Robert looked down at his injured leg and rubbed his thigh. “I’m good.”
“Good?” She tried to hide her smile because he knew better than to answer with a non-answer. He was playing with her. “On a scale of one to 10, with 10 being the worst, how much pain are you in?”
As Robert thought about the answer, his blond brows pinched together, and she appreciated that he was taking the time to formulate an honest reply. “Four.”
“Four? That’s good.”
“That’s what I said. I’m good,” he repeated, a playful twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes. You did. Let’s get started.”
“Wow. Aren’t you going to offer me a cup of coffee first?”
“No. You’re starting with the treadmill today. You can’t drink coffee beforehand. Remember last time when you were running instead of walking? You can have a bottle of water.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
She ignored his attempts at playful banter, although she loved it, and opened the door for him. “After you.”
With a reluctant sigh, he got up and left her office. “Treadmill?”
“Treadmill.” She nodded and pointed to it. “Get started on the twenty-minute warm-up setting and I’ll be by before you’re done.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her, a jovial way of telling her she sounded like a drill sergeant.
Schooling her expression, she headed toward the reception desk while Robert headed in the opposite direction to start the day’s treatment.
“Amy, please see that Mr. Blade gets a bottle of water.”
The receptionist, who could have easily delegated the task to any one of the assistants in the room, jumped up from her seat. Amber watched as Amy delivered a bottle of Poland Spring to Robert, a bounce in her step and smiling too wide. Robert smiled back, clearly aware of the effect he had on the girl, and said a few words of thanks.
Shaking her head at the display, Amber continued to watch Robert. His legs moved with ease as they trotted over the belt of the treadmill. She noted the way his quads flexed equally, without favoring the injury that brought him to her practice. He wore those damn athletic shorts that drove her crazy. They hugged his body, much like his football pants, accentuating every mouth-watering curve and left little to the imagination, defining the arc of each muscle. His strides were long, and he lifted his knees high, muscles contracting and expanding every time he moved. Her gaze drifted to his lower legs, calves pulsing with power and strength. The loose-fitting tank hid his abs, but she saw a glimpse of them when he was stepping into the hot tub last week, so she knew they were as perfect as the rest of him. She forgave the tank top for masking her view because it dipped low enough to reveal a spectacular pair of pecs peeking over the neckline. His fists were clenched, and he pumped his arms in time with his legs, causing his biceps to form beautiful round masses. She couldn’t find the words to describe the bulk of muscles that comprised his shoulders, but they balanced out his body with precision. On top of it all, short blond hair framed his boyish face, with its perpetual killer smile and penetrating blue eyes—which were staring back at her right now.
She flustered, standing up straight from the way she was casually leaning against the reception desk, but couldn’t avert her eyes.
His smile widened, and he acknowledged her with a casual jut of his chin. He picked up speed and brought one of his arms up to show off his flexed bicep.
A small laugh escaped her, and she rolled her eyes.
“Dr. Morgan?”
She was suddenly aware that Amy had been watching the entire incident and felt completely unprofessional, but her rioting hormones didn’t care. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
“Yes. Miss Shaw is here for your nine a.m.”
How long had she been ogling Robert? “Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s OK,” Amy whispered. “I know it’s hard not to stare. He’s very good looking.”
“I wasn’t staring,” Amber answered, defensively. “I was observing his stride.”
“Of course.” Amy nodded, embarrassed at her statement, and Amber felt bad for snapping at her.
“Don’t worry about it, Amy. Mr. Blade is just being a flirt.” Amber tended to her next patient and then returned to Robert, who was running at top speed on the treadmill.
“Look at me go!” Robert picked up his pace and lifted his knees higher.
It made Amber’s heart race—in more ways than one. Robert’s skin glistened with perspiration, making his tanned arms and legs glow as the muscles tightened with power, and his chest swelled with each heavy breath. She swallowed, hard, and forced herself to view him only as her patient. “Please slow down before you hurt yourself. Why are you running so fast?”
