In Deep: Chase & Emma (All In Book 1) (4 page)

He flipped over, not
saying a word. I hadn’t even met his eyes. I was too busy staring
at his cock. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my racing heart.

Every professional
massage therapist had a story about a client becoming aroused. It was
only natural when a man was getting a rubdown with warm oils and
stroking hands. It was the masseuse’s responsibility to maintain
strict professional standards, not drawing attention to the
potentially embarrassing situation but also clearly shutting down any
alternate scenarios. There would be no happy ending from a
professional masseuse.

Thankfully, I’d never
had a client make an inappropriate advance. That wasn’t even
happening now. Chase lay there on his stomach as I began working on
his back and shoulder, breathing deeply, silent.

I was the problem. I
was the one having inappropriate thoughts. Wondering what it would
feel like to slip his briefs down and slide my hand along his thick
shaft. How good it would feel to take him into my wet mouth and suck.
How deep he could fill me if he drilled into me, looking down with
his intense ice-blue gaze as he spread my thighs and entered me to
the hilt.

I did my best to focus
my thoughts, steer them toward safer subject matter. And once I
finished, I nearly ran to the door of his suite. He hadn’t even
fully sat up before I was at the exit saying over my shoulder, “See
you tomorrow!”

“Nine, after my first
workout,” he called after me. Of course, nine a.m. would be
after
his first workout session.

Back in my hotel room,
I paced around like a nutjob. Why was there never anyone to massage
the massage therapist? I felt so wired, but it was too late to go for
a run. Maybe I could call up one of the women I’d met yesterday?
We’d had a welcome meeting with all the staff members working with
the team in various capacities through the Olympic Games. We were all
staying at the same hotel, and I’d exchanged numbers with a few. I
bet one would be up for going out for a drink.

Maybe there’d be a
chance of running into Chase if we went out to a bar? True, I had
just run out of his hotel room which would imply that I wasn’t
interested in spending any more time with him. But that whole nervous
jackrabbit thing? That was because I didn’t know what to do with
myself. I’d been in a hotel room with him nearly naked in a
professional capacity. But I’d wanted it to turn into much more
than that.

I had to fan myself at
the memory of him lying there in his briefs. His body was absolute
perfection, every inch. And how many inches was he? His cock looked
enormous. How did it even work with a man that large? I felt a throb
at the prospect, something primal in me responding to the challenge.
I bet he’d get me so wet I could take him all the way in.

Blip! My phone sounded off with a
text. Maybe it was Chase?

Tori: Don’t fall for him.

With a groan, I smacked
down the phone. How did she know me so well? Damn it. That was the
problem with old friends. They knew everything about you to such a
frustrating degree that they could predict your every move. Or
mistake.

Grumbling, I headed to
the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Maybe it would be
better to have a quiet night in, watch something dumb on TV or read a
bit. Tori was right. I wasn’t even one full day into this
assignment and I was already fantasizing about my new client. I had
to watch myself.

I had a terrible track
record with guys. You know how some people had a bad sense of
direction? When the correct choice was to head left, they always
decided to go right? That’s how I was with guys. Send a creep my
way and I’d no doubt decide he was fantastic. My first love in high
school? He’d cheated on me. My second love in college? Yup, him
too. But my latest boyfriend had really taken the cake. Pair heavy
drinking and occasional drug use with gambling and what did you get?
Hint: the answer was not a fantastic boyfriend.

I should learn my
lesson. When I found myself feeling a spark of interest in a man, I
should head right in the other direction. And when the attraction was
of epic proportions? I should run.

As I lay in bed,
drifting off, I tried to keep all of the warnings in mind. All of the
train wrecks I’d called relationships. Oh, and what was I
forgetting? Perhaps the fact that I’d been hired as a professional
to work with Chase as his physical therapist? I was not there to
develop a wicked, panty-melting crush.

But the mind was a
funny thing. Mine, like a magnet, kept getting pulled toward the
sight of him laying before me like a magnificently sculpted erotic
masterpiece. Irresistible.

Chase

Flying through the
water, arm over arm, kick after kick, I didn’t even feel like I was
exerting myself. I may have been a dolphin in another life. Sometimes
I felt more at home in the water than out, the rhythm, the balance,
the effortlessness of it all. And this morning’s workout wasn’t
about speed. It was about stamina. My daily two hours in the morning
was just to maintain my baseline. The rest of the day was devoted to
strength and flexibility in the gym, plus technique and speed back in
the pool later in the day.

But morning laps were
the time to zone out and relax into the activity. I’d done some
reading on Zen philosophy over the years, with an eye toward how it
could help me compete—yes, I got the irony—and there were some
moments I almost experienced flow. That perfect harmony between brain
and body, the two acting seamlessly, in perfect integration, without
that hamster wheel of thought constantly churning and turning. No
interruption of past or future, just now.

Except for Emma. That
morning I kept thinking about Emma. I wouldn’t say she had me
rattled. I didn’t feel off my game. It was almost as if I felt more
focused, now on two goals instead of one.

There was something
about her, quiet and still and so appealing. I couldn’t put my
finger on it. I really wanted to put my fingers all over her.

Sometimes when I swam I
had the mental visual of a racehorse wearing blinders. Trainers used
them to keep horses focused on what was right in front of them. No
crowds or noises interfering, just the course ahead. A great swimmer
didn’t get distracted. It didn’t help performance to get knocked
off course by events, letting my mind buzz with external distractions
and activity.

I had strong blinders.
I could filter out almost anything, honing all of my energies and
attention toward one goal. But then there was Emma.

I liked the way she
smiled, the way she touched me, the way her features melted into a
laugh. I wasn’t always an observant person—and many people who
knew me might have just spit out their drink had they heard that
understatement—but I’d noticed Emma. Lying there on the table
last night as she’d worked my sore muscles, she smelled like
vanilla and lavender, clean and feminine. I wanted to bury myself in
her.

I’d gotten so hard
while she’d rubbed my quad. It was such a rookie move. I almost
couldn’t believe it had happened. But no sobering thoughts had
quieted the raging storm wreaking havoc in my body.

The way she stroked me
felt so good, so sure and intuitive, firm but gentle at the same
time. She really knew what she was doing. Like she’d had a lot of
prior experience.

And, just like that, a
wave jealousy washed over me. Which made absolutely no sense.
Experience was crucial to becoming a good physical therapist. Plus,
jealousy wasn’t an emotion I’d often experienced. In fact, I’d
had plenty of women in the past try to make me jealous and I’d
barely even noticed, let alone cared. Yet yesterday I’d instantly
felt possessive enough of Emma to take her off the roster to work
with anyone else. Now here I was, not even liking the idea of her
having worked with anyone else in previous years. I had to get a
grip.

My teammate Brian and I
hauled ourselves out of the pool, heading over for a quick rinse.
Brian was a good guy. He didn’t have too much to say, no boasting
or bragging, just straight-out reliable performance. We’d be
swimming the medley relay together, him on backstroke, me on
butterfly. Together, we had a real chance at winning gold.

I’d already medaled
at the games, back eight years ago at 18. I’d won a bronze and a
silver, accomplishments to be proud of, for sure, but I wanted more.
These games were my time to claim the ultimate prize.

Towel thrown across my
shoulders, still in my swim briefs, I headed back to my suite. To see
Emma. It nearly brought a smile to my face, and I wasn’t the type
of guy who walked around smiling all the time. Had she been up long?
Was I on her mind like she was on mine?

I knew I was intense,
in and out of the pool. I had an insatiable appetite and a strong
dominant streak in the bedroom. I was never violent or aggressive,
but possessive? In charge? Relentless? Yes to all of the above.

I didn’t do casual. I
wasn’t into quick, meaningless hook ups. When I went in, I went in
deep.

Yes, I knew it was
slightly crazy to already be thinking about Emma this way when I’d
only just met her. But sometimes you just knew. The attraction
between us was nuclear.

She was standing there
waiting for me when I arrived, 8:55 a.m., looking sleek and fit in
high-cut running shorts and a tank. San Antonio in mid-July didn’t
require much clothing. I’d like her wearing even less.

“You’re early.” I
slipped my card into the door and opened it for her. “I’ll have
them get you a room card, too, so you don’t have to wait for me
outside.”

“Oh, that’s not
necessary.” She stepped in before me and I caught her scent, light
and teasing. I bet the taste of her would make me lose my mind.

“I’ll get you a
card,” I insisted, following, the door closing behind me. “My
first race is August sixth. We only have 21 days left.” The amount
of time I wanted to spend with her, I basically wanted her to move
in.

“Three weeks from
today.” She looked up at me. “How are you feeling?”

I gave her the rundown,
right shoulder slightly tight, left hamstring twinged on and off
during my swim. An athlete had to strike a fine balance between
gutting through pain and listening to it. I hadn’t struck the right
balance prepping for the last games in 2012. Too much gutting it out
had cost me my opportunity to compete. I wasn’t going to make the
same mistake twice.

“I meant in general,”
she clarified.

“How am I feeling? In
general?” I had to admit, I felt mystified. Was she asking me about
my emotions, like I was a person and not a well-honed swimming
machine?

“Yeah.” She
chuckled a little at my confusion. “You know, are you feeling good?
Excited? Nervous? It’s the Olympics.”

“I don’t let
emotions sidetrack me, Emma.” I stepped toward her, reaching out to
touch her ponytail, twisting it around my finger. Would she like it
if I pulled her head back and kissed her? Would she be shocked at
first, but then get turned on if I fisted my hand in her hair? “I
go after what I want. I stay focused on my goal until I get it.”

Her lips looked so soft
and she parted them slightly as she looked up at me. Her breathing
picked up a notch. So did mine as we stood together, inches apart.

“OK,” she snapped
us out of our spell, stepping away and toward the massage table.
“First let me work on those two problem areas. Then we’ll
stretch.” With me up on the table, she got right to work. I let her
do what she did so well, not speaking so I wouldn’t interrupt her
flow.

I wondered what I
should say to her when she was done. The whole talking-to-women thing
wasn’t a skill I’d devoted much time to cultivating. Women didn’t
seem to mind much if I wasn’t a great conversationalist. Being a
world-class competitive athlete gave you all kinds of advantages, but
I wasn’t exactly well-rounded in my skills. I could perform better
physically than most other men—on many levels—but I hadn’t
exactly flexed my “get to know you” muscle with a woman that
often.

I talked to women every
day, but they were my teammates, my comrades-in-arms as we all
trained for the fight. We talked shop and strategy. We didn’t
exactly have heart-to-hearts. Some of them were nice, some of them
were pretty, and I’d fight like hell to defend any one of them if
anyone tried to mess with them. But I’d no more start up a romantic
relationship with a woman on my team than I’d jump in front of a
speeding train. I’d seen far too many go down that path and regret
it almost immediately. When shit went bad between a team couple,
everyone felt the pain.

So here I was, Mr.
Magazine Cover Model, a conga line of female fans waiting to jump me,
feeling somewhat tongue-tied as Emma rubbed my shoulder. No-nonsense,
focused, she didn’t say anything, either. Until she was satisfied
with her work.

“That’s it for
now.” She patted my arm. “Let me stretch you.”

I had a yoga mat
already laid out for the purpose. Stretching was my friend. It didn’t
used to be, but I’d learned over the years the advantage it could
provide, and the pitfalls it could avoid.

She had me lying flat
on my back in no time. Cheesy lines came to mind, stupid flirtations
about liking her moves or letting her have her way with me. I kept my
mouth shut as she knelt at my side and brought my leg up and back,
pressing on the back of my thigh.

“Hot enough for you?”
I asked as she leaned on me with her body weight.

“What?” She looked
up like she had no idea what I was talking about.

Damn it. That’s what
I’d come up with, talking about the weather? Man, I had no game.

“I mean this Texas
heat,” I explained, into the perfectly air-conditioned hotel room.