Page 14 of Beach B!tch
"Why don't we go over a few things before we start so I know what we're working with. Sound good?" Dean spoke in a low, intimate voice, leaning closer to me.
I couldn't seem to catch my breath, so I nodded my head and worked on getting more oxygen into my ridiculous lungs. I could play back-to-back volleyball games with no problem, but couldn't draw in enough air to carry on a simple conversation with this man.
I mean really, what the hell was he doing here? What are the chances he was the fabulous trainer everyone was telling me about? My luck, as of late, was taking a serious nosedive.
He smiled at me, then launched into his questions. "Okay, so what's the official diagnosis?" He looked up at me from his paperwork, expecting a quick answer, I'm sure.
"I thought you were a lifeguard," I said, my face twisting in confusion. I didn't mean to say what I was thinking, but there it was.
Dean chuckled and then answered me. "I am a lifeguard. But I was a trainer first. I work here two days a week and work four days at the beach. I love both, so I continue with both jobs. So, I answered your question, now answer mine. What's going on with your ankle?"
"A simple ankle sprain. My doctor suggested I work with a trainer to focus on strengthening the surrounding tendons. He felt I had a high amount of inflammation in both my ankles which probably caused the sprain, more so than landing on my volleyball friend." I ended in a rush, congratulating myself that I'd gotten a semi-coherent string of sentences out of my mouth.
Dean's gaze never left my eyes as I talked. "You've come to the right place then. Let's get to work and get you back on the court." He stood and put his hand out.
With equal parts nervousness and eagerness, I placed my hand in his, enjoying the sensation of his warm, strong hand holding mine, providing stability when I needed it most.
Dean continued putting me through a battery of tests and exercises for both ankles. I worked hard at everything he asked me to, all the while working equally hard at keeping my nerves at bay and my heart rate under control. He was in my space the whole hour, but remained professional. He knew what he was doing, and I soaked up his knowledge.
I also wished, not for the first time, that I was more girlie and had worn a nicer outfit or had painted my toenails before coming in today. I rarely cared about those things, but now I was acutely aware of my mismatched workout clothes and messy hair in a big bun on the top of my head.
At the end of the hour, we walked over to a mat and went through some stretches. Then he sat next to me and pulled my foot onto his lap. I managed to hold back the gasp of surprise, but I knew my mouth was hanging open in an attractive fish gape. His hands were on my foot, massaging my ankle and calf, like this was a normal occurrence.
I felt sweat bead on my top lip. I lost the battle with my breathing. I wondered if he could see my blush all the way down on my foot. Or the shiver that ran the length of my body as I enjoyed his touch.
"Relax, Brinley. This will help, I promise. It's just a bonus I get to touch you," Dean whispered, his voice low and hot.
His voice caused a shot of desire to run through my body, surprising me. This man was dangerously hot and my body knew it. His massaging hands melted away any scathing reply I could have come up with. If he kept it up much longer, I was sure I'd melt into the mat.
"Dean..." I breathed. All the defenses I'd built up in my head why he was bad for me, seemed to float away with each stroke of his fingers on my leg.
"You know, Brinley...there's no reason to be afraid of me. I just want to get to know you." His eyes were heavy lidded, his voice low and smooth.
"I don't know..." I whispered back. I bit my lower lip, trying to hold back the words I wanted to say in that moment. I shifted my gaze to his hands carefully working on my foot, intrigued by the way something so strong could be so gentle.
"Think about it. Come back in two days and we'll talk about it more at your next session. Okay?" Dean hands stilled on my foot, making me glance up at him and register the earnest expression on his face.
I looked into his deep brown eyes and couldn't seem to look away. His eyes were hot, burning into mine. "Okay," I answered, still in a Dean fog, not quite sure what I was agreeing to, but not caring at the moment.
He helped me to my car, got me buckled in and then stood back and watched me drive away, never once looking away from me till he was out of sight. I gripped the steering wheel hard, trying to get ahold of myself. My whole body trembled from the after-effects of his touch. More than anything, I couldn't block the mental picture of his eyes, so sincere and tender.
That did it. I had to call Esa. I had to find out more about Dean and find out if what I first believed about him was all wrong. It was like I'd witnessed two different Deans. And I had to know which one was the real one.
