suffered huge calipers pinching her skin in places that shouldn’t be pinched all in the name of body-fat calculation. She’d stepped on a state-of-the art digital scale…with her eyes closed. Now the real torture was about to commence—her measurements.
“Raise your arms,” Kieran said as he stood behind her, close enough to create a bit of discomfort for Erica on several levels.
She quelled the urge to say something snide, like how she hadn’t had so much fun since she’d had her wisdom teeth extracted. Instead, she remained still and silent while Kieran worked the measuring tape around her breasts. He only lingered briefly before going back to his desk to record the numbers on the dreaded clipboard that now held every last one of her intimate secrets. Okay, maybe not all of them. He still didn’t know the size of her feet, the smallest things on her entire body.
When Kieran came back and lifted her T-shirt to measure her waist, Erica had a very conspicuous reaction—a frank covering of gooseflesh all over her body. She wondered if he’d noticed. She hoped not.
“Are you cold, Erica?”
Great. He’d noticed. She faked an innocent look over her shoulder. “Maybe a little.” A lie. In reality, she was rather toasty. Both hot and cold, like a malfunctioning kitchen faucet.
“You won’t be cold when you start working out,” he said.
“I have no doubt about that.”
Erica had no doubt that the next measurement would be the most challenging. She held her breath when she felt the tape tighten around her butt, praying it was long enough to span her hips. When she felt it release, she experienced an overwhelming sense of relief.
Kieran went back to jotting down the results and after he tossed the pen aside, looked up at her and grinned. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Easy for him to say. “Can I see the results?” As much as she dreaded seeing the information, the suspense was nearly killing her.
“Sure.”
After drawing in another fortifying breath, Erica took the few steps to view the verdict. Her weight wasn’t as bad as she’d thought—it was worse. And heaven help her, she’d need a tent to fit her blossoming butt if she didn’t do something, and soon.
She spun around and nearly bumped into Kieran, who’d clearly been looking over her shoulder. “I want to lose thirty pounds by the first of December.”
He moved to her side and leaned back against the desk. “Ten to twelve pounds would be a reasonable goal in a month’s time.”
“By Christmas?”
“Twenty pounds is possible, as long as you stick to a healthy diet.”
Which meant the end of her favorite comfort food—brownies and ice cream. “I understand that’s part of it, and I’m willing to adjust my diet.”
He folded his arms across his broad chest, bringing his bulging biceps clearly into view. “I’ll set you up an appointment with our staff nutritionist.”
She shook her head. “Not necessary. I know what to eat and when to eat it. I was in training once upon a time, remember?”
He pushed away from the desk. “Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know. Now it’s time to go to work.” He pointed at the double doors on the opposite side of the glass-and-chrome-appointed office. An office that rivaled any corporate raider’s workplace. “Let’s go.”
Erica had a difficult time getting her feet to move. “Is that where you keep the whips and chains?”
“Nope, just my own private facility. The whips are chains are upstairs in my apartment.” He topped off the comment with a grin.
“You actually live here?”
“Yeah. I decided it was easier that way. No fighting the traffic any more than necessary. It’s convenient, and has a great view of the city. I’ll give you the grand tour at some point in time.”
“You could give me the tour now.” Not necessarily advisable, being alone with Kieran in his home even though she trusted he’d behave. She wasn’t certain she trusted herself.
“We’ve done enough procrastinating already,” he said, his tone slightly scolding. “Time to get with the program.”
Ah, the program. The real reason she was there. “Okay, if we must.”
“Don’t look so worried. I’ll go easy on you tonight.”
Oh, sure. Like he’d gone easy on her that morning during their jog.
Kieran crossed the room and Erica hung back, enjoying the view of his confident gait, the slight swing of his arms, the breadth of his back encased in a black form-fitting T-shirt and, admittedly, his butt.
After he threw open the doors and signaled her forward, she reluctantly joined him at the opening that revealed a fitness paradise, if one appreciated the myriad equipment. Erica recognized some of the machines that resembled steel monsters ready to swallow her whole, and some she didn’t. Regardless, she suspected he was going to instruct her on the use of each and every one, whether she knew how it worked or not.
And that’s exactly what he did—put her through the proverbial ringer, moving from machine to machine. She pedaled, rowed, stepped and sweated with Kieran’s encouragement. But somewhere between the recumbent bike and the elliptical, he morphed from consummate cheerleader into demented drill sergeant. He only paused to hand her a bottle of water that he allowed her to drink for a few seconds before demanding she continue. And if she heard “Keep going, Erica” one more time, she might have to tie him up with the jump rope hanging in the corner so she could gag him with her sock.
By the time she finished with the free weights, every bone, joint and muscle in her overworked body screamed in protest. And before he could order her onto another torture device, she collapsed and stretched out on the floor mat beneath her sore feet.
Closing her eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights above her head, she muttered, “Enough,” with the last of her waning respiration. Luckily she’d seen several portable defibrillators scattered through the club, should her heart prematurely decide to throw in the towel.
When she didn’t receive an immediate response, Erica forced her lids open to find Kieran hovering above her, an annoyingly sexy and somewhat devious gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t done with her yet, she feared. He confirmed her concerns by saying, “While you’re down there, let’s do a few crunches.”
Even attempting a scowl took too much energy. “Let’s not.”
He crouched down beside her. “Don’t wimp out on me now.”
At this rate he was going to put her into an endorphin coma. Since he probably wouldn’t let up until she did his bidding, a compromise was in order. “I’ll do ten.”
“We’ll see,” he said with all the cockiness of a man in complete control.
She shoved her hands behind her neck and lifted her head, her face screwed up with the effort. She could only imagine how she looked at the moment—stray hairs plastered to her
