Libby pinned on a warm but businesslike smile and moved to join her newest client, whom, she noticed now, also wore a navy blue immobiliser sling.
‘I believe you were expecting me. I’m Libby Henderson. I was just admiring your home and gardens.’
He surveyed the vast front lawns and nodded as a gentle harbour breeze lifted dark blond hair off his brow. ‘I always enjoy my stints in Australia,’ he said. ‘The weather’s brilliant.’ Gorgeous soft grey eyes hooked back onto hers as he cocked his head. ‘I’d offer you my hand but …’
‘Your right shoulder’s giving you problems.’
‘Nothing too serious,’ he said, stepping aside to welcome her in.
Entering the foyer, which gave the modest size of her Manly apartment a decent run for its money, Libby considered his last comment. If Mr Wolfe’s injury had been enough to land him in hospital and warrant subsequent intensive treatment ordered by his team doctor, clearly it was serious enough. Her job was to make certain that full range of motion and strength returned and, despite any downplaying on his part, that’s precisely what she intended to do. Men like Alex Wolfe wanted to get back to it, and now. She understood that. Unfortunately, however, sometimes that wasn’t possible.
Forcing herself not to gape at the storybook multi-tiered staircase or the mirror-polished marble floors, Libby instead turned to her host as he closed the twelve-foot-high door. She suppressed a wry grin. Must be the butler’s day off.
‘Can I offer you a refreshment, Ms Henderson?’
As he passed to lead her through the spacious white, almost austere vestibule, Libby’s thoughts stuck on what should have been a simple question. But his tone implied that rather than coffee, any refreshment he offered might include something as social as champagne.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she replied, unable to keep her gaze from straying to the fluid style of his gait in those delectable custom-made black trousers as he moved off. Would he detect any peculiarities in her stride if their positions were reversed—she in front, he behind? But surely a man who’d dated supermodels and at least one European princess wouldn’t be interested enough to notice.
‘We’ll talk in the sunroom.’ Stopping before a set of double doors, he fanned open one side and she moved through.
After he’d closed this door too, he headed for a U-shaped group of three snowy-white leather couches. Beyond soaring arched windows sat that magnificent outdoor pool she’d imagined as well as a glamorous spa and stylish white wicker setting. A pool house, which mimicked the main building’s design, looked large enough to accommodate a family of four as well as friends. Positioned beyond the pool area was a massive storage block—she suspected a huge garage. All the world knew Mr Wolfe liked his cars.
He gestured to the closest couch. ‘Please make yourself comfortable.’
Libby lowered back against the cushions and set her feet neatly together. Rather than taking up position on the opposite couch, Alex Wolfe settled down alongside of her. A flush crept up her neck and lit her cheeks. This man’s magnetism was a tangible, remarkable thing. His proximity to her on this couch couldn’t be deemed as inappropriate—at least an arm’s length separated them—and yet she couldn’t ignore the pull. Not that Mr Wolfe would purposely be sending out those kinds of vibes. He was simply … well, he was only …
Oh, dammit, he was sexy—beyond anything she’d ever experienced before.
As a film of perspiration cooled her nape, Libby edged an inch away while, holding the sling’s elbow, Alex stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. His feet were large, the shoes Italian. She noticed those things nowadays.
‘So, Ms Henderson, what do you have for me?’
‘I’ve studied the MRI scans,’ she began, her gaze tracing the line of that sling, ‘as well as the orthopaedic surgeon’s report outlining the details of the injury. Seems your shoulder didn’t suffer a complete dislocation, but rather a subluxation. Do you know what that means?’
‘My shoulder didn’t pop completely.’
She nodded. ‘In layman’s terms, that’s precisely it.’
When that amazing subtle smile lighting his eyes touched his mouth, Libby’s tummy fluttered and she cleared her throat. Yes, he’s an incredibly attractive man but, for God’s sake, concentrate! Her goal here wasn’t to get all starry-eyed but to have Alex Wolfe walk away from this episode fully recovered and bursting with glowing reports of her services. Hopefully, then, more of his ilk would follow and her reputation in her present career would be secured.
When she’d returned to her studies, she’d decided she wanted to work with elite athletes, that special breed that needed someone who not only understood how their bodies worked but also their minds, and who were prepared to do whatever it took to get back on top. Libby only wished she’d been given that option.
Centring her attention again, she threaded her fingers and set them on her lap. ‘Your medical records outline ligament damage to that shoulder in your teens.’
His eyes clouded over for an instant, so stormy and distant she might have mentioned the devil. But then his smile returned, and more hypnotic than before.
‘I came off a motorbike.’
She nodded. A natural thrillseeker, of course he’d have started out on two wheels. ‘I see.’
‘Do you like motor sports?’
‘I was more a water girl.’
‘Swimming? Skiing?’
That flush returned, a hot rash creeping over the entire length of her body. Feeling colour soak into her cheeks, she glanced down, unclasped her hands and smoothed the centre creases of her trousers. They weren’t here to discuss her history.
‘I have another appointment this afternoon, so perhaps we’d best stay on point.’
His gaze sharpened, assessing her, and he sat back. ‘I imagine your practice keeps you busy, Ms Henderson.’
‘Busy enough.’
‘But not on weekends.’
‘I work some Saturdays.’
‘Not Sundays?’
She blinked. ‘You think you’ll need me Sundays too?’
‘Let’s make it every weekday for now.’
‘Much of the work you can do without my help. Every second day would be sufficient.’
‘Every week day,’ he reiterated before smiling again. ‘Don’t worry, Ms Henderson. I promise my current predicament is extremely short-term.’
Libby’s breath left her lungs in a quiet rush. This man was a living legend. Revered by millions all over the world. He was the sporting hero that boys chasing one another in parks pretended to be. Was he being intentionally snide? Or just plain ‘I am invincible’ arrogant? Libby knew better than most.
No one was invincible.
‘We
