Open the Door by Diana Deverell

Author:Diana Deverell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Sorrel Press
Published: 2017-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

26

Marianne

Marianne slowly brought her leg back to the starting position.

With both feet on the ground, she turned her head to see the man who’d just commented on her one-legged cable kickback.

Of course, it was the weight lifter.

Up close, his eyes were reassuringly un-wild.

Brown and deep-set, they were his best feature, highlighted by the thick silvery hair and matching handlebar mustache.

“You must be feeling some pain yourself,” she retorted.

Her gaze flicked down, taking in the skin on his arms and legs. No visible tattoos. But this huge man had plenty of skin she couldn’t see. Was he hiding body art under his baggy T-shirt and shorts?

He’d taken off the leather belt and she spotted no sagging flesh.

Only muscle. Lots of muscle.

She reminded herself that he was strong enough to lift her over his head with one enormous hand.

Her untrustworthy libido seized on the thought and she felt her skin heat up.

Not that more redness showed at the end of a workout.

Dropping to one knee, she unfastened her ankle cuff and detached it from the pulley.

“All that weight,” she repeated, rising to a stand. “And no spotter. Not smart.”

He put a finger to his lips to signal she should speak more softly.

In a low voice, he said, “I told the fellow who checked on us that you and I were spotting each other.”

She blinked. She hadn’t noticed anyone check.

“What, do they have a buddy rule for this room?” she asked.

The weight lifter shrugged, sending a ripple across his shoulders.

“Insurance requires it. Nobody’s supposed to work out alone.”

He grinned, showing big white teeth. “Occurred to me we might be able to make a deal.”

She snickered. “If you drop that barbell on your chest, I can’t lift it off.”

“I won’t drop it. I don’t need you to lift anything off my chest. I want you to keep building management off my back.”

He gave her a meaningful look. “Off our backs.”

“You think they’ll believe I can spot you?”

“They don’t care what you can do. You’ll be my fig leaf.”

His fig leaf? Had he said that to make her think of what lay beneath the fig leaf on naked male statues?

If so, it’d worked. Her brain was filled with inappropriate images.

She pushed them aside.

“Okay,” she said sternly, “maybe I’m willing to be your spotter. But I don’t really need you to spot for me.”

“Maybe not. But I can help you get your dumbbell squats right.”

The skin on her cheeks heated up again.

She’d done three sets of plie squats while holding a heavy dumbbell by one end with both hands.

Legs wide apart, toes turned out. Back straight, bending her knees toward her ankles, flashing her crotch, sticking out her butt.

Like an ape uprooting small trees in order to gorge on them. She hated knowing he’d watched her do that.

Flustered, she blurted out her next words. “You didn’t like my form?”

He laughed. “I liked it fine. If you were dancing on a stage, I’d tip you big.”

She held up a hand to cut him off. “We’re not going there.

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