businessman.
When Elijah stepped into the gym, he could see that canniness was paying off. Hard rock pumped out a heavy beat and instead of the sweat he was used to at the base gym, the air was fresh with something that smelled like clean air.
About thirty of the forty cardio machines were occupied, with the same number of people on strength equipment or using free weights. There were two more rooms enclosed in glass, one filled with women in spandex and the other empty.
Even through the milling, sweating and grunting bodies—and the temptation of those spandex-draped babes, Elijah only had eyes for one person. He grinned when he saw the guy manning the desk next to what appeared to be locker rooms.
At six-two and SEAL fit, Elijah wasn’t a small man. Standing tall at six-four and a comfortable 230 of muscle, Mack Prescott lived by the motto that fitness was king. And it ruled his body with an iron fist. Bald as an eight ball and just as crazy, Mack had spent his early twenties on the fitness circuit, competing and collecting trophies that paid ode to his ripped body. Seven years ago, he’d decided to turn his expertise to training others and opened a gym. Something Elijah appreciated on so many levels.
A wide grin spread over his homely face when Mack saw Elijah weaving his way through the gym rats.
“Well, if it ain’t my favorite sailor. Elijah, how the hell are you doing, man?” Not waiting for an answer, Mack grabbed Elijah close and smothered him tight enough to make a man grateful for good deodorant. “You just passing through?”
“I’m on leave,” Elijah mumbled into Mack’s armpit. “Needed some time to rest and recoup.”
As if testing that assessment, Mack gripped Elijah’s shoulders and pushed him out arm’s distance for an inspection. If his scowl was any indication, he didn’t much like what he saw.
“You said the injury was minor,” Mack growled, accusation clear in the deep rumble.
“It was.” Compared to death. But Elijah didn’t figure sharing his yardstick was going to do much to wipe that look of worry from his cousin’s eyes. He shrugged. “I was cleared for active duty. That means a US of A doctor said I was in good enough shape to serve my country. That should be good enough for you.”
From the slow shake of his head, Mack wasn’t buying it. But while his eyes took another inventory up and down Elijah’s frame, the bigger man didn’t argue. He tilted his head toward the car visible through the windows fronting the gym.
“You staying with your mom?”
“Only if I have to.”
“She know you’re here?”
“You telling her?”
Elijah’s two sisters were still in Yountville with his mom, while most of Mack’s family was scattered over the Napa Valley. So unless one of them had recently gottten into the fitness craze, there was no reason for any of them to notice he was here.
“Should I keep your company a secret?”
Elijah puffed out a breath. He could evade. He could even lie. He was trained to do both. But he was tired. So damned tired. “I could use a break, some downtime,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his hair with a worn sigh.
“How long you got?”
“Three weeks, thereabouts.” Or forever. “Long enough to rest up, get in fighting shape and show you up in the gym and the bar.” A worthy challenge, actually, and one Elijah figured would be fun.
Apparently Mack agreed. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he said, slapping Elijah on the back and damned near sending his face through the chest-high service desk. “You’ll stay at my place.”
“Thanks, man.” That was just what he’d hoped for. “I won’t be any trouble.”
As if he’d heard something Elijah hadn’t intended to let slip, Mack’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t say anything, though. Just gave a long hum, then inclined his head toward the elevator.
“You’ve had a long drive. Bet that leg is stiff. We’ll go up this way—save the stairs for tomorrow. Better yet, I’ll set you up for a massage in the morning. I’ve got a couple of solid massage and rehab therapists attached to the place now.”
As if his body knew it was finally home—or as close to a home as Elijah had—it gave up all pretense of energy and drooped like a used condom. In a fog of exhaustion, he followed his cousin through the gym, vaguely aware of Mack pointing out his new weight-lifting equipment before they settled into a glass tube for the ride to the third floor.
“That’s the dojo,” Mack said as they slid past the second floor, a study of white on white with rich wood accents. Diamond tuck padded walls were visible beyond two groups of students following the instructors and a dozen or so others practicing kicks and punches solos.
One stood out. Slender yet curvy in the white gi, a woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail performed a series of running jump kicks. There was something familiar about the move, but Elijah couldn’t pinpoint it. His eyes narrowed. But before he could focus, the elevator’s ascent blocked his view.
“Guest room is all yours for as long as you want it. I’m busy tomorrow, but I’ll book you a massage first thing. Then we’ll spend some time getting that leg back into shape,” his cousin promised as he opened the door to his third-floor apartment and waved Elijah inside.
“You’ve redecorated,” Elijah noted, looking around.
Mack’s living space reflected the man. Big, intense and comfortable. A television covered a wall opposite a deep purple leather sectional. There was art, most of it nudes, and a chrome-and-glass table plus leather chairs straight out of the 1970s. Instead of the slew of trophies that had once crowded the far wall, there were now a trio of abstracts that, if Elijah tilted his head to one side, appeared to be a ménage à trois.
“Sit, be comfortable. I’ll get us a beer, and you can catch me up. Start with your sex life,” Mack instructed, heading for the kitchen as Elijah dropped onto the couch, sinking into the soft leather.
“Nothing there to catch up on. Between the hospital time, recovery and my regular duties I’ve been pretty busy.”
To say nothing of the random flashback onslaught, the nightly retrospectives through the terrors of his subconscious and the nagging feeling that after sacrificing everything that mattered for his career, that career was spinning wildly out of control.
“Too busy for sex?” Mack had a pitying expression when he returned with a tray carrying two chilled pilsners of beer, a bowl of mixed nuts and a plate of what looked like a cross between potato chips and green beans. “Sounds like your leg isn’t the only thing we need to work on while you’re here.”
Call it exhaustion. Call it instinct that had the little hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Whatever it was, Elijah vowed then and there to step carefully. Because that matchmaking gleam in Mack’s eyes could mean only one thing.
Trouble.
And the last thing Elijah needed right now was more trouble. Even if it came in the form of a naked woman. He didn’t care how hot she was. He didn’t care how willing. He didn’t even care
