room. He’d guessed that she’d use the health club on the top floor of their office building to change clothes and shower after her lunchtime jog, and the familiar battered duffel left on one of the workout benches confirmed his assumption.
He also presumed that she had witnessed his clumsy tumble in the park and had no doubt been mightily amused by it. Ego wouldn’t allow him to let her believe that he was inept enough to have actually hurt himself, so he’d dragged himself up here to put on yet another show of machismo.
She would no doubt appreciate the effort. Women always appreciated a cunning display of male physical prowess. And Rick appreciated their appreciation. Even if it was undeserved.
Slowly, painfully, he lowered himself onto a weight bench, which supported his torso as he planted his feet on the floor. A tubular rack above his head held an iron bar affixed to a set of iron discs. The past ten years had not been the most athletic of his life, but in college Rick could bench press one hundred pounds without breaking a sweat, so it didn’t occur to him to double-check the weight of the unit. Besides, he didn’t want to move again until he absolutely had to. A lack of routine exercise was revealed in the tremor of his strained muscles.
He was already panting like a whipped dog, his back was killing him, but the sound of running water in the women’s locker room had just been replaced by the whir of a hair dryer so it was nearly show time.
He sucked a breath, curled his fingers around the bar over his head and waited.
Within a matter of minutes, Catrina emerged from the locker room wearing street clothes, and carrying her jogging ensemble under her arm. He noticed that her ruined nylons had been removed, leaving her legs bare and pale and exquisitely attractive.
She didn’t spare him a glance. Instead she stuffed her sweatsuit into the open duffel, grabbed her worn-out shoes from beneath the bench and tied them to the bag handle.
She was clearly preoccupied. Her lips pursed in a sensual pout, her pale brows puckered with appealing concentration. Her skin was slightly flushed from the shower, a pink glow from cheek to jaw that imparted an appealing radiance to her creamy complexion.
Rick thought she was just about the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.
He cleared his throat. “Hello, again.”
She spun around, touched her throat in a gesture of vulnerability that he found strangely enticing.
“Our paths just keep crossing.” He flexed his fingers around the weight bar, fought a grimace as his back issued a protest. “Uncanny, isn’t it?”
Tilting her head, she regarded him. “Yes, uncanny.”
“I would have joined you at the park, but I didn’t want you to feel bad if you couldn’t keep up.”
She smiled then, a brief flutter of lips that was absolutely devastating. “I’m sure you would have left me in the dust. Presuming, of course, you had stayed on your feet in the first place.”
Well, at least she’d been watching him. He took some small consolation in that. “A minor mishap. Have you never gotten a pebble in your shoe?”
“A pebble?”
“Sharp little devil. Poked itself right into my instep. You know how it goes.”
A flash of tooth scraped her lower lip, as if she was biting back a smile. “Of course.”
“So other than jogging, what else do you do to buff up?”
“‘Buff up’?”
“You know, tone the old quads, beef up the biceps.”
“Oh. Well, I enjoy tennis. Or I used to. There’s little time for it any more.”
A clue. He pounced on it. “This is truly amazing. Tennis is absolutely my game.” Grab a ball, hit it with a racket. How hard could it be? “Maybe we could share a court some time.”
“Maybe.”
She was softening, he could see it in her eyes. “You ought to try working with the weights, too. It’s great for the cardiovascular system.” To prove the point, he hoisted the bar with a macho grunt and felt something give at the base of his spine. His arms collapsed like wet noodles, and the bar came down on his chest, pushing the air out of his lungs with a humiliating whoosh.
Catrina widened her eyes. “Are you all right?”
He opened his mouth, sucked a wheezing breath. “I meant…” a peculiar hiss emanating from somewhere deep inside “…to do that.”
She blinked. “Why?”
It took a few seconds before he could speak again. “Lower weights—” he wheezed “—then lift them.” He wheezed again. “That’s how…it works.”
“I see,” she murmured, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I’ll leave you to your workout.”
Rick smiled, managed a painful nod. “If you see Frank Glasgow, could you…send him up?”
“Of course.” She glanced once more in his direction, then scooped up her duffel and left.
After what seemed a small eternity, Frank poked his head into the gym. “What can I do for you?”
“You can get this…damned thing off.” Rick gritted his teeth. “Then drive me to the hospital…I think I broke a rib.”
“I tell you, Gracie, it’s absolutely eerie. Every time I turn around, there he is. And he’s sending me presents.”
“Presents?” Gracie’s eyes popped. “You mean like diamonds and perfume and furs?”
“Well, no.” Catrina cleared her throat, glanced away. “Er, a case of panty hose.” Expensive panty hose, attached to a dozen colorful helium-filled balloons and shuttled to her apartment door by a uniformed courier who was most unhappy when she refused to accept the delivery.
Gracie blinked rapidly. “Oh, my, that does sound a bit personal.”
“Actually, it was kind of a private joke. You see, I dropped some coins at the coffee shop and ripped the knee out of my—” Blushing furiously, Catrina clamped her mouth shut, embarrassed by Gracie’s knowing grin. “Never mind. The point is, I think he’s stalking me.”
“Stalking you?” Gracie chuckled. “Perhaps he’s just interested in you. After all, you’re a very attractive young lady.”
“Well, I’m not interested in him.”
She quirked a brow. “Not even a little?”
Catrina shrugged, shifted Heather on her hip as she tossed a handful of pasta into a pot of boiling water. “I’ll admit he’s an appealing man, but that isn’t the point. I’m not interested in any man, appealing or not.”
“You prefer women?”
“Gracie!” Catrina laughed, shook her head. “You know what I mean. I’ve just extricated myself from one bad relationship. I certainly am not going to fling myself into another one.”
“Then how about flinging yourself into a good relationship?”
Catrina’s smile faded. “There’s no such thing,” she said firmly, and meant it. “My mother suffered through two terrible marriages. Two men used her, abused her then walked out on her. My eldest sister divorced a man so shallow and narcissistic that he ran off to Europe rather than support the child he had fathered, and I ended up with a fellow who thought women should have been born with scrub brushes instead of fingers, and a built-in beer cooler on their backs. Heather and I are better off alone, thank you very much.”
“Not all men are adolescent control freaks.”
“Of course not. Just the ones I know.” Sighing, she slipped Heather into the high chair, handing her a spouted cup of juice to placate her until dinner was