Vivian Arend - High Risk

They moved to the weights, and she took charge. “Squats. We’ll use the power rack, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Load your starting weight—I’ll follow after. I don’t need to try to impress you, do I? Loading three times as much weight on seems like a useless venture.”

She snorted. “Trust me, being impressive in the workout room isn’t. I’ve spent too much time around people who easily outpressed me, yet couldn’t transfer that into any kind of strength when they needed it most.”

Becki stepped under the bar, resting it on her shoulders as comfortably as possible, which meant not very. She stood the final two inches it took to release the security clasps, twisting the metal bar to flip the hooks out of the way.

She focused on her reflection in the mirror. Legs spread shoulder width apart, toes facing forward, she bent her knees and lowered the weight until she was in a sitting position. Reversing direction made all the muscles in the front of her thighs engage, the thicker bands in her butt having to work to bring her back to vertical.

“One. Nice form. You keep that up, and I’m going to feel like a wimp when it’s my turn,” Marcus teased.

“You’ll have as good form or better—remember, you asked me to train you. I don’t let my partners muck around.” Becki continued on as she spoke, the blood moving into her legs warming her. Her heart rate steadied, and she concentrated to keep her breathing smooth.

All the different components of training were a balancing act she loved. Part of using her body as the tool, making it fit, keeping it strong. Making demands now so that in the field she would go on autopilot and do what needed to be done.

Marcus kept his count going, walking behind her to rest his hand on the metal bar between where it rested on her shoulder and the palm of her right hand.

“I hope you don’t expect me to flake out this soon,” Becki said. “It’s going to be a damn short workout if you’re spotting me already.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be offended. I’m sure you can easily finish this set.”

She completed two more squats, only now? She wasn’t focusing on her core body. On watching her legs to make sure she powered up using her thighs.

No, a lot more of her attention was struck by the distance he stood behind her. How the heat from his torso crossed the narrow gap between them, and how when she did complete the set and twisted the bar to engage the security hooks, he slipped his hand to her shoulder and trailed his fingers down her back.

“Good start.” Marcus switched positions with her. He had to bend lower to get under the bar, and she was way too aware of his glute muscles rubbing past her thigh.

Becki stepped back to a nice safe distance.

His gaze in the mirror as he began his set? Mocked her.

He knew why she’d moved away.

Oh God.

Becki took a drink from her water bottle and reconsidered her entire game plan. Working out with Marcus wasn’t supposed to be some kind of long, extended session of foreplay.

“You going to count for me? That was three.” His wink only made her more aware of him. Of his dark colouring reflected in the mirror. Of the way his shoulder muscles bunched against the fabric of his shirt as he had his arms raised to support the bar.

“Four.” She had to think of other things. “Adjust your right foot. Your hip is out of line at the bottom of the squat.” He followed her directions, but on the next repeat he still was wrong. “More.”

“More what?” Marcus hooked the bar into position and stepped from under it. “Show me when I’m not holding the weight.”

Becki nodded. “Face the mirror.”

He turned. Lowered himself. She stepped behind him and leaned in. “Here, you’re pressing your hip back at the three-quarter point.”

“Like this?”

Marcus adjusted, but it wasn’t enough. She placed her hand to the outside of his knee, but he was still out of line. She pressed her hip against his butt as well to get him to move the way she wanted. “There. Do you feel that?”

His voice was lower when he spoke. “I feel it.”

Becki snapped her head up to find his face only inches away from hers. She was pressed tight to his torso, her left breast against his arm as she reached her right hand forward. Basically, she’d wrapped herself around him.

She scurried back to safety. “You’re a terrible person, Marcus Landers.”

“I think we established that fact a long time ago.”

He got under the weight and proceeded to do five more squats, all with impeccable positioning. His heated expression taunted her because she had lost the ability to tell him to cut it out.

The entire damn training session turned into a twisted form of sexual torment.

Marcus stood beside her to spot her. Always in a way that was logical, but a little too close. He didn’t take the weights from her when they switched position; he laid his hand on her and touched lightly. Her forearm. Her waist. The swoop of her lower back right over her ass. All the while watching her with his dark eyes, the trace of a smile on his lips.

She could have said no. Should have said no, but after the morning’s stress—

No, there was no excuse other than she wanted it. Accepted it. Wanted to revel in the fact that this man made her feel completely and utterly alive.

He caught hold of her towel as she stood after completing the final machine. His fingers wrapped slowly around the fabric and pulled her closer. They’d both worked hard enough she was sweaty, a sheen of moisture covering her bare arms.

The desire to rub all over him like she was marking territory wasn’t good, but she’d given up telling herself that thirty minutes earlier.

He looked at her, his gaze fixed on her lips. Instinctively, she licked them.

His eyes closed briefly, mouth closing tight over a groan. When he did speak, it was soft—for her ears only. “I don’t know if I should compliment you on your workout ethics or assume I’m the only one feeling the heat.”

She hesitated. Lying was no use, but the urge to take out a few of her own frustrations on him made her reckless. “We said we’d work out together, not fuck each other’s brains out.”

The answering flash in his eyes said she might have made a mistake poking the beast.

So when he simply stepped back she was a little disappointed, and how twisted was that?

He nodded slowly. Let loose his grip on her towel.

“Right. Good point.” He trailed his fingers the length of material where it hung between her breasts, his knuckles skimming the side of one curve. Her breath caught in her throat. The way his smile grew darker made it clear he’d caught her reaction.

Fake it. It was her only defense left. “See you in the pool?”

He nodded, moving away from where he’d had her trapped by his body. She slid past, ignoring the brush of their torsos as much as possible.

Just before she’d completely made it to freedom, he spoke.

“Becki?”

She turned to face him. “Yeah?”

He full-out grinned, and her knees trembled. “About working out together? You let me know when you want to make some additions to the list.”

Becki fled, hoping there would be a power shortage and the pool would be icy cold.

She was in so much trouble.

Marcus passed the pile of paperwork across the table to David. “Thanks for bringing all that over.”

“No problem. No use both of us fussing with a trip to the accountant.” David slipped the files back into his briefcase and tossed it aside before staring out the window. “Slow spring. Weather reports are calling for more snow later this week.”

“Trails are going to be a mess for a long time still.” Marcus looked his brother over with amusement. “And now that you’ve done me a favour and made some prerequisite small talk, what do you want?”

“What? I can’t drop in for a visit? I’m crushed.”

“Right. When you stop in for a visit you head to the fridge and drink my beer.” Marcus leaned on the glass of the French doors leading onto the deck. “Spit it out.”

David’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Fine. Fund-raiser for the school.”

“What about it?” Marcus eyed the calendar on the wall. “It’s in two weeks. You have troubles with the booking?”

“Of course not. Everything’s been organized since last year. Ballroom at the Banff Springs, cocktails, dancing. A little motivation speech or two from some local celebrities . . .” David trailed off. “You know, staring at a person with that expression doesn’t encourage communication.”

“I figure my expression should match what I’m thinking. Explain why you looked at me when you said local celebrities.”

His brother shrugged. “I’m listed as the MC as usual. But having you and the Lifeline team show up—”

“Oh, no. Asking the team is one thing—most of them love doing the dog-and-pony routine for you. But you promised you’d never again suggest I put on a monkey suit and parade around for people to throw peanuts at. I won’t do it, David. It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah, well, last year Lifeline hadn’t recently gained any major acclaim, and having the team there in their monkey suits still brought in enough to help put a couple of kids through on a scholarship and equip the weight room.”

Marcus sighed. “You had to mention that damn article again.”

“They’ll be running snippets all week leading up to the event.” David raised his hands in defense as Marcus stepped toward him. “Not my idea, by the way. Paper told me what they had planned. Face facts—you’re big news.”