11

Britta

I mindlessly spin the gold bangles on my wrist as I head to where Cash works as a professional trainer.

Am I secretly swooning over getting to see him in action? Absolutely not. But am I also in denial about the fact that I will be forced to work in close proximity to him for the next week or so? Yes.

Could be swooning, could be plotting his demise…guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

I step into the air-conditioned facility and suppress the shiver that threatens to make me squirm. By the looks of it, there are a couple different athletes working out, one on weights, the other…

I close my eyes and pray for the type of strength only the Almighty can offer.

Or a blindfold.

A very shirtless, very inked Cash is sprawled out on the floor, doing pushups alongside a competitor. They’re yelling out numbers, almost in unison, as their bodies pump up and down toward the ground.

Part of me feels like I shouldn’t be allowed to stare so blatantly at the overt display of masculine yumminess, but a young guy lifting weights yells, “Come on, Randy! Faster!” And suddenly I don’t feel so bad.

Should I be rooting for Cash to best Randy? Or maybe the other way around…

“A hundred!” Cash grits out, then rises to his feet, pushing the sweaty hair back from his eyes. His partially tatted torso glistens as he adjusts the stretchy waistband of his athletic pants. My eyes nearly bug out my head before I finally look away and warn my brain that it better not file that visual away.

Or else.

Or else while I’m lying in bed late at night, my stupid female brain will do its darndest to make Cash the perfectly sculpted hero of my dreams.

No! Bad brain! Stop it!

When a masculine throat clears from in front of me, I raise my gaze to find Cash fixing the bun at the back of his head. “Hey,” he says, brow furrowed. “You’re a bit early.” Once his bun is neatly arranged, he rests his hands low on his very chiseled hips.

I drag my eyes to his face with a whimper. “Um. Yeah. I like to be punctual.”

He nods. “Noted.”

The guy who was also doing pushups steps up next to him and rests an elbow on Cash’s broad shoulder. “Hey, there. I’m Randy.” I shake the hand he holds out for me, even if he borderlines on too sweaty to want to touch.

“Hi, I’m Britta. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” The guy’s hungry gaze does a slow intake of my entire person, and I resist the urge to scoff.

He’s got to be at least ten years younger than me. Not that I mind a little appreciative glance from a younger guy now and then. But come on. He’s even younger than Cash. Who, by the way, must notice his friend’s perusal because he clears his throat even louder than he did when he caught my attention.

“Randy, why don’t you go join Lance and start lifting.”

Completely ignoring Cash, Randy asks, “Are you here to train, too, Britta?”

Cash not so subtly shrugs off Randy’s arm, reaches forward, and cups my elbow. “She’s here to work for me.” In what feels like an attempt to rush me away, he nudges me forward. But me being me, I dig my heels in and angle toward Randy.

“I’d love to train here some time if Cash has any openings.”

“Nope, sorry. All booked up.”

“I can train her,” Randy offers like an eager little puppy wagging its tail. “It would be my pleasure.”

I bat my eyes and feign flattery even if Randy’s laying it on a little thick. “That might be fun.”

It might be my overactive imagination or possibly my baby-starved ovaries imagining it, but I think Cash growls. Like actually growls . “We’ve got work to do, and so do you, Tide. Get going or I’ll add fifty more reps to your set.”

Randy grumbles a complaint under his breath before jogging toward the weight rack, where the other guy’s chuckle can be heard.

“Wow,” I breathe on a laugh. “Me thinks thou protesteth a bit too much.” I allow Cash to usher me forward, assuming we’re headed toward his office. He could be taking me anywhere, though. Maybe he’s going to shove me into a closet where no more cutie patooties can flirt with me.

“I don’t know what that means.”

I laugh, my signature witchy cackle echoing off the walls of the large space. “It means you were awfully rude to poor Randy. It’s not his fault he was faced with a rare and exquisite beauty this early in the morning.”

Cash’s bare side brushes up against my arm, and it’s then I realize he’s still shirtless and glistening, and why hasn’t the infuriatingly attractive man put a shirt on yet?!

“Randy couldn’t handle a woman like you.”

Shock ricochets through me, and I rear back from my escort, who drops my elbow like it’s on fire. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Never one to lose his cool, Cash simply raises that stupid pierced eyebrow of his. “It means that he’s barely twenty and wouldn’t know what to do with a beautiful force of nature like you.” Something shudders in his dark gaze, and I shiver.

“I don’t know what that means,” I say, mimicking his earlier statement.

With slow, smooth steps, Cash moves into my space like some wraith bent on stealing the very breath from my lungs. And I’m more than a little disappointed when I find that he doesn’t stink at all after working out. No, he smells like some nefarious mixture of coconut and leather and sea air, as if he just stepped off a Caribbean island.

His after-workout scent should be illegal in all fifty states. And Puerto Rico.

“It means,” he says, dropping his voice so low I can hardly hear it, “that Randy is a boy. And you…” With careful deliberation, he lets his eyes scale my body from my sparkly cowgirl boots to my tiny front accent braid.

“You are the kind of woman who needs a man with enough experience to know to how to handle all those curves and sassy remarks.”

My breathing…never mind. There is no breathing.

In fact, I’m pretty sure I just died.

My mouth pops open, but my brain can’t come up with anything even remotely smart-alecky enough to stand up to that. Instead, I blurt, “You need to put a shirt on.”

Cash lowers his gaze to his torso, then rubs a hand down his bare, dare I say, rippling abs. “Sorry.”

I spin around to see that we’re standing outside of what I can only guess is his office. It’s everything he described to me yesterday.

“This it?” I clear my tight throat. “The work in progress?”

“Yup.” Cash brushes past me, his illegal scent still clinging to him, and pulls open one of the desk drawers. A shirt appears over his head before I can beg him to stop listening to the confused version of me I was five seconds ago.

“So,” he says, eyes pinging around the space. “How bad is it?”

I lift my gaze to the bare walls first before letting it rest on the mound of messy papers strewn across his desk. “Pretty bad for a professional.”

He grimaces as a long sigh drains out of him. “Thought so.”

Now that the heated moment from earlier has passed, some of my confidence reappears. I clasp my hands in front of me and do a slow turn of the decent sized office. “It’s definitely fixable, though. With my help, I’ll have this place exuding professionalism in no time.”

Cash gives me a thin-lipped smile. “That’s good to hear.”

“I’m thinking the project will take me about a week total. Materials…” I trail off, mentally calculating how much I’ll need for supplies and furnishings. “Shouldn’t be more than three grand.” I purposely went high to gauge Cash’s reaction.

“Sounds reasonable.”

Mildly impressed by his agreeable attitude, I add, “I should be able to give you a total estimate by this afternoon. Can I get your email?”

“You have my number,” he reminds me. “Can’t you just text it to me?”

Mildly unimpressed by his refusal to give me another way to contact him, I pull my lips into a fake smile. “I could. But I like to keep all professional correspondence limited to my inbox.”

He hesitates only a second before giving me a curt nod. “Understood.” After shuffling through his top drawer for a few seconds, he hands me a business card. It’s plain and was obviously made by using a template. “There you go.”

I send him an appraising look. “We’ll also need to work on this.” I flick the card before sticking it into the pocket of my chic velvet blazer. “For now, though, let me tell you what I’m thinking.”

I give Cash a quick rundown of how I envision his office, highlighting which features I think will really bring the professional vibe we’re going for, then add, “It will be clean lines with a high-end edge, but nothing too fancy. We want the overall feel to fit with the vibe of the training facility.”

Cash nods. “So…laidback and sports themed?”

My smile threatens to grow too wide, so I force it to remain small. “Not exactly sports themed, but well executed and modern with a professional vibe” Emphasis on the professional.

He seems to ponder this as his focus drifts to his desk chair. “Can I keep the chair?”

I give it a once over. “I think I can make it work.”

“All right.” Visibly relieved that he gets to keep the leather monstrosity in the center of the room, he goes silent. Taciturn awkwardness stretches between us for an interminable amount of time until he quietly says, “Were you serious when you said you’d love to train here?”

I want to deny ever saying it, but that would mean shunning my snarkier side. “Of course I was. I’m sure I’d love for Randy to—”

“Not Randy.” Cash’s dark gaze holds mine steady. “Me.”

“You?”

He takes a step in my direction, looks as if he might take another, but stops. “If anyone here trains you, it’s going to be me.”

Any kind of argument dies immediately on my tongue. I swallow. “It is your gym. Guess you get to make the rules.”

“Not quite mine yet, but I do pay the rent.”

Something in the way he says it has me thinking he wishes it was wholly his. “I take it you’d like to buy the place?”

“Someday, yeah. Just gotta convince A.J. to go in with me.”

“Ah,” I say, crossing my arms and taking in a full breath. “I feel a business venture coming on.”

His small smile makes my stomach do a tiny flip. “Maybe. I don’t know how he’ll feel about it, though.” He shifts on his feet. “I’d like to expand the gym. Take on more clients but also give back to the community. Maybe host summer camps for kids or something.”

The fact that he’d think A.J. wouldn’t jump on board floors me. It’s a lucrative business, it seems, and A.J. is always talking to Liss about how he needs something sustainable to fall back on once his pro-snowboarding career dies down. With Cash’s training expertise, I have no doubt they’d do well in business together. Plus, like Cash, A.J. loves to give back.

“I’m sure he’d be all about it,” I say with certainty.

Cash eyes me for so long I start to wonder what he’s seeing in my expression. “Maybe you’re right.”

Uncomfortable with the shift in mood, I decide now is the perfect time for a snarky comment. “I usually am.” Cash frowns and a little zing of victory judders through me. “Well, if we’re done here, I’ll head back to the office and start on this.” I tap my portfolio, then turn toward the door.

“Let me walk you out.”

I stop with one hand on the door jamb. “Oh, that’s okay. I’m sure Randy can do it.” A slow smile tugs at my lips. It widens into a maniacal one when Cash’s expression turns stormy.

“Just remember what I said, Britta.” He stops directly in front of me, bringing all of that yummy fresh-off-the-beach scent with him. “No one trains you but me.”

I blink only about a thousand times and force my lungs to remember to work. “Noted.” With that last mimicked word of his, I hustle to my car, completely ignoring Randy calling to me as I slip out the door into the stifling Sacramento heat.