Feels So Right. Isabel Sharpe
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silly suit melted off. Instead of proper clown underwear, he was wearing boxer briefs that molded to a decidedly not flabby body. The violet walls changed to trees, and suddenly Demi and Colin were lying in a meadow on a blanket, picnic basket nearby, holding glasses of champagne.
Uh-oh.
Then the champagne was gone and he was kissing her tenderly, his body warm and solid against the length of hers … which no longer had any clothes on it. And his briefs were gone, too.
Oh, no.
His mouth tasted hers languidly—upper lip, bottom lip, this corner, that. Then he pulled back and gazed at her from under his brows, causing her blood to race, her body to arch toward his.
Oh, yes.
He rolled over her, the width of his shoulders making her feel protected, surrounded. She felt him hard between her legs, opened hers wide to welcome him inside.
Then he was pushing into her, filling, stretching, setting her nerve endings on fire. She clasped him around the back, lifted her knees high and wide to bring him in deeper.
He said her name over and over, increasing the pressure and pace until she was gasping, reaching for her climax, reaching, reaching, feeling it start to grow, to burn through—
“Demi, I love you.”
Say what?
Demi Woke With a jerk, staring with wide eyes up at the ceiling, breath coming fast, body still hot with arousal. Instinctively, her hand went between her legs, and then she stopped herself.
No.
There was no way she could get herself off right now. Because if she did, she’d be imagining Colin making her completely crazy with lust, and when he showed up for real in—she blinked at the clock—six hours, there would be no way she could look him in the eye. And no way she could put her hands on his back and think of anything but the way she’d clasped that same back while he was hot and hard inside her.
Bad, bad clown.
COLIN WOKE WITH a jerk, staring with wide eyes up at his ceiling, breath coming fast.
A dream. Damn it all to hell. He’d been on the last leg of the Ironman World Championship triathlon in Hawaii. He’d already sailed through the two-point-four-mile swim, powered through the one-hundred-twelve-mile bike ride and was approaching the finish line after the twenty-six-mile marathon barely out of breath, legs still strong, in first place by a hundred feet.
What a high. What a feeling. His body ultrafit, lean and strong. All those hours, all those years of training, coming down to this one explosive sprint to victory that would make him world champion. Just him, on top of the field, the dense crowd at the finish line already cheering for him. Stephanie was there, too, long blond hair swept back in a ponytail, blue eyes glowing, beaming with pride. Her man was number one and she was crazy about him.
Then he’d woken up, not on a triumphant path to victory, but in bed, back muscles contorting in agony, pain shooting down his right leg.
From king of fitness to short-term disability after falling off his bike like a six-year-old just learning to ride.
They said he was done. They said his back was too messed up ever to be able to ride long hours bent over his handlebars. They said disc injuries like his could be controlled but not healed.
Bull. Maybe some people could hear “no” and accept it, but Colin wasn’t one of them. “No” just meant he’d have to work harder, train harder. Fine by him. He was no stranger to hard work.
But he shouldn’t have tried to get back to training so soon. Demi had been right, damn it. He’d left her in exasperation last summer, disgusted that an athlete of his caliber should be doing exercises a couch potato could do without effort. Infuriated by her insistence he’d have to cut his recovery expectations to a more “realistic” level. Frustrated that she didn’t understand why his level of fitness couldn’t be compromised, not now, not this year, not when he had so much to accomplish. So he’d left. Tried another therapist, then another, both of whom had babied him even worse than Demi had. Finally he’d decided he could manage his own damn recovery. Who knew his body better than he did?
Pain shot through him, and he tried like hell to breathe through it, not to tense into the spasms, which made them worse.
Yeah, guess what, managing his own recovery had been a bad idea. Everything sounded like a bad idea these days. Including going back to see Demi.
Because there was another reason he’d left her. By the last of—what was it, three, four appointments? maybe five?—he’d spent the entire session desperately trying to keep from having an erection. He had no idea what she did to him, but it was hell. Demi couldn’t hold a candle to his ex-girlfriend Stephanie’s fresh California-girl beauty. Demi was dark; he preferred blondes. And she was withdrawn, where he liked a woman with spirit. She was decently attractive, but not beautiful, with wide eyes and a faint cleft in her chin. She had style and grace to burn, and she exuded peace that both stirred and soothed him.
And her hands …
Not going to think about that. The only thing on his mind in her studio today would be multiplication tables and baseball statistics. Unless the crazy attraction had run its course and he’d react more normally this time. That would be good.
He waited for the attack of pain to subside, then drew one knee up slowly toward his chest to stretch, barely able to get it halfway. His flexibility was crap. He couldn’t work. Couldn’t train.
This sucked.
Yeah, he was being a big poor-me baby, so sue him. He had good reason.
His cell rang. The act of twisting his head to locate his phone on the bedside table caused another spasm, this time in his neck and upper back.
Thirty-four years old and he was falling apart.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he picked up the phone. Nick. His erstwhile training partner, and the other half of the collision that had pitched Colin off his bike. Nick had skinned his knees. Not that Colin would ever wish this injury on anyone else, but sometimes life was damn unfair.
He took a deep breath, willing his voice to sound normal. “Hey, man.”
“How’s it going?”
“Not bad.” He didn’t dare use long sentences in case he had to break off and groan in agony.
“John and I are going to run some hills. Wondered if you’d like to meet up for lunch after.”
Yeah, he’d love to. Sit there, the sad cripple, while they exulted in how well their training was going.
“Can’t today. Got an appointment.”
“Yeah? You back at work?”
“Nah. Physical therapy.”
“Dude, you’re doing that again?”
“Yup.” He didn’t feel like explaining.
“Okay. So, uh …” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “You heard from Stephanie lately?”
“Nope.” This conversation was not making him feel any better. His girlfriend of four years had gotten sick of his bad attitude and his misery and dumped him on his ass, ironically just as he was seriously considering giving her what she wanted: a proposal.
Stephanie was a marathoner and they’d done a lot of training together. Colin should have noticed how hard it was on her that he was suffering, but he’d been a selfish jerk for quite a few months now. He figured it was only a matter of time before Stephanie came back to him. No doubt in his mind that he could make things right when she cooled off. She loved him. He loved her. They liked the same things, shared friends—at least they had before the breakup. What more did they need? Maybe the relationship had gotten a little stale, but the initial excitement never lasted. He needed to settle down if he wanted kids, which he did,