Kate Hardy - The Baby That Changed Everything - A Baby to Heal Their Hearts / The Baby That Changed Her Life / The Surgeon's Baby Secret

‘Good. Now for the plank,’ she said, and showed him the position. She moved so she could see the clock. ‘And we’ll start in five. Hold it for as long as you can.’ She counted them down, then they both assumed the position.

Jared managed to hold it for a minute before he flopped.

Bailey took it to three—even though that was pushing it, for her—just to make the point.

It looked effortless, though Jared could see Bailey’s arms just beginning to shake and he knew that her muscles were right on the verge of giving in. But, when she stopped the pose, he knew he was going to have to be gracious about it—especially given that her performance had been so much better than his.

‘OK,’ he said, ‘I admit that was hard. And clearly you’ve done that particular one a lot.’

She grinned. ‘I have. That one usually shuts people up when they say yoga’s an easy option. Though, actually, you did well. A lot of people cave after twenty seconds, or even before that.’

He appreciated the compliment, particularly as it sounded genuine and as if she was trying to meet him halfway.

‘So you do a lot of yoga?’ he asked.

‘Every Monday night with my best friend. Any decent training regime needs flexibility work as well as resistance and cardio.’

He agreed with that. ‘So what do you do for cardio?’

She actually blushed.

And he started to have all kinds of seriously impure thoughts about her. He really wished he hadn’t started this discussion. The fact that she’d blushed meant she must be thinking something similar. So the attraction was mutual, then? Heat zinged through him. If she felt the same pull, what did that mean?

Then again, he didn’t want to get involved with anyone. Sasha had hurt him badly—not just with the affair, but the bit she’d really lied to him about—and Jared wasn’t sure he was ready to trust again.

‘Cardio. I like dance-based classes,’ she said. ‘Also there’s a salsa night at a local club. I quite often go to that. I like the music, and the dancing’s fun. I’m a great believer in endorphins.’

For a moment Jared thought she was going to challenge him to go with her—and he wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or disappointed when she didn’t. He’d hated clubbing with Sasha in any case; a salsa club was probably just as much of a meat market as any other kind of dance club, and that didn’t really appeal to him. Though the idea of dancing with Bailey Randall, up close, hot and sweaty, with her body pressed against his …

Focus, he told himself. Work, not sex.

‘I assume you run?’ she asked.

‘Intervals,’ he said, ‘and rowing—it’s more effective than hamster-wheel cardio. No offence to your warm-up today, because that was fine—it’s just that it would bore me stupid if it lasted for more than ten minutes, even with a decent playlist to keep me going.’

‘Each to their own,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind doing a whole session on the elliptical if I have a good playlist. There are programmes on the machine that change the resistance and make it a bit more interesting.’

He just grimaced.

‘So, rowing, hmm? That would explain your biceps.’

And then she blushed again.

Now he was really intrigued. She liked his biceps?

Well, he liked the muscles in her back. They had beautiful definition. And he really, really wanted to touch them. No. More than that. He wanted to kiss his way down her spine.

‘Would that be proper rowing on a river, or machine?’ she asked.

‘Machine,’ he admitted.

‘And I assume you’re careful with your knee.’

‘I’m wearing a knee support under my tracksuit pants,’ he said. ‘I’m hardly going to nag my players about looking after themselves properly and then not take my own advice.’

‘I guess.’ She held out her hand to shake his, and his palm tingled where their skin touched. How long had it been since he’d been so aware of someone? ‘That was a good session. I enjoyed working with you, Jared.’

‘I enjoyed working with you,’ he said, meaning it; he was surprised to realise just how much he’d enjoyed it.

‘Let’s hit the shower and have breakfast.’

He went hot all over again at the thought of sharing a shower with her. He knew perfectly well that wasn’t what she’d meant, but now the idea was stuck in his head. And he was glad they had temperature settings on the showers in the male changing rooms, because he needed a blast of cold water to get his common sense back and the fantasies out of his mind.

When he met Bailey outside the changing rooms, he noticed that she was wearing a black tailored suit for work. This was yet another side of her; he’d seen the slightly scruffy scientist on the football pitch and the sculpted goddess in the gym, and now she was the calm, confident medical professional.

He wished that he was wearing something a bit more tailored, too—but then again he was off to work himself after this and that meant dressing appropriately. A sharp suit wasn’t what you needed when you were working on a football pitch.

Clearly the staff knew Bailey well here, because the waitress didn’t bat an eyelid when Bailey ordered Eggs Florentine without the hollandaise sauce. ‘And a rich roast latte?’ the waitress asked.

It was obviously Bailey’s usual, because she smiled. ‘That’d be lovely, thanks.’

He ordered porridge with blueberries and cinnamon, paired with a protein shake.

‘Not a coffee fiend?’ she asked.

‘I had mine before my workout. It gets the best use out of the caffeine,’ he said. ‘I’m balancing my protein and my carbs now, post-workout.’

She nodded. ‘Good point.’

‘So, are you going to take me through this system of yours while we wait for breakfast to arrive?’

‘Sure. The idea behind it is that you’re more likely to end up with a soft-tissue injury if you play while you’re under par. You’ll be slower and your reactions won’t be as fast. So if you look at your performance during training or a game and your VO2 is down, you’re doing fewer steps, your resting heart rate is up and your average speed is down, either you’ve had a slow game—and that’s where Archie comes in, to tell me if playing conditions on the field have been different and affected anyone’s performance—or you’re under par and you’re more likely to be injured in your next game.’

He asked her various questions about the measurements she used, and he was impressed that she didn’t have to look up a single answer. Bailey Randall wasn’t the glib salesman type, able to put a spin on her answers; she really knew her stuff. And she clearly believed in her research project. He liked her enthusiasm; it was one of the reasons why he’d chosen to look after the youth team, because he loved the enthusiasm that young players brought to the job, unjaded by internal politics.

And he also liked the way Bailey talked with her hands, completely animated when she was caught up in the subject. Now he knew she was half-Italian, he could really see it. Everything from her classic bone structure, to the slightly olive colour of her skin, to the rich depths of her eyes. Naturally stylish, she was like an Italian Audrey Hepburn, with that gamine haircut and those huge eyes.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘I still think those wristband things are ploys to extort money out of the gullible with too much disposable income and too little common sense, but the stuff you’re doing has a point.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘So do you take it back about my system being a glorified pedometer?’

‘I’ll reserve judgement until I’ve seen a month of results,’ he said, ‘but I will agree that it’s better than the wristband things. Especially because you do at least use a proper heart-rate monitor strap with your system.’