A grunt slipped past his lips when I worked his left knee.
“How did that feel?” I asked.
“Fine.”
“Warren,” I said. “This would go a lot smoother if you are honest with me.”
“It’s fine,” he said.
I sighed.
“Lay flat on your back please.”
His complied, his massive frame dominating the table, his feet hanging off the end.
I ran my hands up his left leg, feeling for too-tight spots or loose ligaments. Hooking my fingers behind his knee, I hiked his leg up and up and up, never taking my eyes off his face.
The beast betrayed nothing save for a bit of held breath the closer his knee got to his face.
“How’s that feel?” I asked, holding him in the slightly strained position as I kneaded my fingers around his knee.
“Fine,” he hissed.
I huffed.
The brute wanted to speak through pain, fine.
“I’ve ran your ass into the ice for six months, Kinley,” I said. “You think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”
“I’m fine,” he said, now more like a groan.
“Fine. You’re in charge.” I put my shoulder into the motion, hiking his leg up even more while digging my fingers into the knee I could feel was strained. “Now, how does that feel?” I asked again.
His brow furrowed as he fought to keep his face a mask of calm.
I pushed further, getting my whole body into the pose. I was a paper doll compared to him, but he had to know I didn’t come here to hand out free passes to the ice if there was a chance he’d damage himself and his career.
“Still fine, Kinley?” I asked, pushing further, knowing he was not enjoying it in the slightest.
Come on, man. Break. Talk to me.
“No!”
Finally.
I loosed a breath and eased up on the pressure, walking backward to allow his leg to relax slightly on my shoulder while I continued the exam.
“Your knee is on the verge of a massive strain,” I said, massaging the area around it to soothe the stress I’d put on it.
Warren let out a soft growl, his head back in defeat as he glared at the ceiling.
“I know.”
“You have to tell me these things,” I said. “I’m here to make sure you don’t get hurt. We can work on ways to help you heal and stay on the ice.”
“Sorry,” he grumbled.
“It’s all right. I’m used to it,” I said, sighing. I smiled down at him. “Sorry if I hurt you.”
He shrugged, his heavy leg still on my shoulder. “No worries. Nine is rougher with me,” he said at the same time someone came in the door and asked, “Everything all right in here?”
Bentley’s voice jarred me so much I jolted, Warren’s leg jumping with me in the process.
He hissed, and I quickly, gently slipped out from under his leg, laying it down on the table.
“Bentley!” I squealed like I was seventeen again, chiding him for sneaking up on me at my locker.
Fuck, it was like I’d been caught making out with the player instead of examining him.
Not that I belonged to Bentley.
That’s a lie.
I’ve always belonged to him.
“Whoa,” he said, hands raised. “Heard Kinley yell. Thought you were torturing him. Not . . .” His eyes flashed hot and dark, like the image of me with my hands on Warren was on repeat in his mind.
“She was,” Warren teased, shifting to a sitting position on the table.
“I’ll go,” Bentley said.
“No,” I blurted, before clearing my throat. “It’s your turn.” I spun around, lowering my voice so only Warren could hear me. “Ice it. Every night. And check your email. I’ll send you some stretches I want you to do twice a day.”
He gave me one nod, got dressed, and headed out of the room, sparing us a curious glance before he shut the door.
Before he sealed me in a way too small room with Bentley.
He cocked an eyebrow at me.
“I’m guessing you don’t want me naked,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, and his brows went even higher. “I mean . . .” I shook my head. “Yes, I don’t need you naked. Just down to your briefs, please.”
That sly smirk shaped his lips as he tugged his shirt over his head, stepping closer to me than necessary for the move. “You said need and I said want.”
Heat flushed over every inch of my skin.
An aching pulse throbbed in rhythm with my racing heart.
I’d spent the last seven hours examining and staring at ripped hockey players and never blushed.
Bentley hadn’t even dropped his pants yet and I was practically purring.
Oh, shit, there they went.
The sound of them being tossed over the chair echoed through the room, and I managed to bring my eyes up enough to see him standing before me.
God, he was gorgeous.
As a young boy he’d been muscular, strong—now he marveled the sexiest Hollywood stars I’d ever seen. Though, he was rougher than any actor could ever be. Smooth skin slid over miles of corded muscle, his arms and thighs so much bigger, harder than I remembered. His chest, holy hell, it begged to be touched, bit.
A tiny gasp left my lips when he turned to walk to the table, allowing me a perfect view of the defined ridges in his back, and lower. He had an ass that I wanted to slap.
Oh my god!
I’m a sexual harassment case waiting to happen.
Get a grip!
I cleared my throat, again.
“Stand for a moment, please,” I said before he could sit down.
“You’re the boss,” he said, letting his ripped arms hang loose at his sides. Completely at ease as I circled him, scanning him, trying like hell to keep my eyes on pro-mode and not a lust-starved woman who remembered exactly how good this man felt inside me.
“You can sit,” I finally said when I swore my knees would buckle from looking at him.
He hopped on the table, his eyes flickering to mine as I approached him, so . . . so much more timid than I had been with the others. My fingers trembling like his flesh might burn me when I touched it.
I reached for his shoulder, the contact was searing in a whole different way.
“Ah.” He flinched under my touch, but it wasn’t from pain. “Your hands are like ice.” He laughed, the sound easing the tension in my body.
“Sorry,” I said, quickly rubbing them together before running them over his shoulders again. “Any pain?” I asked.
I’d read his file first of the day, back when I’d contemplated getting him in before everyone else. But when simply reading his history made my heart flutter—knowing how much he accomplished, how he’d gotten the life he’d always dreamed of—I’d put him off until now.
Last.
No one coming to interrupt us.
“No pain,” he said. “Unless you count the shit the guys give me.” He chuckled and the sound again made me miss my old friend so much it hurt. “I honestly am in the best shape of my life.”
“That’s great,” I said, continuing to run my hands over his incredible body.
Torturing myself through the exam.
I had suspected this reaction, but wasn’t sure until now.
A smart woman would recommend him to another PT for future visits, but that would raise questions and I didn’t need anyone looking at me—or my past—closer than necessary.
Didn’t need him catching wind of any sort of flirtation.
He’d sink my contract.
Make sure I never worked in the NHL again.
All because he . . .
“Chloe,” Bentley said my name, grounding me to the present
The very clear present where I’d paused with my hands on the center of his chest.
My heart beats for yours.
The ghost of the past whispered, haunting me.
His palm slid over mine, holdin
g me there when I tried to draw away.
“Better?”
I tilted my head at him, so many words clogging my throat.
“Warmer,” he clarified, and released my hands.
“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Yes, thank you.”
He snorted as I went to check his knees.
“What?” I asked.
“Yes, thank you,” he mimicked me. “So professional. Like we’re strangers.”
I dropped to a crouch to check his ankles, the position only precarious because it was Bentley and not some other player I was checking. I flicked my gaze up to him, the length of the man so, so considerable.
He swallowed hard, his chest muscles flexing just a fraction.
“I don’t know how to behave around you,” I admitted, switching to his other ankle.
He felt amazing, even from a professional standpoint. The man was in top shape, just like he’d said.
“How do you want to behave around me?” he asked, his tone softer than usual.
I sighed, dropping his ankle and before I could even think about it, I’d placed my hands on his thighs to help me rise to a standing position again.