The Renegade Returns. Dani Wade

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      “—but here, business only.” Maybe the less she spoke the better. He seemed intent on twisting her words for his own amusement.

      “So out there you’re fair game?” he asked with a quirk of his brow. Smart-ass.

      “Down to work. Now,” she said, holding out the folder, open to the plan she’d worked up for him.

      “Can I just say one thing before the friendship blackout starts?” he asked.

      Knowing anything she said would just encourage him, she simply watched him without responding.

      “Look, I wasn’t kidding about dinner,” he said, bending a little to look her in the eyes.

      Startled, she met his gaze without hesitation, getting a spark of deep connection before turning away. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, hoping to shoo the subject away like an unwelcome bug.

      “Look, you said you wanted to have some fun, an adventure—”

      “Actually, Cindy said that.”

      “And I can help.”

      She remembered his whispered words from the other day. There was no doubt in her mind that any adventure would be incredible with Luke along for the ride. “What are you talking about?”

      “Hey, every day is an adventure for me. And I don’t need to climb the side of a mountain for a thrill. I’d go so far as to bet that there are some pretty interesting adventures right here close to home that you haven’t even thought about.”

      “And you plan to show them to me?”

      He straightened a little. “Why not?”

      She couldn’t raise her voice above a whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

      “In my book, I owe you. I acted like a jerk...before...but I’ve always seen you as a friend. Besides, this sounds a whole lot more interesting than what I had planned—jaunts over here for my therapist to torture me, and... Nope, that’s about it for the next few months.” His smile was hopeful. “Let me do this for you.”

      “I don’t know...”

      “Scared?”

      Heck, yes. “Maybe.”

      His teasing smirk said he knew he would win. “That’s okay. It’s all part of the fun.”

      Suddenly it was all too much—the teasing, the attraction, the nerves. She desperately needed to shift gears. Holding up her hands, she said, “Look, today, we’re talking about you. Not me.”

      “Um, not so far.”

      “Stop playing and pay attention.” Her schoolmarm demands only made him smile wider, but this time he actually cooperated. Miracle of miracles.

      That grin said he wasn’t finished with her yet, sparking anticipation low in her core, but he finally reached his hand out for the chart.

      With relief, she let him read because she didn’t have any starch left for her voice.

      “This plan is mapped out for ten months.”

      His unexpected dark tone warned her she might need starch for her backbone, too. “Yes. This is a reasonable prognosis to have you completely healed, strengthened and back on the racing circuit for the season after next.”

      “That’s too long.”

      She frowned. “But your other therapist projected that from the time of his initial evaluation it could be a year or more before your body is strong enough to return without a risk of further injury. I have to agree.”

      Luke was shaking his head before she was even half-finished. “Not an option.”

      She could totally sympathize as the last of the teasing disappeared from his eyes, replaced by frustration. “Our bodies don’t always agree to the timelines we want,” she reminded him, her voice going soft with sympathy.

      “This one damn well better.” There was no room for anything but determination in Luke’s voice. “I will be back on the racing circuit this next season. No later.”

      Avery knew when pushing would gain her ground, and this definitely wasn’t the time. So she let his remark go. She’d found when men got something in their heads, especially something they were passionate about, there wasn’t any argument that would do much good.

      And she was frankly relieved that his determination got his focus off her. By the time they moved into the workout room, her control was firmly back in place. A return to the comfortable fit of her therapist persona.

      Luke’s rippling upper body muscles distracted her at times—clearly he worked out regularly. His body was slim but strong, deceptively so when hidden beneath his clothes. But it met every challenge she gave him and more. His lower body performed, though it was obviously not to his satisfaction.

      He gave it his all—she couldn’t fault him for not trying. About halfway through the circuit, she started thinking of him as Tough Guy. No matter the demand, he did it without question. He never asked to stop, never cried—almost 90 percent of her patients did in the early days. He just kept pushing forward.

      His expression was the most serious she’d seen on him since his return, except for the stoic one she’d glimpsed as he’d made his way across the dining room floor that first night. She’d seen similar expressions on many patients—that determination to ignore the stares, ignore the pain and force yourself to move regardless of your body’s protests.

      As they came to the end of his session, she bent and twisted his legs, pulling them into positions that would ease the tension, improve his range of motion and hopefully lessen his pain. Time and again she forced her gaze away from glistening muscles and sexy hollows. Not to mention the scars that had her heart cramping in sympathy.

      But he’d worked hard today and there was a much better way to help him recover than a simple muscle stimulation session, even though she knew she shouldn’t touch him any more than necessary. But it would help. By morning, Luke would appreciate anything that would make it easier for him to get out of bed.

      At least, that’s the excuse she gave herself.

      * * *

      “Come on,” Avery said, urging Luke to his feet after helping him stretch. He’d always had a love/hate relationship with stretching. He’d rather be running or pumping weights, but one of his former trainers had convinced him how good it was for his body. After that, he’d been able to relax into it.

      But somehow stretching with Avery was different. It should feel good, did feel good, but not in the way he’d experienced before. Male hands, male strength—his other physical therapist had a no-nonsense touch that did the job at hand and nothing else.

      Avery’s hands during their sessions gave him a sense of comfort, as if he could feel her desire for him to heal within each touch. Even through the pain he caught a hint of awareness beneath his skin, an itch for more. And always, that low-level hum distracted him.

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