Page 57 of Healing the Heart

STANDING A FEW INCHESshy of six feet, Fiona had long legs. But as they rushed into the conference room at Rossi with only two minutes to spare, she was winded, trying to keep up with Noah’s even longer ones. They couldn’t blame the LA traffic for being late. Not this time.

They’d made the mistake of showering together, to save time, conserve water, and so they could eat together, but ended up accomplishing none of the three.

Noah, who seemed fascinated with her hair, insisted on washing it. Conditioning it, too. When she’d picked up the new loofah he’d given her to use, he’d tossed it aside and used his hands. Running his soap-slick hands over her everywhere: curves, dips, valleys, and all the places in between. One thing led to another. By the time they dressed and were ready to go, there was no time for breakfast.

Noah grabbed them each a protein bar and filled to-go mugs with coffee right before he’d rushed her out the door.

“An hour or more of aerobic exercise upon waking and a high protein 200 calorie breakfast on the go. This is one diet plan I’ve never tried,” Fiona commented as she relaxed into the leather seat of his Mercedes and let him navigate the crowded city streets.

“Stop worrying about dieting. You look great, especially in those jeans.”

She snorted doubtfully. “You mean the ones I poured myself into this morning?”

“Since I’m doing the looking, how about you let me be the judge,” he gently scolded, which was becoming a theme when the subject of her size came up. “The physical activity I’m very much on board with, however,” he said in a more teasing tone as he waggled his brows in a terrible impression of an old Marx Brothers movie. “If you want to tone up and not worry so much about what you eat, swim with me.”

“When do you have time to swim?”

“I rarely sleep this late.” He glanced at her in accusation, but the glint in his blue eyes said he was once again teasing her. “I don’t enjoy running, and it’s hard on the joints. So I do early morning laps at a fitness center nearby.”

A trip to the dentist sounded more fun than early morning and laps. Combining the two—pure torture. Good thing she could bow out.

“It sure works for you,” she told him, having admired his naked body at length last night and this morning. “You’re all muscle and zero body fat. But I don’t swim.”

He looked at her askance. “You don’t like to swim? Or you don’t know how?”

“I don’t know about the first because I’ve never tried. I never learned as a kid.”

“Everyone should know how to float and tread water at the very least. Once this is over, I’ll give you lessons.”

“Your list of things I need to work on is getting longer by the hour.” That stung more than a little. “I guess I’m what you’d call a fixer-upper.”

He reached over and took her hand, moving it to his thigh. And he didn’t let go, driving one-handed. “We’re all a work in progress. At least, we should be always striving to improve.”

“And what are you currently working on for yourself, Doc?”

Noah glanced at her meaningfully, and she immediately regretted her rather flippant question when his gaze returned to the road and he replied, “Letting go of the past and diving into a future with you, kitten. Which I believe we discussed at length yesterday.”

Ouch.

“Of course. I shouldn’t have said... I didn’t mean...” She ended her stammer with a choked, “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve had a stressful couple of days.” Noah had brought her hand to his lips. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

No truer words.

As she looked around the conference room, crowded with big handsome men, she had to wonder what additional stress would be piled onto her overflowing plate today.

She recognized most everyone from the club. Masters Samson and Jerry were there as was Tristan from the control room. A dark-haired man at the end of the table huddled over his laptop, his face hidden behind the oversized screen. They were all in jeans or camouflage cargo pants and tight tees. Except for Master Tristan, who wasn’t as casually dressed as when they first met. In a jacket and tie, he bore a striking resemblance to Brad Pitt. Across from him was an extremely handsome man with jet-black hair and obvious Italian heritage who was in a dress shirt, no tie, his rolled-up sleeves revealing massive corded forearms. Two had dark sunglasses perched on top of their heads, with military-style closely cropped haircuts. Except for the two in business attire, they fit her idea of what commandoes would look like. And from what she’d learned from Noah, they pretty much were.

Fiona could only wonder when the crime thriller movie she had somehow wandered into would end. If she could have walked out and asked for a refund, she would have because she wasn’t enjoying the show. Except for the spicy romantic parts with Noah in his alpha-hero love-interest role.

“Let’s get started,” Finn/Keiran/Master K announced as he came in, closing the door behind him.

Not for the first time, it crossed Fiona’s mind that they really needed to pick a name and go with it. It was confusing and more than a little annoying.

He took his seat and opened the file he’d brought with him. Her name stamped on the little cutout tab, no doubt. Before Finn could say a word, the door swung open again.

“We’re here,” Master Eric announced, entering with Val right behind him. “My apologies for being late, but someone forgot to order coffee, and we had to stop by a Starbucks on our way in from Long Beach.”

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