Race For Love Page 6

  7

  In the morning, Kisima's eyes pricked some more as she braced herself up with her good arm and Derek assisted on her other side. She was not doing well; she could see her own progress. Do not cry. Don't you dare cry in front of Clark Kent, she admonished herself. She could do this.

  But a sigh and a sag and too much pressure on her hip and her legs were crumbling underneath her.

  Derek caught her of course. Because that's what annoying superheroes did.

  "Easy there. Good job for the day, we'll call it for the day, and pick up with this stuff tomorrow."

  She stubbornly shook her head. "I can do it." She glared at the marker where she was supposed to stop...five feet away. "Again."

  But Derek shook his head. "No. It's up to me to tell you when you've had enough. I know you want to push yourself. That's a good thing, but I can't let you push farther than you're ready for. We'll stop for now. Go have some lunch and then pick up again this afternoon."

  She pinned him with a narrow eyed gaze. "Weren’t you the one who essentially told me to stop being a baby and get my lazy ass up out of the chair?"

  He pressed his lips together. "That was a...miscalculation. I'd only looked at your charts. I hadn't seen the bruising. And I do want you out of the chair. I just want you to do it safely." Left to him, she'd be in remedial classes. She moved off to the side slightly. "Don't move. I'll get your chair."

  Screw him. She was getting to that marker today. The sooner she got to the marker, the sooner she'd be healed and the sooner she'd be back to normal again. Using one arm to brace herself on the bar, she shuffled again. Another inch. Oh, at this rate, it would only take her all fucking night to get to that red line. But by hook or by crook she was getting there—today. Not at some arbitrary date when he said.

  When he turned around with her chair, he wasn't pleased. "Jesus, Kisima." He ran to her, determined to support her other side, but she twisted away. "I'm going to do this. You'll see. I can. There is a goal to hit and I'm going to hit it." But she wasn't as strong as she wanted to believe. Nor was she used to being upright on two legs, because her good leg buckled and her bad leg, well, the pain came quick. She was going down.

  Derek was quick. Very quick. He wrapped his arms around her and broke her fall with his body. The good news was she didn’t hurt herself any more than she was already hurt. At least she didn't think so.

  The bad news was, not only that he'd managed to save the day...again, but, also she lay on top of him. Hip to hip, her breasts pressed into his chest, and something pressing into the juncture of her—Holy hell, endowed didn't even cut it as a descriptor word. Unless of course he stuffed his workout gear. Not that she'd put it past him.

  His voice was low when he spoke. "There's a reason you don’t attempt to do that shit on your own, Kisima. You can get hurt. Just freaking relax so I can help you up."

  Instead of helping her up though, he rolled them over deftly, so she lay beneath him, his hips and pelvis resting between her open legs. He was careful not to put any weight on her.

  In that second, the selfish, masochistic side of her enjoyed the feeling of his big, broad body over her. The association was impossible not to make. Her response was merely the by-product of not having a date in so long she couldn't remember. The slight uptick of her hips was completely involuntary. Yeah, sure it was.

  Derek's bright blue gaze pinned to hers for a millisecond and she saw the naked truth in his dilated pupils and flared nostrils.

  His gaze flickered to her lips. And she licked away the dryness. He groaned low. The feral sound spoke to a primal part of her and she involuntarily arched into him.

  His breathing changed to sharp, shallow pants. He was going to kiss her. Oh shit. She might not like him, but her body was beyond primed and ready. He stared at her lips, their breath comingling, but then, nothing happened. His eyes sharpened and the maddening arousing moment was gone.

  Well this was just freaking fantastic. Two people who couldn't stand each other wishing the other would scratch an itch. Well, she could ignore it if he could.

  He was on his feet in an instant, scooping her up into his arms. He transferred her to her chair quickly, and she couldn't help but stare at his profile. He really was too pretty for words. It really was too bad he was a pain in the ass.

  "Let's get one thing straight." His voice was tight, cold. "We had an agreement. You do what I say, when I say, and you don't do anything else. You could have hurt yourself just now."

  "But, I—"

  "No buts, Kisima. Now, either you want to get into that car or you don't. My way, you make it. On your own, not so much. So what will it be?"

  Asshole. "Your way." If she didn’t find a way to kill him first.

  ***

  "Let's get you in the water tomorrow," he'd said. "It will take some of the pressure off of your joints," he's said. Too bad Derek hadn't given the proper thought to the fact that Kisima would be in the water, warm and wet, and wearing that thing that could only be described as a man torturing device.

  When she'd come out of the house with the towel wrapped around her, he'd known right away he should not have suggested the pool.

  It had only been a couple of days and she was improving a little each day. Just getting up and moving was already increasing her range of motion and making her stronger. She was already able to tolerate the walker and some stretches during the day. With any luck, he could transition her to the crutches and out of the chair completely in a couple of days.

  She came toward the pool using the walker. The problem was the towel. It barely reached past her butt and showcased her mile long legs. Even with lack of constant use, they were still lean and well muscled. She'd have all her tone back in no time if she kept working.

  If anything, Derek was a leg man. Well, legs and ass, and tits weren't anything to sneeze at. Kisima Jennings had been blessed in all departments. His plan was to get out of the pool and help her. Really it was, but then, he'd seen her legs and his cock had other plans.

  Erection equaled, stay your ass in the water and think about anything other than her legs. Kiss must not have been in a helpful kind of mood because, once she reached the edge of the pool, she dropped the towel.

  Oh hell. He nearly swallowed his tongue. First of all, the white material on the cinnamon bronzed skin was a dynamite combination. Second, the bandage zigzag pattern of her suit hinted and teased enough flesh to have him panting, but at the same time wasn’t too provocative. It showed just cut outs of flesh on her belly, side, and he assumed, the back.

  Her surgery scar was visible, but it looked to be all healed up. Next time, tell her to get a Speedo suit or something. His ever-helpful brain provided him an image and he thought better of it. Picturing her full breasts incased in and pebbling against the spandex made his erection pulse. Focus. He stayed put in the shallow end and squinted up at her. "Do you need help getting in?" Shit was that his voice? Why the hell did he sound like it had been through a cement mixer?

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. "No. I got it."

  It had only been a few days, but he'd already come to recognize her game face. The one she made when she was concentrating really hard on something. He cleared his throat before speaking again. "Just lower yourself onto the lounger, then you can slide in." Okay, that was a bit better, but not much. "I'll steady you from here." He moved to stand in front of the lounger closest to him.

  She lowered herself, then gritted her teeth together as she swung her legs around. Derek reached out for her and wrapped his hands around her calves first to urge her closer to the edge. On skin to skin contact, she tensed and her dark eyes flickered up to meet his gaze. He felt the tight pull of awareness low in his belly. He'd barely touched her and he was raring to go. Why had he said yes when she'd called to ask him back? He could have said no and saved himself the torture.

  When she was close enough, he fitted his hands around her waist and gritted his teeth. Damn, she was soft.


  He growled a silent command to his dick. Stay in my fucking shorts.

  Kisima's eyes widened and her pupils were dilated. Okay, that didn't help. He didn't need her as aware of him as he was of her. "You ready to work?"

  She pursed her lips again, drawing his attention to the last place he should be focusing. It was going to be a hell of a day.

  He dragged a floatation belt from the side of the pool and deliberately avoided her gaze as he wrapped it around her. He took her through the stretches. Nice and easy. She worked without complaint, just that determination and grit he'd come to expect from her by now. She worked without a word either.

  She did everything he asked, but this was fucking brutal. It was the worse kind of chore. He'd take draining a septic tank to this. They needed to work together on this, otherwise neither of them would get the benefit out of it.

  Eventually he had to stop her. "You know, this will all be a little easier if you relax. Maybe have some fun."

  She raised a delicately arched eyebrow. "Fun? This isn't my idea of fun. A night out on the town with her best friend, Leah, that's my idea of fun. Taking a corner at nearly two hundred miles an hour, that is fun. Hell, I'll even take a sedate afternoon on the beach with a good book. This, pushing my muscles until they hurt, this is not fun. I can think of so many other things I can think of that are more fun."

  Derek's lips twitched. It was the most she'd spoken to him all day. "Okay, I hear you. This isn't fun. I'm asking you to do things that hurt. But I promise, it'll take your mind off of it if we at least act like we can be friendly."

  She glowered at him as he moved her arm through exercises. "Is this from the same guy who called me a pampered princess who needed to get over herself."

  Well, fuck. "I'm sorry about that. I was dealing with my own shit and after looking at your file it pissed me off that you weren't further along. Now that I've worked with you, I can see it's not because you're not working hard. Your last physical therapist didn't have a fucking clue. It ticked me off when I saw you. But now I've seen how you'll push yourself past the point where you should. You're not in this position because you're lazy or you’re pampered."

  She sniffed. "Oh, now you get it?" she said through gritted teeth.

  He sighed. He'd fucked up and right now his miscalculation was going to make his job more difficult. "I'm sorry, okay. I'm here for a couple of months and by no fault of yours it's not where I want to be. I put my shit on you and I shouldn't have. I fucked up. The way I see it, we can either move forward and you can let me help you, we can be a team and get you back in a car with minimal torture to either of us. Or we can take the painful tortured route."

  She dropped her arms and her shoulders slumped slightly, but she met his gaze levelly. "What did the hurricane say to the coconut palm tree?"

  Derek frowned. As long as he lived, he would never understand women. "What?"

  With a grin, she said, "Hold on to your nuts, this is no ordinary blow job!"

  He blinked once, not quite sure if he'd heard her correctly. Then the laugh bubbled out of him in a burst. "Are you kidding me right now? That was truly awful."

  She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, I'm funny. Hilarious even."

  "Where did you even hear that joke?"

  "You seem to forget I grew up at the track. Some of the greatest racers in the world have been my mentors. They were great in cars, terrible around children. I have no idea what TJ was thinking. You want to hear another one?"

  Yes. Especially if it kept her smiling like that. "No, please spare me." But because he liked the dancing light behind her eyes, he let her tell him a few more.

  8

  Best dream ever. Somewhere in the back of Kisima's mind, she was aware that she should be worried she was dreaming about her trainer. But it was a dream, it was safe. No one ever had to know.

  Derek's scent enveloped her and she drank it in. Ocean breezes. He smelled like her favorite place in the world. Nuzzling toward the smell, she relished in one of these rare, non-pain moments. It was nice. Hell, it was better than nice. She just wished she had more of these. It was a dream, but she was staying here, in Derek's arms just a little bit longer.

  A low chuckle made her frown. What was he laughing at? "Stop laughing at me. You try controlling all this hair, see how you like it," she mumbled at the dream Derek. She much preferred this version of him. One that wasn't judging her or making her angry or wasn't making her do things that hurt. This Derek she liked very much.

  "Hey, princess," He cleared his throat. "As much as I'm enjoying this cuddle session, I need you to get started on the day. It's going to be a hard day for you and lazing around isn't going to work."

  Kisima frowned. That was all wrong. Dream Derek was supposed to make her stay in bed. To lay here while he brought her breakfast in bed. She forced an eyelid open and she was met with pitch blackness. In an effort to get a better grasp on her bearings, she blinked both eyes and forced her gaze to focus. Okay, it might not have been entirely pitch in her room. Gray light filtered in from the plantation shutters. What time was it? She tried to lift her head and a deep voice cautioned her against that.

  "Easy does it, princess. You didn't take your pain meds last night, so I'm pretty sure that's gonna hurt." She startled, then cursed when the jarring motion sent a spear of pain up her shoulder. "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about."

  Belatedly, she realized that the voice was real and not a figment of her imagination. Derek's voice. Shit. "What are you doing in my room?"

  His chuckle was low. "Easy, princess. Your virtue is intact. I knocked several times but you didn't wake up, so I came to get you."

  Oh. "Okay, uhm, can you help me get into my chair?"

  He stroked a hand over her forehead. "I probably should have mentioned this yesterday too, but I thought maybe you'd balk, so I'm going to tell you now. No more chair. You're going to be using the crutches and canes from now on."

  Screw the pain in her skull, she forced herself to a sitting position and winced at the flare of white-hot fire in her shoulder. "You can't do that. I need to get around."

  "We are in agreement. But, you can do it without the chair."

  "Fuck you."

  "We'll get to that. In the meantime, here are the crutches. Use them, or don't, not my problem. I'll see you downstairs in ten minutes."

  Ten minutes? He was kidding himself. "I'll get there when I get there."

  He flashed the devil's own grin at her. "Ten minutes, or I'm coming up to help you and you might not like the state of undress I find you in."

  She flushed and thanked God it was dark in the room. "Fine, can you get out so I can get ready?" It was official. She hated Derek Donovan.

  He pushed away from the bed smoothly. "Incidentally, did you know you talk in your sleep?"

  Oh God. No, please if there was a God or Buddha or whoever, no. She was dreaming. It was supposed to be a safe place. How was she supposed to know he was really there. Intruding on prime sleep time. "No, I don't. What time is it anyway?"

  He nodded and laughed low. "Yes, you do, but I'm gonna let it slide right now. It's five thirty. Get your ass in gear." At the door, he paused and turned to face her. "One more thing. Take the damn ibuprofen. I need you fighting on full cylinders and you can't be distracted by residual pain. If you choose not to take it, that's your business, but then I'm going to start finding other ways to get you medication, do you understand?"

  Her eyes flared. "You wouldn't dare drug me."

  Derek crossed his arms and her gaze was pulled to those magnificent pecs and the bulges on his arms.

  "No, I wouldn't. But I have other ways of motivating you."

  A shudder ran down her spine. Something in his gaze told her he was deadly serious. She eyeballed the two tablets sitting on her bedside table along with the glass of water. "I take it and you get off my case?"

  "That's how this works. You do what I say, I don’t give you any shit. You don’t do what I say, I make life hellish." As h
e turned to leave he said, "Make good choices, Kisima."

  She glared at the ibuprofen, but she did as she was told and popped the pills into her mouth. Maybe it would be nice not to be in pain all the time. Besides, it was only ibuprofen. It wasn't going to hurt her and she wasn't becoming dependent on it. Besides, she had a feeling that the two she took were going to be just enough to dull the sharpness of pain and nothing more. Derek Donovan didn't look like he was playing around and she'd need all the help she could get.

  ***

  Derek gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. This was all kinds of a mistake. Kisima was going to kill him. He tried to remind himself of the Kallie situation—calling up the way it felt when he'd found out the truth. He was so desperate, he even pulled out memories of his mother and the way she left. How he'd felt when she ran away with her new boyfriend, someone she worked with, leaving him and Dylan behind. But none of it worked. Barely a week with Kisima and he was about to cross every professional boundary he had.

  The woman was infuriating. She was obstinate, she thought she knew better. She fought him on everything, making him deliberately nuts.

  And fuck it, the whole house smelled like her coconut hair stuff. The bathroom, the kitchen. Everything. Sleeping last night had been a special challenge.

  He scrubbed his hands down his face. This was fine. He could do this. She was a client. He just needed to look at her like he looked at Deyshawn. She was nothing special. Liar. Under those thin vintage t-shirts she seemed to favor, her tits were like a beacon, full and pert.

  You're a professional, asshole. Keep your eyes and your mind off her tits. That was all well and good, but the real problem was he'd looked her up last night. Fired up the old laptop and gone looking at that damn Sport Illustrated cover. The one where she'd been wearing a white bikini. The brightness of the fabric playing off her dark skin. The bottoms had hugged her rounded hips. And the top of the bikini, well, it had only been half on. Her arms strategically placed, covered her bare breast. The whole damn picture had looked like white chocolate poured over milk chocolate.