Fearless Maverick (7 page)

 
          
‘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 was or he wasn’t. Nor did it excuse that forceful
tone.

 
          
Regardless,
the bottom line was that she’d taken on this case, which meant she would give
it her all and then some, whether Alex Wolfe appreciated her own brand of
zealousness or not. If he decided their relationship wasn’t working, he could
sack her, but she wasn’t about to quit, or double guess herself at every turn.
He’d thought enough of her credentials to hire her in the first place after
all.

 
          
‘Alex,
I appreciate your … enthusiasm, but I’m going to ask you to leave the program
to me.’

 
          
‘Just
as long as we’re in tune with what I need.’

 
          
What I
expect, he should have said.

 
          
Her
smile was thin. ‘I know precisely what you need.’

 
          
His
gaze pierced hers and she thought he might push his point to make himself
clear. The simmering in his eyes said he would miss not one more race than he
thought he had to. Every round he didn’t drive took him further away from the
means to retain his title, and anyone who tried to stop him was public enemy
number one.

 
          
But
then the thrust of his shadowed jaw eased, his trademark grin returned and he
added in a placated tone, ‘Pleased to know we’re on the same page.’

 
          
They
continued to work out with similar isometrics. After thirty minutes, she caught
him flinching so she called an end to their first session.

 
          
‘That’ll
do for today,’ she said, heading off to collect her bag.

 
          
He
was standing, hands threaded behind to allow a gentle stretch between the
blades. With his brow damp from rehabilitative work his body wasn’t used to, he
joined her. ‘So you’re leaving?’

 
          
‘I
have other appointments.’

 
          
She
was sure he wouldn’t be lonely. He must have acquaintances in Sydney he could
catch up with. No doubt many wore skirts.

 
          
While
she found her car keys, he eased into his shirt. Leaving it unbuttoned—an
unabashed encore, she supposed—he escorted her out of the gym. Halfway down the
long northern hall, that enormous storage block, visible beyond a set of
soaring windows, caught her eye.

 
          
Curious,
she slowed up. ‘What do you keep out there?’

 
          
‘Three
guesses.’

 
          
She
only needed one. ‘Cars.’

 
          
He
laughed and the deep, easy sound—as warm as a blanket on a cold night—made her
forget what a privileged pain in the butt he could be at times.

 
          
‘Come
and have a look,’ he said. When she opened her mouth to object, he broke in. ‘Surely
you can spare five minutes.’

 
          
Libby
thought it over. Her next appointment wasn’t for an hour, and she was intrigued
as to how many and what types of cars a motor racing champion owned. She knew
Payton would be interested to hear.

 
          
Relenting,
and more than a little excited, she nodded. ‘Five minutes.’

 
          
His
grey eyes smiled, but in a different way—as if he truly appreciated her
interest—and together they walked out the house, past the magazine lift-out
pool and over the immaculate emerald-green lawn.

 
          
‘Where
did it all start,’ she asked, ‘this love affair with cars and speed?’

 
          
‘My
father owned prestige automobiles, everything from vintage classics to
top-of-the-range sports cars. Every now and then I’d take one out.’

 
          
‘He
must have trusted you a great deal.’

 
          
‘Oh,
I didn’t ask. I became quite well known throughout Oxfordshire for my jaunts.’

 
          
‘Known
to the authorities?’ He only grinned, his gaze distant and mischievous as he
remembered back. ‘What did your father say when he got a hold of you?’

 
          
He
opened the huge end door and flicked a switch. An enormous space, filled with rows
of gleaming prestige cars, materialised before them.

 
          
‘What’s
your poison?’ he asked. ‘The red Ferrari F430 is extremely popular. Then there’s
the classic British sports car, which I can assure you is a very nice ride.’

 
          
The
spectacle greeting her was so out of the world ‘rich and famous,’ Libby put her
hand to her chest to try to catch a gasp. ‘I hate to think of your insurance
bill. Do you have as many cars in your other homes?’

 
          
They
strolled further inside, under the overly bright lights, surrounded by
automobile excellence and an atmosphere of wealth at its decadent best.

 
          
‘This
is my main stash. I have another healthy group hidden away in the French
countryside. Some in England too.’

 
          
‘Must
leave your dad’s collection for dead.’

 
          
Without
commenting, he strolled on, and it clicked that he hadn’t answered her previous
question. What had his father done when he’d caught his son driving his prize
cars? But then the obvious dawned and she guessed why he didn’t want to speak
about it.

 
          
She
put a compassionate note into her voice. ‘Is he still alive?’

 
          
Alex
frowned over. ‘Who?’

 
          
‘Your
father.’

 
          
He
ran his left hand over the bonnet of a deep-blue muscle car. ‘He’s dead.’

 
          
Expecting
that answer, she nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

 
          
‘You
must be the only person alive who is.’

 
          
Libby
blinked several times and was about to ask him to explain. But his eyes were
suddenly so shuttered, his face expressionless. Clearly this was a touchy
subject. Seemed there was more to motoring superstar Alex Wolfe than met the eye,
an obvious bitterness toward his deceased father for one. What else lay beneath
his polished public persona?

 
          
But
she was being no better than the press. Everyone was entitled to keep their
past private, she and Alex included.

 
          
Still
walking, she crossed her arms and looked down. ‘I apologise. I shouldn’t have
dug.’

 
          
He
tugged an ear and, thoughtful, focused on some far-off point. ‘Quite a bit of
digging’s been going on recently,’ he admitted.

 
          
About
his past? Who was digging? ‘Someone from your family?’

 
          
‘Yes.
From the family.’

 
          
‘Who?’

 
          
‘My
twin.’

 
          
‘You
have a twin brother?’

 
          
‘Sister.’

 
          
‘What’s
her name?’

 
          
It
took a few seconds for him to answer.

 
          
‘Annabelle.’

 
          
‘Alex
and Annabelle.’ She smiled. Cute.

 
          
‘She
was in contact before my accident.’

 
          
‘Something
to do with your father?’

 
          
‘His
estate,’ he replied. Then he turned back to face her and his demeanour
purposely lightened. ‘Seems our oldest brother has made an appearance out of
the distant blue to renovate old Wolfe Manor before the council tears it down.
A sound idea, if you ask me.’

 
          
‘This
is back in England? Oxfordshire?’

 
          
‘An
estate overlooking a quaint little village by the name of Wolfestone.’

 
          
Libby
shook her head, amazed. How many people had a village named after their family?
But Alex didn’t seem impressed by any of it. The timbre of his voice was casual
again but the light in his usually entrancing grey gaze had dulled.

 
          
‘How
long since you’ve seen this mysterious brother?’ she asked, knowing she was
being nosy again.

 
          
But
Libby knew ghosts from the past could creep up when a person had time on their
hands, and Alex wouldn’t be used to being confined, cut off, the way he had
been these past days. If he wanted to share—about his family and old Wolfe
Manor—anything he said wouldn’t go beyond her.

 
          
‘Jacob
left Wolfe Manor almost two decades ago. Disappeared one night without a
goodbye.’ He looked down at the same time his brow furrowed. But then he seemed
to shore himself up, particularly when his gaze hooked onto another sporty car.
‘I’d offer you a ride in my Sargaris TVR but I really need two hands to control
it.’

 
          
She’d
lost interest in cars. ‘Do you have other siblings other than those two?’

 
          
‘Three
shy of a football team.’

 
          
‘Do
you see them often?’

 
          
‘Not
regularly. Never all together. I haven’t seen Jacob since he left.’ Alex
hunkered down to inspect something that seemed to trouble him about one of the
car’s tyres. ‘What about you?’

 
          
‘Me?’

 
          
‘Do
you have brothers and sisters?’