Taming Hollywood's Ultimate Playboy. Amalie BerlinЧитать онлайн книгу.
For someone who lied for a living, doing so off script always left a bad taste in his mouth, so he left it at that. It had to be Grace...
Minimizing his limp as much as possible, Liam exited the office and made his way to the elevator he’d been directed to. The Hollywood Hills Clinic lived up to its reputation of clean, modern elegance, not that he could really appreciate it right now.
Two days and the best splint money could buy hadn’t even put a dent in the pain that radiated up his leg with every step. Liam would swear his ankle hurt more now than the day he’d sprained it. But despite the pain and the all-looming discomfort, the prospect of seeing Grace Watson again still had him moving a little faster.
How would the years have changed her? Would he find her still the slender, athletic girl she’d been, light on curves but with quiet, supple strength? Maybe he was nervous for no good reason, and time apart could’ve extinguished that youthful spark between them. It might not even come up.
Through Nick, he knew that Grace had worked in professional sports, helping athletes keep fighting fit. She could help him. He just had to convince her. Pretend their last meeting had never happened. They were both fully adults now, and adults ignored unpleasant things all the time in order to keep things cordial.
A short ride down and he stepped off the elevator. The more he walked, the more the spark of anticipation grew in his gut, and the faster he hobbled.
He just had to pretend. Pretend the image of her in that flimsy black lingerie wasn’t still etched crisply into his mind...six years later.
Hard to believe it had been that long.
By the time he’d reached the treatment rooms, the buzz on the back of his neck was enough to drown out the constant pain grinding through his ankle, or at least enough to distract him from it.
He stepped through the door of the treatment room, and before he’d even looked over the various equipment and exercise areas, he knew she wasn’t there. It felt empty.
Back in the hallway, he could see double doors at the end marked for the therapy pool. If she was anywhere, she’d be there.
Pools were as common as palms in Southern California and, while growing up, anytime she’d had a few minutes to spare, she’d spent them in the Watson family’s pool.
He approached the edge of the pool just in time to see her turn underwater and push off the side. He knew from the way she moved that it was Grace even through the shimmer of water. Sleek and fast, she powered through the water toward the far end.
Mermaid. He shook his head and felt himself smiling despite the nerves in the pit of his stomach. At least that hadn’t changed.
Maybe their reunion would be exactly like those old times. Maybe she’d reach the edge of the water and pretend to want a hand out, only to jerk him in with her.
Another underwater turn and she swam far enough before surfacing to speak of impressive lung power, then cut a path through the water toward him, straight as an arrow despite an unmarked lane.
Taking advantage of the seconds it would take her to reach his end of the pool, Liam ambled back toward the doorway to give her some space to exit the water, and avoid the urge to play with her. This wasn’t the old days, and he wasn’t seventeen anymore.
He saw her hand reach for the edge of the pool and heard her rapid breathing. She’d seen him when her head had cleared the water while breathing, or she’d seen someone there with her.
Grace’s head now popped over the edge and before he knew it she was emerging from the water, toned, tanned, and with the kind of curves that made the black bikini she wore look exactly like that lingerie...
No, not exactly. She hadn’t really had much in the way of hips last time. Now even her curves had curves.
His breath caught as their eyes met, but as she swung a leg up onto the edge of the pool one arm buckled and she toppled back into the water with a splash.
“Grace?” Had she hit something when she’d fallen back in? The concrete edge could do some damage...
He hobbled forward again.
* * *
Through training and sheer effort, Grace managed not to suck down a lungful of chlorinated water as she went under.
Broad shoulders.
Dark hair.
Eyes crystal and blue, like the inside curl of a summer wave.
Liam Carter.
What the devil was Liam doing there?
She grasped the edge of the pool and kicked hard as she pulled herself up again, turning immediately to plop sideways on the tiles, as graceless as a walrus, and breathing about as hard as one in full flounder.
Through sheer luck, she managed not to smash her face into the floor.
A walrus in a bikini was bad enough, one with an injury would just make it so much worse. And the last time she’d seen him, she’d— Oh, God.
Suddenly, she was eighteen again, and full to bursting with humiliation. Not the years-old variety—the kind you felt and then discarded—it felt as fresh as newly picked daisies, and her inner walrus wanted nothing but to escape back to the water.
Before the blazing heat roasting her cheeks could spread to the rest of her visible flesh, Grace snatched up her towel and climbed to her feet, whisking it around her before she’d even truly found her balance.
This wasn’t happening.
This was...chlorine poisoning. Had to be.
Or maybe oxygen deprivation.
She needed a mask.
Or just to get out of there. Before he figured out her transparent panic. Or saw the scars. Proof of yet more foolishness. And she’d really like him to think she’d come through that unmarked, or that they were basically invisible...since he’d never even deigned to visit her hospital room after it had happened. Not that she’d have wanted him to.
Liam had his hands up, a gesture of surrender, but his eyes reeked of concern—she’d assume it was fake except she’d seen that look before. Same frown. Same posture. Different setting...
But she was practically in the same freaking outfit. It was too much to hope this wasn’t real. She never got that lucky.
“You’re all right.” He said the words more than asked. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just here... Thought I’d say hello.”
As he spoke, he backpedaled from the room about as smoothly as her first attempt to get out of the pool, strongly favoring one leg.
She tucked the corner of the towel to form a tight band above her breasts and, once covered, looked down at his feet—not only to indulge her curiosity but to have something as far from his head as possible to examine kept accidental eye contact from recurring.
Which was when she noticed one ill-fitting shoe, the sides bulging out from a splint supporting his ankle.
She coughed to force words through her tight throat. “You’re usually a better actor than that, aren’t you?”
Thankfully she hadn’t also honked when she’d spoken.
Grace shifted, arms crossing over her waist as if that would cover her better, or make sure he didn’t start drawing the same parallels between this and the last time she’d set eyes on him.
Pretend this was normal. Pretend the thought of running away didn’t make her feet tingle and her knees itch with anticipation. Say normal person words.
“Are you here to see me, Liam... Mr....Liam?” She usually tried to be professional when addressing prospective patients, but “Mr. Carter” felt even weirder than “Liam.” But all of this felt wrong. Bad-dream wrong. Naked-without-your-homework-on-the-day-of-the-big-exam