“You’re trying to corrupt me?” She swapped to his other leg and he lifted his head up off the table to catch a view of her in his peripheral vision.
He saw his mistake right away.
She’d bent forward over the utilitarian bed to reach the far side of his body, the movement highlighting a perfectly shaped rear end and taut thighs all too apparent in her sleek black yoga pants.
The visual that translated to in his mind was of her bent over the table and him standing behind her, exploring those curves with his hands before he plunged deep—
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His voice caught on a raspy note as he tried to chase away the image burned in his fevered brain. “Corrupting you, that is.”
“Actually—” she finished her massage with a light slap on his thigh before she turned back to the sink. “I think we’ve worked hard enough today where we could afford to call it quits now.”
She ran the water over her hands while Javier wondered how he’d ever get up—er, that is, how he’d ever stand—with her still in the room. His workout shorts wouldn’t begin to hide his sudden inability to handle a little physical therapy, something athletes contended with all the time.
What the hell was the matter with him? This woman had gotten under his skin so fast he’d never seen it coming. Most women vied for his notice, attracted to his career and his paycheck. But this one called him on his bad behavior and gave him serious attitude in return. Hell, yes, he liked Ms. Lisa Whatley.
“Does that work for you?” Lisa turned to peer at him over her shoulder as she dried her hands on a paper towel.
Actually, it had all worked a little too well for him today.
She had him all wound up and damn near speechless—a condition he was not one bit accustomed to feeling.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He wrenched his focus back to a knot in the pine floorboards visible through the hole in the massage table. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When he had his head on straight again and this crazy desire had eased. When he wasn’t salivating over her curves and fantasizing about having her in his bed. He hoped she’d grab her bag and go so he could shake off this unwise attraction.
She didn’t.
Instead, she dropped onto a low trampoline nearby used for a variety of leg and knee rehab.
“So tell me, Javier,” she began, resting her arms on her knees as she shifted into a comfortable position. “Why are you trying to destroy yourself at such an early age?”
LISA WHATLEY WASN’T ABOUT to waste the inroads she’d made with the Chicago Flames All-Star player this afternoon. She’d been hired to do more than administer to the guy’s physical well-being. The head of the training staff for the Flames was an old friend and he’d shared his worries about Velasquez’s over-the-top behavior.
The slugger had gotten in a motorcycle accident during the off-season and hadn’t been wearing a helmet. Then he’d been fined for bungee jumping off a public bridge frequented by thrill seekers. And while no one had ever gotten into legal trouble over the stunt before, the local cops had hoped ticketing Velasquez would serve as an example to others.
Basically, the third baseman had engaged in all kinds of risky behavior, and the team management wanted him to stop. While they could hardly order a psych eval, they could encourage staffers to talk sense into him.
Lisa hadn’t promised any miracles, but she had been drawn to the temporary gig because she could identify with that need to live on the edge. She’d been there herself and survived to tell the tale although—heaven knew—it had been touch and go for a while after she’d crashed a prop plane she’d been trying to fly without a license. Walking away from that accident with the chance to reevaluate her choices in life had made her empathize with Javier’s situation. She didn’t know the reasons behind his risk taking yet, but she identified with him enough that there wasn’t a chance she could refuse to work with him.
Javier didn’t answer her question for a long moment. Finally, he levered himself up to a sitting position on the table and tugged a fresh towel out of a bin nearby to wrap around his neck.
“Is this for my file, Lisa Whatley?” He clenched an end of the towel in each hand, twisting it. “Because I can go right back to harassing you if you’re calling an end to the truce already.”
“We have a truce?” She hadn’t expected to be even remotely charmed by a man who flirted with danger for fun. After conquering her own daredevil impulses, she’d tended to gravitate toward men with quieter temperaments to reinforce her healthier lifestyle choices.
Yet she found herself wanting to know more about him and not just because of his thrill seeking. After only three days of working with him, she could see his intense commitment to his sport. Sure, he’d made a few asinine comments to her today, but he’d waited until he’d put in his time with her. No whining or excuses about not wanting to perform any of the monotonous and occasionally painful exercises he surely found boring. He obviously took excellent care of himself with or without her, and she admired that kind of physical discipline. She understood better than most people how difficult that was to maintain, especially after an injury like he’d had the previous season.
She’d gone into physical therapy after the grueling months of recovery from her accident. Regaining the use of her leg after the way she’d torn up her hip had been difficult, but she’d been intellectually fascinated by the process enough to launch a career.
“Yes.” His dark eyes glittered and she allowed herself a moment to admire his Latin good looks. Tall and dark-skinned, he had pale green eyes that were a surprising combination with the rich color of his skin. His short hair was deep brown, and his features were sharply patrician from the high cheekbones to the straight arrow nose. And as a power hitter, he was strong as an ox, arms full of muscle. “That’s what the first-name basis means. I’ll stop trying to scare you off, but you cease and desist any attempt to get inside my head.”
Her jaw fell open. “I asked you one question. It was direct and straightforward, with no subterfuge.” She shrugged her shoulders and stood. “Forgive my curiosity to know what’s eating you, but as someone who has dangled at the end of a busted bungee cord and known the merits of cliff diving firsthand, I thought we might have something to talk about besides your lame attempt to pick me up.”
Turning on her heel, her gym shoes squeaked on the tile as she marched for the door with a head of steam. He beat her to it. Planting himself between her and the knob before she reached it, her hand connected with his abs instead.
She yanked back her fingers, unwilling to touch him any more than she had to. Attraction between them would be more than problematic—it would get her fired and could be the final straw in Javier’s touchy relationship with the Flames’ management. She couldn’t afford to get hot and bothered from the sincerity in his eyes or the sizzle in his touch.
“I’m an ass.” He held his hands up in surrender, conceding the point. “It’s common knowledge around the League. I guess I assumed you’d been briefed on that character flaw.”
His hands fell to his sides, but he didn’t step away from the door. His quick apology had chased away her irritation anyhow. Ah, who was she kidding? Mouthy Javier had utterly charmed her.
“The character flaw section of the file was too much dense reading, so I skipped it.” She didn’t plan on letting him get away with anything, suspecting he would steamroll any woman who couldn’t hold her own.
But he took no offense, grinning at her in a way that made her heart sit up and take notice.
“That’s great. I can start with a clean slate.” He reached out to her, surprising her by taking her hand in both of his. “Forget what I said. Forget that I’m notoriously difficult to work with. How about we get out of here and have a drink? Get to know each other in an environment that doesn’t involve me being naked or you having a job to do.”