Race For Love (6 page)

B
est dream ever
. Somewhere in the back of Kisima's mind, she was aware that she should be worried she was dreaming about her trainer. But it was a dream, it was safe. No one ever had to know.

Derek's scent enveloped her and she drank it in. Ocean breezes. He smelled like her favorite place in the world. Nuzzling toward the smell, she relished in one of these rare, non-pain moments. It was nice. Hell, it was better than nice. She just wished she had more of these. It was a dream, but she was staying here, in Derek's arms just a little bit longer.

A low chuckle made her frown. What was he laughing at? "Stop laughing at me. You try controlling all this hair, see how you like it," she mumbled at the dream Derek. She much preferred this version of him. One that wasn't judging her or making her angry or wasn't making her do things that hurt. This Derek she liked very much.

"Hey, princess," He cleared his throat. "As much as I'm enjoying this cuddle session, I need you to get started on the day. It's going to be a hard day for you and lazing around isn't going to work."

Kisima frowned. That was all wrong. Dream Derek was supposed to make her stay in bed. To lay here while he brought her breakfast in bed. She forced an eyelid open and she was met with pitch blackness. In an effort to get a better grasp on her bearings, she blinked both eyes and forced her gaze to focus. Okay, it might not have been entirely pitch in her room. Gray light filtered in from the plantation shutters. What time was it? She tried to lift her head and a deep voice cautioned her against that.

"Easy does it, princess. You didn't take your pain meds last night, so I'm pretty sure that's gonna hurt." She startled, then cursed when the jarring motion sent a spear of pain up her shoulder. "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about."

Belatedly, she realized that the voice was real and not a figment of her imagination.
Derek's voice
. Shit. "What are you doing in my room?"

His chuckle was low. "Easy, princess. Your virtue is intact. I knocked several times but you didn't wake up, so I came to get you."

Oh
. "Okay, uhm, can you help me get into my chair?"

He stroked a hand over her forehead. "I probably should have mentioned this yesterday too, but I thought maybe you'd balk, so I'm going to tell you now. No more chair. You're going to be using the crutches and canes from now on."

Screw the pain in her skull, she forced herself to a sitting position and winced at the flare of white-hot fire in her shoulder. "You can't do that. I need to get around."

"We are in agreement. But, you can do it without the chair."

"Fuck you."

"We'll get to that. In the meantime, here are the crutches. Use them, or don't, not my problem. I'll see you downstairs in ten minutes."

Ten minutes? He was kidding himself. "I'll get there when I get there."

He flashed the devil's own grin at her. "Ten minutes, or I'm coming up to help you and you might not like the state of undress I find you in."

She flushed and thanked God it was dark in the room. "Fine, can you get out so I can get ready?" It was official. She hated Derek Donovan.

He pushed away from the bed smoothly. "Incidentally, did you know you talk in your sleep?"

Oh God. No, please if there was a God or Buddha or whoever, no
. She was dreaming. It was supposed to be a safe place. How was she supposed to know he was really there. Intruding on prime sleep time. "No, I don't. What time is it anyway?"

He nodded and laughed low. "Yes, you do, but I'm gonna let it slide right now. It's five thirty. Get your ass in gear." At the door, he paused and turned to face her. "One more thing. Take the damn ibuprofen. I need you fighting on full cylinders and you can't be distracted by residual pain. If you choose not to take it, that's your business, but then I'm going to start finding other ways to get you medication, do you understand?"

Her eyes flared. "You wouldn't dare drug me."

Derek crossed his arms and her gaze was pulled to those magnificent pecs and the bulges on his arms.

"No, I wouldn't. But I have other ways of motivating you."

A shudder ran down her spine. Something in his gaze told her he was deadly serious. She eyeballed the two tablets sitting on her bedside table along with the glass of water. "I take it and you get off my case?"

"That's how this works. You do what I say, I don’t give you any shit. You don’t do what I say, I make life hellish." As he turned to leave he said, "Make good choices, Kisima."

She glared at the ibuprofen, but she did as she was told and popped the pills into her mouth. Maybe it would be nice not to be in pain all the time. Besides, it was only ibuprofen. It wasn't going to hurt her and she wasn't becoming dependent on it. Besides, she had a feeling that the two she took were going to be just enough to dull the sharpness of pain and nothing more. Derek Donovan didn't look like he was playing around and she'd need all the help she could get.

Derek gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. This was all kinds of a mistake. Kisima was going to kill him. He tried to remind himself of the Kallie situation—calling up the way it felt when he'd found out the truth. He was so desperate, he even pulled out memories of his mother and the way she left. How he'd felt when she ran away with her new boyfriend, someone she worked with, leaving him and Dylan behind. But none of it worked. Barely a week with Kisima and he was about to cross every professional boundary he had.

The woman was infuriating. She was obstinate, she thought she knew better. She fought him on everything, making him deliberately nuts.

And fuck it, the whole house smelled like her coconut hair stuff. The bathroom, the kitchen. Everything. Sleeping last night had been a special challenge.

He scrubbed his hands down his face. This was fine. He could do this. She was a client. He just needed to look at her like he looked at Deyshawn. She was nothing special.
Liar
. Under those thin vintage t-shirts she seemed to favor, her tits were like a beacon, full and pert.

You're a professional, asshole. Keep your eyes and your mind off her tits
. That was all well and good, but the real problem was he'd looked her up last night. Fired up the old laptop and gone looking at that damn
Sport Illustrated
cover. The one where she'd been wearing a white bikini. The brightness of the fabric playing off her dark skin. The bottoms had hugged her rounded hips. And the top of the bikini, well, it had only been half on. Her arms strategically placed, covered her bare breast. The whole damn picture had looked like white chocolate poured over milk chocolate.

And then this fucking morning, the way she'd whispered his name. Like she'd been dreaming about him. Like she was just as affected by him as he was by her. She'd pulled him in with her good arm and nuzzled his chest like she wanted to climb him and rub herself all over him.
Hell yes
.

No. Hell no
. It was thinking with his dick that got him in trouble in NOLA. He wasn't making the same mistakes again. He'd just have to find a way to get over it.

Quickly he made breakfast. Egg white omelets with spinach and chicken sausage with whole wheat toast and a green smoothie. His stomach roiled. What he wanted was a heaping plate of pancakes with real fucking sausage.

But no. He was getting her ready to work again, so what she had to eat, he had to eat.
Fantastic
.

Thanks to spending plenty of time with his mother in the kitchen, he knew how to cook. He had no idea how Sarah had done it growing up. Twelve kids and she usually managed to feed all of them. Half of them being boys. He and his brother Dylan alone could put away four thousand calories a day easily, especially if they were training.

He was so focused on shoving her out of his brain that he almost didn't hear her call his name. The blender had been going, but something didn't feel right. Then she'd called his name again and he'd gone running. Maybe he'd overestimated what she should be able to do? Should he have stayed and helped her get dressed? Hell, did he even know how to dress a woman? He had plenty of practice undressing.

When he shoved open the door to her room, she was wobbling as she held onto the bedside table. She had on tight workout pants that did her ass all kinds of fantastic favors, and a sports bra.
Wow
. Her abs were tight and toned despite her lack of physical activity. She even had a hint of a six pack. But she was still too thin. She could stand to put on five to ten pounds of muscle.

And that sports bra—Jesus Christ. Those had to be some really full Cs. His hands itched with the automatic urge to touch them. He'd always thought himself an ass man, but she could make him a convert. Her hair was in a wild tangled mass just below her shoulders. Was that all her hair? For such a tiny thing, she was mostly dark tresses.

She had one crutch, but the other had fallen over along with what looked like a workout top. The single word ran through his skull over and over and over again.
Want
. He was all kinds of screwed.

"Well, are you going to just stand there? I need help."

Help, right. Put on your trainer hat, asshole. And keep it in your pants.
"Today we'll work on ways for you to get out of this situation okay?"

She rolled in her bottom lip, but nodded. The frustration clear on her face.

He reached for the top first. He had to get her covered up or he might be tempted to touch. The dancehall reggae song from Kevin Little that his sister used to listen to all the time popped into his head and he couldn't shake it. He handed her the top.

"Thanks." She took it from him, but then stared at it. "I think I need your help with this too." Her voice was so soft and pained.

"Okay, did you take the pills?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Good. We'll get some food in you and then you'll feel better." He took the crutch from her and laid it on the bed. Then, gently, he brought her left arm forward and eased one sleeve over it. "Since you have a bit of pain still, we're going to work this over your head before we put your other arm through, okay?"

She nodded, and didn't fight him. He wasn't sure why, but it broke his heart. For her recovery, he knew she had to get to a point where she realized they had a ton of work to do, but it still hurt to see that realization.

Once he had her dressed, he grabbed the crutch and handed it to her. But when he bent down to pick up the other one, she lost her balance and crumpled. He was on her in an instant.

Kisima winced and cursed enough to make a sailor proud. "Jesus fucking Christ, that hurts." Tears welled up in her eyes, but they didn't spill.

He touched her face without consciously meaning to. What was he doing running a thumb over her cheekbone? "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not fucking okay. But if you help me up, I will be. Stupid fucking leg crumpled on me." Her face was a mask of determination, and even though her eyes were full of pain, he saw it—what he needed to train her. She was pissed off that her body wasn't cooperating. She wanted to fight.

He helped her up, and as he held her flush against his body, he saw the awareness in her wide, dark eyes. Her pupils dilated and Derek cursed. Last fucking thing he needed. Looking into the dark depths of her eyes was a surefire way to lose his way.

Even at five feet eight inches, she barely weighed a thing. Maybe a buck thirty. Yeah, soaking wet. Clearing his throat, he said, "This should go much smoother tomorrow."

Her laugh surprised him. "Yeah, you know, because it can't get worse than this?"

He laughed too. "You're right about that." It was going to be a long couple of months.

K
isima pushed
her way through another exercise, but shit wasn’t getting any easier. Every single step felt like hard labor. She could feel the frustration bubbling in her internal pressure cooker and she was nearly ready to whistle. Finally, she lowered her arm. "I need a break.”

Derek cocked his head. "I know you're tired. But you just have two more sets. I need you to dig deeper, Kisima."

She considered throwing the weight at his head.
Childish much
? She was tired. And despite the ibuprofen, she still fucking hurt. "Stop saying that. I am digging deeper. I'm working as hard as I can."

He folded his arms. "Really, Kisima, because right now, it looks like you're ready to give up on me. Come on. Finish what you start. Show me you have this in you. We're two weeks in. I need you to give me something. You tell me you're not this pampered princess, prove it. Work for me."

The tears hovered just beneath the surface. Unfortunately, when she was mad, she cried. But like hell she was going to give him the satisfaction. "Fuck. You."

The idiot grinned at her. "At last, some fire in this workout. You've been flat all day. At least I know you're still in there. Now finish the set and you'll only have one more to go."

Screw this. She wasn't doing this anymore today. She needed to sleep. She dropped the weight onto the cushioned floor and reached for her crutches. "How's this for fire?"

The only problem was, walking away in a huff on crutches wasn't as easy as it sounded. And sure, she was being a little childish, but fuck, she needed a break. She'd barely slept last night. The meds weren't working as well now that she was also using her legs more often. And she refused to take any of the narcotics she'd been given.

"Fine. I guess we're done here. I don't do quitters, Kisima."

She turned on him. "Fuck you."

"You're a smart girl, I'd think you'd have more words in your arsenal."

She hobbled back over to him. "Okay, how about screw you. You can take your weights and shove —"

The muscle over his jaw ticked. "Easy, Kisima, you don't want to go giving me ideas." He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Fine, you want to quit, quit. I thought we had rounded a corner the other day, but I can't keep going backwards with you."

"Oh yeah, then try listening to me. I'm tired." Her eyes pricked and she blinked away the tears. "I'm in pain, all the time. I take a steady diet of ibuprofen and my stomach is paying the price for it, but it's still not helping. And while we're on the subject of food, I would happily kill you for a real burger. If I have to eat quinoa for one more goddamn night, I might cry. I am busting my ass for you."

He didn't back off though. "No. The person you should be busting your ass for is
you
. You're the one who said you wanted to do this, so we're doing it. Don't give up the fight now."

She threw her hands up. "I
am
fighting, why don't you see that?" The first tear spilled before she could command it not to and that pretty much broke the dam. "You still think I'm lazy and pampered, you have no idea. You think it's easy doing this? I'm plagued by an accident I can't remember. I have bits and flashes of the pain and the fear, but none of the actual events of what happened. I wake up afraid, I go to bed afraid. I fight through the torture with you,
afraid
. I'm terrified that everyone is right. That I did cause that accident, that I lost control. That the pressure got to me. Do you know what that's like? Do you have any idea?"

Tears free flowing now, she sank to the floor and leaned against the wall as she sank down. It was official, she was broken. She was sitting in the damn gym, crying in front of the one man she shouldn't cry in front of. She expected him to leave her to her tears. But instead he sank onto the floor next to her.

"What are you so afraid of, Kisima?"

That was easy. "I'm terrified of failing. I know I did something to fail that day. A day that mattered to everyone. I wasn't perfect when I really needed to be, and worst of all, I'm terrified of driving again. My dream. The only thing I've wanted since I was a kid. And I'm scared of it."

"Please tell me why you won’t take the stronger pain meds. It would make our lives so much easier if you'd just take them."

Shaking with the force of her sobs, she could only imagine how dreadful this version of her ugly cry was. She attempted to get rid of some tears and snot with her shirt before speaking. "Why is it important?"

"Kisima, you have to know that I'm just trying to help you. Please let me do my job. I am here for you. It's you and me till the end. I want to see you in a car going at speeds that, honestly, terrify me a little. But to get you race ready in ten weeks, I need to know where we are now and how we got there. Help me out."

Kiss was out of fight. Just too tired to do it anymore. "I—I was in another accident...when I was eight. TJ's wife, Lydia. She was high as a kite on barbiturates. She'd been using for months and no one knew. Dad's car was in the shop, so she'd offered to drive us to one of my carting events."

Derek put a hand on her knee. The warmth filled her and it made talking easier.

"On the way home, she hit the median on the freeway. She and Dad were killed. I survived with bumps and bruises, but otherwise okay."

"Shit, Kisima."

"She'd been using and no one saw it. I don't want to be her. I know lots of people use stuff all the time, but I can't become that person who cares more about drugs than a child's life. She knew she was high, but she insisted on driving instead of just letting my dad drive her car. I could have also gotten a ride home with Christian and Antonio and TJ, but she'd insisted I ride with them." She shook her head. "When I was a kid, really missing my dad, I would imagine that she did it on purpose. That she wanted to kill me."

"Kiss. No. Why would she want to hurt you? You were just a kid."

She nodded. "I know. But I don't know. I always got the impression that she didn't like me. It was a way for my childhood mind to deal with it I guess."

"I'm really sorry."

Now that the words were out, she felt a little lighter. She never talked about that crash with TJ. Especially not since her own crash. Especially not now that the two intermingled in her head. "So that's why I won't take the meds. I don't want to become her."

He squeezed her knee. "I wish you'd told me. There is stronger stuff that is non-habit-forming. We can find you something that works so you can get some sleep. You need to rest. You need to heal so that when you come in here, you feel as good as you can feel. Let me help you."

She snuffled and used the back of her hand to swipe at her nose. "Sorry for the bratty bullshit a second ago. I just sorta reached my threshold."

He chuckled. "You think that was a storm-out? You haven't seen anything until you see someone hobble away in a full leg cast refusing to use crutches."

She giggled despite feeling like a bag of hot ass. "I'm just picturing some seven foot yoked basketball player."

Derek cocked his head. "Try about nine inches shorter." He shrugged. "I was sort of being a drama queen."

Her eyes went wide. "You?"

He nodded. "I used to play for the LSU Green Wave. In the final qualifier for the Sweet Sixteen, I thought I'd be like Mike and fly over some big dude. When I landed, I tore my ACL and my Achilles on my right side."

Kiss winced and shuddered at the imagined pain for him. "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, it wasn't pretty. But what was worse, was being told that no matter how much rehab I did, I would still never be as good as I was. I could still play for fun, but I'd never play at that level again. After that, I didn't really see the point in rehab."

"Were you good?"

A hint of a grin was back. "Yeah, I was. But that was the hand I was dealt. I had to learn to live and deal from that reality. And so do you. I believe you can do it."

"Why?"

He tucked a finger under her chin. "Because I see something in you that reminds me of me. I saw this love in your photos in TJ's great room. That's a kind of joy so few people know. You love this like I love basketball. And I promise you, if you put in the work, I will be there with you every step of the way. I will not abandon you. You are not alone. I'm here. Lean on me."

Tears welled again. "Why are you doing this?"

"A wise woman once called me a superhero. Now how about we finish your sets, and I get you a burger as a reward?"

She nodded and he helped her to her feet. She could do this. "Okay. Maybe you can get the doctor out here for something a little stronger."

He nodded. "Done deal. Now let me see the fight in you Kisima. You got this."