Robyn Grady - The Fearless Maverick

‘I wouldn’t have thought she’d be motivated by money any more than you are.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘You seriously don’t recognise the name?’

Alex rolled it over in his mind and came up a blank. ‘Sorry.’

‘Elizabeth Henderson was World Surfing Champion a few years back.’

Alex recalled her radiant can-do glow, the determined look in those swirling amber eyes, not to mention the alluring beach-babe hair and tan. Elizabeth Henderson, world champion surfer? He grinned. Sure. It fit.

‘I had no idea,’ he admitted. ‘Water sports aren’t my thing.’ He and Libby had even had that discussion. ‘I don’t much follow female sport either. Do they televise women’s surf championships?’

With a sardonic grin, Eli collected the document Alex had set aside. ‘For a smart man, you’re one hell of a chauvinist.’

Alex held his heart. ‘You’ve wounded me.’ Then he offered up a conciliatory smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’m on top of it. When Libby Henderson sets her mind to something, she does it her way and leaves the rest for dead. Which can only bode well for her performance as a physio.’

Dark brows knitted, Eli was flicking through the document, sifting through data. Eli was a hound for tracking down and assimilating facts. Which begged the question …

Eyes narrowed, Alex swung his chair one way, then the next. Finally he asked, ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Libby Henderson’s past first-up?’

Eli continued analysing the pages. ‘I wanted you to meet her without any preconceptions.’

‘I don’t see how knowing about her sporting acumen could hurt.’

When Eli kept his focus on the document, Alex’s antennae began to prickle. Had being cooped up without driving privileges brought out a paranoid streak? Or was there something more to Libby Henderson? Something that Eli, for some curious reason, preferred his boss not discover?

He’d set out to hire someone who would be malleable to his needs. That objective hadn’t changed. And yet after a single meeting he couldn’t deny he was intrigued to learn more about this former surf queen turned sports star physio. Was his curiosity in part due to the fact that Libby reminded him of his sister? She and Annabelle conveyed a similar almost regal reserve, although Alex well remembered his sister in her younger years—open and vibrant. So eager to experience all life had to offer. He’d wager Libby harboured a more effervescent side as well. Either way …

Eli leaned over to point out some anomaly in the document but Alex found his thoughts still on Libby.

An attractive option. Boundless possibilities.

Yes. When Ms Henderson visited next, he’d be certain to dig deeper.

HALF an hour later, Libby walked through the entrance of her city office. Behind the front desk, her twenty-one-year-old receptionist, Payton Nagle, flicked back her waist-length chestnut hair and beamed out an enthusiastic smile.

‘Sooooo … how was the superstar?’

Containing a grin, Libby crossed over and scooped up the morning mail from the counter’s top shelf. ‘Still shining bright.’

‘What’s he like?’ Eyes round, Payton tipped forward. ‘Is he as sexy in real life as he is on the TV?’

‘I’d have to say sexier,’ Libby replied, matter-of-factly. The man was so sexy, it was criminal.

Falling back in her seat, Payton sighed long and hard at the ceiling. ‘That strong square jaw, that deep to-die-for Brit accent … Honestly, Libby, I don’t know how you stopped from swooning.’

‘I’m a professional, Payton,’ Libby said, shuffling through letters and invoices. ‘Professionals aren’t allowed to swoon.’ Or rather they weren’t allowed to let those kinds of unprofessional feelings show.

She set down the mail and drilled her receptionist with her most serious gaze. ‘Remember, not one word about my appointments with Alex Wolfe to anyone. He wants the press to think he’s flown back to the UK or the paparazzi would be all over this. He doesn’t want the situation with his shoulder made out to be any worse than it is.’

Didn’t want to be projected as a cripple.

Shaking off that thought, Libby stretched toward the keyboard to check her email account while Payton crossed her heart to seal the promise. ‘Did you tell him about your surfing?’

Libby recalled her thoughts from earlier, when she’d left Alex Wolfe and his premises. Other than the everyday reminder below her left knee, ‘That part of my life’s behind me.’

Payton’s brows tugged together. ‘But being a world champion … it’s something you’d have in common.’

‘I’m not there for chitchat.’

Or here, for that matter.

Setting her mind squarely back on business, Libby moved toward her office. A long low whistle, the sound of a missile falling, came from behind.

Hands on hips, Libby rotated back.

Payton was twirling a thick strand of hair around an index finger. ‘You really like him, don’t you?’

Libby’s eyes bugged out. Like him?

‘Payton, he’s impossibly arrogant. Consumed by his own celebrity. And besides that …’ Libby’s fists loosened, her inflexible look melted and, beaten, she exhaled. ‘Besides that, any woman with her full quota of hormones couldn’t help but like him.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s drugging. Same way honey is to a bee.’

‘I wonder …’ An eyebrow arched as Payton twirled more hair. ‘Are you the honey or the bee?’

Libby coughed out a laugh. If Payton was suggesting that Alex Wolfe found her irresistible …!

‘I’m neither,’ Libby replied in an end-of-conversation tone. ‘I’m a physiotherapist who has a full day ahead of her. As does her receptionist.’

Moving into her office, Libby shut the door and took two calming breaths to rein in the cantering pace of her heartbeat. She and Payton might be friends but foremost she was the younger woman’s employer. Someone Payton should be able to hold up as an example. Revealing a vulnerable side—the purely female side that found Alex Wolfe absurdly attractive—had been foolish. And a onetime mistake.

Crossing to her desk, Libby told herself that Mr Wolfe had fleets of starry-eyed admirers the globe over, women who dreamed about being with him, talking to him, doing for him. They would also dream about how that kissable mouth might feel sensually closing over theirs, or the way he might move when he made hot, unhurried love deep into the night.

Resigned, Libby dropped into her chair.

Hell, she wasn’t so different to those other mesmerised hoards. And that had to stop.

She knew Alex Wolfe’s type. World Number Ones were all about staying on top. He would use anything and everything within his means to have her capitulate, wave her physio’s green flag and get himself back on the track whether his injury was sufficiently healed or not. But no matter how distracting Mr Wolfe’s looks and charm, she would not let herself be manipulated. There was only one thing for it.

Spine straight, knees together, she swept up her schedule.

From now on she would be nothing but objective in his company. Ruthlessly ethical. A consummate, non-sexual, iron-willed professional.

Ready to sort through the papers on her desk, Libby had collected a pen when a pang in her chest had her catching her breath. The thought had crept up on her like a frost on nightfall, and now that the reflection was formed she couldn’t blot it out. Couldn’t shake it off.

After her accident she’d thrown herself into study, then the practice. No energy was left over for window-shopping for knee-high dresses she would never wear or wondering if sometime, somewhere, she might meet someone new. She was too busy—too focused—and she preferred her life that way.