘Maybe we
should start with something more strenuous. You know, get the show on the road.’
                 ‘No,
Alex. We shouldn’t.’
                 His
jaw shifted and eyes narrowed. ‘I can’t see what lying around will achieve.’
                 ‘Leave
that to me.’
                 His
gaze pierced hers, challenging, testing. Finally he rolled back down, looking
like a third grader forced to face some senseless spelling bee he hadn’t
studied for.
                 He
stared blindly at the ceiling. ‘What now?’
                 Alongside
of him, Libby took both his hands, which felt as hot and strong as the rest of
him looked. Her fingers curled around his and she brought them to lie near his
navel. She refused to acknowledge the trail of dark hair descending in a
particularly tantalising line to the loose band of his shorts, much less the
subtle bulge further down.
                 ‘No
pain?’ she asked in a remarkably composed voice.
                 His
gaze met hers and, confident, he grinned. ‘Not a hint.’
                 ‘Good.
Now slowly lift your arms.’
                 ‘How
high?’
                 ‘See
how you go. I’ll go through the exercise with you first.’ With his hands
sandwiched between hers, a hot pulse beating through her blood, she began to
move with him. ‘Up, two, three … hold and … down, two, three.’ Her words were
even, regulated, the opposite of her clambering heartbeat. ‘How’s that feel?’
                 ‘Up.
Down. Up. Down.’ She felt his curious gaze on hers. ‘How much longer?’
                 ‘A
few more times.’
                 Any
moment she expected him to protest again but as their breathing synchronised
with the movements, he seemed to accept the inevitable. So while they finished
the set, she focused on his shoulder, as well as his expression for signs of
discomfort. Her gaze drifted to gauge the steady breathing of that glorious
chest and before she could rein her straying thoughts in, she imagined her
palms gliding over that granite surface and her lips brushing those small dark
discs.
                 Hauling
herself back with a start, Libby lowered their hands a final time and took a
resolute step away.
                 ‘That’s
it?’ he asked, sounding pleased.
                 She
patted her hair, which she’d worn in a low bun with multiple pins today. ‘Now I’ll
show you an easy exercise to continue with.’ An active as opposed to passive
version of the exercise they’d done together. ‘And we’ll work in some remedial
massages along the way.’
                 But
he growled. ‘I don’t need massages. I don’t want easy.’
                 What
he really meant was, This soft stuff is a
waste of time .
                 Tucking
in her chin, Libby took stock.
                 This
time with Alex Wolfe would be more difficult than she’d thought. She knew Alex
was beyond eager to get back onto the track and that he was beyond confident
about his abilities. She respected where that energy came from … an
unconquerable winner’s spirit. That quality, however, did not excuse his veiled
attempt to bribe her, suggesting she convince the team doctor that he was fit
and well to drive whether he