One Night...with Her Boss Read online

  He didn’t care if she saw the gloss of tears in his eyes. She was okay! Maybe he would tell her how his feelings were changing. How spending time with her made him feel like being a whole person again. A whole person who felt every single minute of the past few weeks had been supercharged with vitality...life.

  “Follow my finger. Just follow the arc of my finger.”

  Ali’s eyes didn’t move. They stayed locked with his. A wash of emotion sent his heart lurching into his throat.

  “You’re right,” Ali whispered.

  “About what?” Aidan ran his fingers through her hair—he couldn’t help it. Every pore in his body wanted to look after this woman, to care for each intensely passionate, über-talented and deeply sexy cell of her.

  “My kicking could do with some improvement!” Ali flashed him a cheeky grin and popped up from the floor, her hands already in sparring position, feet hopping back and forth. Float like a butterfly...sting like an Ali.

  “Alexis Lockhart! Were you faking being knocked out?”

  Another broad smile met his indignant question.

  “You’re lucky I don’t pop you one in the kisser.”

  He pushed himself up from the floor, his chest burning with a whole new mix of feelings. Indignation was winning the battle, but she had properly frightened him. And made him realize something very clearly. He cared. He cared about Alexis Lockhart. This was much more than a professional relationship to him. That didn’t sit well. Not one teeny, tiny speck.

  “C’mon, Tate.” Ali jiggled her head from side to side, oblivious to the turmoil she’d created in his heart. “What did you expect? You’ve been doing this for years and I’ve been doing it for a few weeks. I’ve got to work with my assets, and tonight I aced psyching you right out of the park! Ha! You should see yourself. You’re white as a ghost!”

  “And your point is...?” Aidan knew hands on hips wasn’t his best look, but he had to restrain himself from shaking her—or, more to the point, from pulling her into his arms and telling her never to do such a stupid thing again.

  He’d been nanoseconds away from smothering her in kisses and sweet nothings when she’d opened her eyes. Heaven had been merciful and saved him that embarrassment. These were playground tricks. He should’ve seen it coming a mile away—particularly having witnessed how easily she could spar verbally with the lads. He couldn’t believe he’d been on the brink of telling her he cared. Lucky break.

  “No point—just saying. A girl’s gotta do...” Ali stopped herself, suddenly very aware that there was a lot more going on in Aidan’s eyes than superficial concern. Her prank had really shaken him.

  What was that all about? She’d thought their whole joshing, jokey mates thing had been working pretty well in terms of keeping the sexual tension at bay. At the very least it had meant they could spend more time together without constantly being under threat of being arrested by the kissing police. Maybe she’d pushed too hard. It didn’t feel right to know she’d hurt him.

  “Let’s say we even out the playing field, seeing as you’re obviously the kickboxing master.” Ali began unraveling the tape he’d strapped her into at the beginning of class. “I’ve done your kickboxing malarkey for quite a few weeks now. I think it’s time you did something I’m good at.” She sized him up, hoping her heavy-lidded, high-browed gaze would make him a bit nervous.

  Nope. Steady as they came. The “Great Wall of Tate” face.

  It was time to pull out the big guns. “Let’s just see if you’re up to matching a bit of girl power.”

  “And that would be what, exactly?” He crossed his arms, visibly dubious that she could come up with anything that would get her one up on him.

  “Apart from dance injury medicine, which I already know you stink at?” She didn’t really—but they were still sparring. Just a little...

  “And cooking, which we know you stink at?” Aidan added, beginning to enjoy their tête-à-tête.

  She spread her hands out in front of him as if presenting him with a sign. “Ninety continuous minutes of hot yoga.”

  The smug expression immediately dropped from his face. “Hot what?”

  “You heard me. You wouldn’t be afraid of leaving your comfort zone, would you? Hot yoga. You and me.” She made the I see you gesture with her fingers. “After practice tomorrow. No more of this namby-pamby kickboxery.”

  She spun toward the door with a small sniff, rubbed the back of her head—which she had actually conked a bit—and flounced away the best she could in her trainers and sweat-soaked gym gear. Hot yoga. That’ll separate the boys from the men.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, in the privacy of the men’s locker room shower, Aidan let the shakes he knew he needed to purge begin. He pressed his hands against the tile wall and let the water stream down his head and back. Seeing Ali lying on the floor like that had been a knife in the heart. Nothing short of pure bravura had helped him keep up their light-hearted banter.

  He’d never even had the chance to see Mary’s body. Nor had he had a chance to propose. Sensible as ever, he’d wanted to wait until toward the end of their holiday, to make sure they got on in every type of scenario. They’d made it through school, then uni—separate ones, she’d wanted to teach—and she’d waited patiently for him when he’d gone off to medical school. She had been his steady-as-they-came girl. The ring and her body had both been washed away, along with God knew what or who else, when the storm had struck.

  Aidan lifted his face up into the stream of water, willing the shower to flush away the sting of tears teasing at his nostrils. This was the closest he’d come to crying about that day, and he didn’t know if he could handle opening that particular door. It had been well over five years ago, but the shock he’d felt at seeing Ali lying there today had brought it all back to the fore. He couldn’t lose another person—not one that he cared about.

  He pulled his head out of the steaming water, blinked away the droplets and looked around the stall, as if the tiles might start explaining the situation to him.

  Was this real? Was he really beginning to care about Ali? Had their being together developed into something deeper than the raw attraction he knew they felt for one another?

  His body reminded him of their physical connection every time he saw her afresh. There was no getting away from that. But they had sensibly and proactively reshaped the sexy tension between them into the perfect cocktail of—in turn—ignoring each other, taking jabs at one another’s medical practices and spending just about every waking minute they had together. As if it were a means of constant checking that the other person wasn’t going back on their deal to keep things professional.

  They hadn’t so much as shared a goodnight kiss. It was hardly as if he was falling in love with her.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  Was he?

  Nah. She was a good-time girl. Of course he respected her professionally, but it was easy enough to see that the girl didn’t do long-term anything. Just like him. A perfect match.

  Aidan blew a raspberry into the stream of water and loaded his hand with a good-sized squirt of shower gel. She’d just given him a bit of a fright. Served him right for pushing her so hard.

  Hot yoga, eh? Bring it on, Lockhart!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AIDAN WASN’T ENTIRELY sure he’d be able to unfold his legs out of the pretzel shape he’d somehow cajoled them into. Ali hadn’t been kidding when she’d said ninety minutes of hot yoga would be a challenge. Walking out upright would be a feat at this juncture. And she had upped the potential for humiliation stakes by inviting as many lads from the team as she could. Cross-training, my eye!

  He looked round at the players who’d agreed to come along and saw similar expressions of consternation on their faces. It was impossible to stop a smile from formin
g when his eyes landed on her. There in the center of the class, looking as Buddha-calm as could be, her legs folded into a perfect lotus position, rail-straight spine and gently bowed head, was his ebony-haired colleague.

  The class might have been meant to center him, but ever since Ali had arrived in his life he felt as if the earth’s surface had shifted into a wobble board. She was shaking some cast-in-stone positions he’d held. Like not mixing business and pleasure, for one. And that was a big one.

  “You still lining things up with your chi, there, Tatey?”

  Aidan looked up at Mack—one of the players—who was offering him a hand to get up. He grabbed it gratefully.

  “Or were you in the Lockhart Zone?”

  “What?” Aidan dropped the young player’s hand as if it was a burning coal, making a quick check to see if anyone had been listening.

  “Tate, you transparent slice of manhood!” Mack’s eyes were bright with delight.

  Aidan steered them toward the changing room—thankfully on the opposite side of the studio from the women’s.

  “I don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about, Mack.”

  “You’re joshing me, aren’t you, Doc?” Mack punched him playfully in the arm with one of his meat-cleaver-sized fists. That would bruise. “As one of the Inseparables, you don’t have a clue?”

  “The Inseparables?” Now Aidan actually didn’t know what Mack was talking about.

  “You and Harty. Do you think the rest of us are blind?”

  Mack waited for him to catch up but Aidan refused to play along, giving him a blank look in return as he pushed through the doors into the changing room.

  “Always with each other? At training? Out of training? You don’t get one without the other? C’mon, Doc. You and your last assistant never hung out that much. Just how many ‘work dinners’ does a guy need?”

  “It’s the lead-up to the finals.” Aidan pressed his lips together. He wasn’t so sure he liked where this was going.

  “Ali and Aidan, sitting on a tree...” Mack was really getting into the swing of things now.

  “All right! I get your point! Go take a shower, you rank beast.”

  “Hey, Aidan!” another player shouted from the doorway. “Harty wants to know if she should wait for you after to grab some dinner?”

  Mack shot Aidan a knowing look, snapped him with a towel and ran toward the showers, hooting with triumphant glee.

  Cringeworthy didn’t even begin to cover it. The half dozen or so players who’d joined them for the class all turned to him, waiting for his answer.

  Of course he wanted to meet her for dinner. And pudding. And every single meal in between now and the end of her three-month contract. Not that he’d tell them—or her. But blowing her off in front of the guys...? That wasn’t cool.

  He scanned their expectant faces. This truly was a no-win situation. Blow her off and retain his ‘The Monk’ moniker, or accept the invitation and open himself up to some top-rate razzing.

  He was man enough. He could do this.

  “Tell her I’ll meet her outside in fifteen. I need to talk over some of your body fat charts with her.” Good cover, Aidan.

  Whoops of delight mingled with some not so subtle catcalls as Aidan elbowed his way to his locker to grab a towel. Insufferable, these lads. Couldn’t a fellow go out for an entirely innocent meal with a colleague?

  As he tugged off his T-shirt he thought of Ali doing the same thing on that faraway night at the airport hotel, her eyes alive with desire. His body responding to her every move.

  Maybe his thoughts weren’t so innocent. He’d have to put a stop to their after-hours “mates” thing. And soon.

  * * *

  “You’re acting weird tonight.” Ali twisted her fork through her clam spaghettini and waggled the noodles at Aidan accusingly.

  “You’re acting weird,” he retorted.

  “Aidan.” She put on her best schoolmarm voice. “I am not going to play No, you are with you all night. What’s going on, weirdo?” She popped the forkful of food into her mouth with a smirk.

  Aidan sighed and pushed back from the table. He wasn’t hungry, and that meant only one thing. He was about to do something he didn’t feel right about. The only way he could keep this relationship verging on anything close to professional was to put a halt to these out-of-work get-togethers. They could cloak them in any guise they wanted—exercise, going over notes, getting a bite to eat, watching replays of the game—but at the end of the day he and Ali were spending time together because they liked it. He liked it.

  Even watching television seemed an empty experience if she wasn’t there, wondering aloud why on earth he had to keep flicking the channels so much or have the volume on “so freakin’ loud.” How this had come to pass in a few short weeks was beyond him, but if the team was calling them The Inseparables they weren’t far off base.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Ali’s expression was genuinely concerned now, nothing remaining of her goofy grin.

  “You want it straight up or watered down?”

  A small crease formed between her eyes. He didn’t blame her. He was being elusive, and the only person his behavior was protecting was himself.

  Nipping this thing with Ali in the bud was the kindest way to go. She might as well go forward with her eyes wide open.

  “It’s nothing, really...” He dove in, avoiding eye contact by rearranging his ravioli into a poor recreation of a St. George’s Cross. “The guys were just giving me some guff after our ‘cross-training’ and they seem to think we’re a couple. I just don’t want them to get the wrong idea—you know...with the final coming up and all. Focus. They need to focus. I need to focus—make sure they don’t get injured—and you need—”

  Quit talking.

  She put her fork down quietly. “I see.”

  “None of this hanging out together has been romantic, right?” He raised his eyes hopefully.

  “Of course not!” She huffed away the very idea. “What on earth would make them think I fancy you?”

  Ali regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth. There were about five gabillion things that would make the team, let alone Aidan, think she fancied him—but she really didn’t need to put them in outline form for him to analyze.

  “That came out wrong.”

  “You think?” Aidan’s voice was dryer than the Sauvignon Blanc he’d just taken a sip of.

  “Soooo...” She folded her serviette and laid it on the table. Her appetite had been properly stemmed. No wine, and now no pudding. “What exactly do you propose we do to set them right?”

  She glared at Aidan. This was completely his fault. If he hadn’t sent her that Cosmopolitan all those weeks ago none of this would be happening. Right?

  Wrong.

  It most likely wouldn’t have mattered where she’d met Aidan Tate. He knocked her for six on or off the field. They had chemistry, and trying to ignore it was going to be a Herculean task.

  “Well, we can’t exactly stop working together—Coach is insisting you stay.” Aidan frowned.

  “Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Ali snapped back.

  Unexpectedly, Aidan laughed. “I suppose this sort of thing isn’t really a problem at your clinic, with all those girlies floating about in their tutus.”

  “Nothing at my clinic is like being here,” Ali grumbled.

  “Hey.” Aidan reached across and gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s not all bad up here, is it?”

  “Better watch it. What if someone from the team sees you?”

  Ali pulled her hand back, knowing she was milliseconds away from weaving her fingers through his, finding comfort in the warmth of his hand. But comfort was the last thing she could expect from Aidan. He was making sure she kne
w that—loud and clear.

  “C’mon, Ali. Don’t be like that.”

  “Like what? There’s obviously nothing going on between us—so we’re good.” She gave him a cheery smile. “I’ll get the bill. Or do you want to go Dutch so no one gets the wrong idea?”

  “Now you’re just being childish.”

  “Childish? Really? I’m trying to play this game by your ever-changing rulebook, Aidan. Apologies if I’m not managing to keep up.”

  “I’m just trying to make this easy.”

  Aidan gave her a pointed look with those dark brown eyes of his. Eyes that were just far too close to those deliciously strong cheekbones, so prominent you could trace them oh-so-easily straight down to his mouth. She felt her focus narrowing. He really had a lovely mouth...

  An unwelcome warmth started to make itself known between her legs. She shifted in her seat. And all of a sudden it came to her—clear as day. She had the perfect solution. “I’ve got it.”

  “What?”

  “How we fix this ‘thing.’” Her fingers hung in the air in quotes as her heart began to race with excitement. This could really work! She looked him square in the eye. “The easiest thing to do would be to start having sex again, so we can quit pretending that being pals is what we both want. I like working with you—but this whole buddy thing is a farce. We should be... I don’t know... booty call buddies instead.”

  Ali clapped her hand over her mouth, astonished she’d said the words out loud.

  Aidan sat silently for a moment, just watching her. He looked down at his hands, then back up at her, his face a picture of sobriety.

  “All right, then.”

  “What?” Ali’s heart-rate took off. “What exactly are you saying all right to?”

  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Aidan as she waited for him to answer. Had she—they—gone completely raving mad? Were they going to do this? Give being a couple a try? No. Booty call buddies. Having secret assignations in the night. This wasn’t part of the plan. But feeling alive was, and if there was one thing she knew it was that being in Aidan’s arms made her feel ridiculously alive. So...since that was the case...some regular sex might make it easier to ignore him at work. Maybe.