Робин Грейди – The Fearless Maverick (страница 4)

He was looking at her, his head slightly angled, a peculiar, flattering gleam in his eyes.

‘I see.’

She held her breath against an unbidden flare of emotion, cleared her throat and focused again. ‘With your hands on the wheel, the impact from the accident jarred your right humerus, which then sat anteriorly from the—’

His deep soft laugh interrupted her. ‘Rewind a little, doc.’

‘I’m not a doctor.’ She wanted to be clear on her qualifications. ‘I have a Bachelor of Health Sciences with honours and am a member of the Australian Physiotherapy Association.’

‘And for now you are the lady who holds my future in the palm of her hand. I’ll call you “doc.” With your permission, of course.’

Libby stiffened. Talk about pressure. But then, he was paying the bill. She gave a hesitant half-shrug.

‘I suppose … if it makes you feel more comfortable.’

His gaze dipped to her lips, then caught her eyes again. ‘So—doc—you were saying.’

‘Your humerus—’ She stopped and bunched one hand to demonstrate. ‘The ball slid partially out of its joint and needed to be manipulated back into the centre of your glenoid cavity, or socket.’ She cupped her palm, pushed her fist in and locked the ‘ball,’ then disengaged it again.

‘Right. The ball—’ his own hand bunched ‘—goes into the socket.’ He fit his big hard hot fist inside her still-elevated palm.

At the instant of contact, Libby’s internal alarm blared and she jerked away.

Their eyes locked—his questioning, hers, she knew, wide and exposed. That tingling in her belly had intensified and the suddenly sensitive tips of her breasts tightened and ached.

But when one corner of his mouth hooked up the barest amount, Libby was brought back. As casually as possible, she scooped some hair behind an ear and willed her cantering heartbeat to slow. Crazy to even consider but …

Was he flirting with her? She couldn’t be sure. He was a superstar and …

It’d been such a long time.

Her last intimate relationship had ended four months after her accident. She’d thought fellow pro surfer Scott Wilkinson had been the sexist man alive, but Scott was an amateur compared to Alex Wolfe. This man’s power to captivate with a simple look, the slightest touch, was palpable. She’d like to meet the woman who was immune to the magic of that smile. Charm was as instinctive to this man as his taking a corner at death-defying speeds. That wasn’t to imply he would in any way be interested in checking her track out, so to speak.

More to the point, she wasn’t interested in a quick spin with him either.

Schooling her features, Libby straightened her spine and focused on business. ‘We’ll need to concentrate on a series of strengthening rehabilitative exercises.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘When would you like to begin, Mr Wolfe?’

‘Call me Alex.’

A perfectly reasonable request, she decided, noticing how his grey eyes seemed to sparkle at her nod of accent. ‘What if I set up a timetable—?’

‘I thought we could start tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow’s fine.’ Her voice lowered to a serious note. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that we’ll need to work hard. Consistently.’

‘I’ve no doubt you’ll bring me through in time.’

Frowning, she cast her mind back. Had she overlooked something?

‘In time for what?’

‘I’ll miss Round Three this weekend.’ A muscle in his cheek flexed twice. ‘Can’t be helped, I’m afraid. Round Four’s three weeks subsequent to that.’

Libby almost laughed. He was joking. But while his expression might be relaxed, the set of his square jaw was firm. He’d never been more serious in his life.

‘I was told you’d been declared unfit by your team’s doctor to drive professionally for at least six weeks.’

‘We’ll prove him wrong.’

She sat forward. He should be set straight.

‘Your trackside physician wasn’t able to perform the reduction. As you’d have been told many times now, delay can cause complications. An axial view showed stripping of the inferior glenoid and rotator cuff tearing …’

Her words dropped away as any patience she’d seen in his eyes on the subject cooled.

‘My assistant informs me,’ he said, ‘that your clients think you perform miracles.’

‘I’m not a saint, Mr Wolfe.’

‘Alex. And, believe me, I’m not after a saint.’

His eyes smouldered and that hot pulse in her belly squeezed and sizzled. When the beating slid to a lower dangerous point, Libby pushed to her feet, too quickly as it turned out. She tipped to one side and threw out an arm to steady herself. But Alex Wolfe was already there, standing close, an arm circling her waist, his solid frame effortlessly providing the support she needed.

She was five-six, but she had to arc her neck way back to look into his face … which was a mistake. When those entrancing lidded eyes fused with hers, she imagined that his hold around her middle cinched, bringing her front to within a hair’s-breadth of his … close to his chest … to those legs.

Giddy, she broke his hold and took two steps back.

As she willed the fire from her face and got herself together, he asked, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Perfectly. Thank you.’ Shifting the bangs off her cheeks, she gathered herself and resumed a businesslike air. ‘I presume you know where my practice is.’

‘All treatments will be conducted here.’

Her brows shot up. ‘My equipment’s at work.’

‘I’ll be honest.’ His free hand slid into his trouser pocket and his legs braced wider apart. ‘I’m concerned about the press. I have enough on my mind without watching out for headlines speculating on whether I’m a washed-up cripple.’

Her insides wrenching, Libby flinched.

In the second it took to compose her expression, Alex frowned as if he’d glimpsed and wondered at her lapse. With knees locked, she offered an indulgent smile.

‘I understand you might want to shield yourself. But I’m afraid—’

‘Everything you need will be brought in. I’ll have my assistant organise it. And I’ll double your fee to cover any inconvenience and time difficulties.’

She shut her dropped jaw.

Was she reading him right? Double your fee …? We’ll prove him wrong …? You’ll bring me through …? Did he think he could bribe her into cutting short his treatment so he could make his Round Four? Clearly Alex Wolfe wasn’t familiar with the terms caution or compromise. He knew only one way to get things done. His way. If she didn’t agree to his conditions—his offer—no doubt he’d find someone who would.

Which left her two choices.

She could bow to the inevitable, agree that all work be carried out on his private premises and take the fortune he offered as well as give the all clear when he deemed, whether he was fit to return to driving in her opinion or not. Or she could tell him she couldn’t be manipulated by his charm or his pride. That her ethics were more important to her than money. More important than anything.

But there was a third option.

Decided, she looked him in the eye. ‘I’ll speak with your assistant. Get the ball rolling. We’ll start tomorrow morning.’

A shadow swept over his expression, so fast she almost missed it. She recognised the emotion. Disappointment. He’d thought she’d put up more of a fight before capitulating to his terms, even for show’s sake. Pity she couldn’t set him straight, but that would come … when the time was right.

She headed for the door. ‘I’ll be back in the office in half an hour. Your assistant can call me any time after that.’

With long fluid strides he caught up, a satisfied smile tilting his lips. ‘I do believe I’ll enjoy working with you, doc.’

Doc. Walking side by side down the hall, Libby grinned.

‘Perhaps I ought to wear a white coat and stethoscope when I call next,’ she said, a slightly mocking edge to her voice.

‘Feel free to wear whatever makes you comfortable. I will.’

‘Oh, there won’t be much need for clothes,’ she said, stopping before the front doors. ‘On your part, at least.’

His hold on the handle froze.

Swallowing the grin, she brushed his hand aside, opened the door and stepped out. ‘See you tomorrow. Nine sharp.’