“Happy?”
“Delirious,” his friend drawled with a lazy smile. He went back to the door and said, “Coast is clear, Goldie. Come on in.”
Ian stumbled on the treadmill—not because of his knee but because of the woman who walked in. That photographer with the mesmerizing blue eyes he wanted to dive into was back.
“What is she doing here?” he asked Rowdy.
“ She is in the room and can hear you.” The woman set her enormous bag down and looked around.
He glared at Rowdy.
The man crossed his arms, looking smug. “She told you. She wants to take your picture.”
“And I said no.”
“That’s my least favorite word in the English language,” the blond pest said as she came alongside him.
“My father was right,” he said to Rowdy. “You’re a pain in the arse.”
Rowdy grinned. “Your old man loves me. Donald sent me off with a bottle of his famous Scotch, and we all know Donald MacNiven doesn’t give his precious fire water to just anyone.”
True, but he wasn’t in the mood to agree. “I don’t want her here.”
“I’d never have guessed that,” the woman chimed in.
What was Rowdy thinking? He shot his friend a death glare. The last thing he needed was media reporting on how his knee was healing. At least he was wearing long workout pants so she couldn’t see the scars and speculate about how he was really doing.
“Come on, Mac.” Rowdy tossed him a towel. “Give her a chance. I have a good feeling about this. We time Goldie’s photo essay to come out around the championship, and you’ll be relevant again. It’s a good plan.”
Having the blonde in his face, poking her nose in his business, was a terrible plan. He shook his head. “No.”
“Well.” Rowdy clapped his hands together and then steepled them in front of his chest. “I’ll let you two kids talk, then. It shouldn’t be a problem for you, Mac, since you’re going as slow as an old lady.”
Cursing under his breath, Ian punched up the level.
Titania hopped on the treadmill next to him.
He took a sidelong glance at her. She frowned at the console as though she’d never seen an exercise machine before. She pushed a couple buttons and then gripped the railings to keep from falling off when the treadmill began to speed up.
Most of the women he knew were religious about exercise and diet. They were also vain.
He couldn’t tell if Titania was vain. She wore no makeup that he could see and had her hair in a messy ponytail. Did she not know how beautiful she was, or did she just not care? Her skin was glowing, and her big eyes were the same color blue as the loch at his parents’ property that always tempted him to dive in. She was slim and tall and looked ridiculously sexy in her faded jeans.
He’d never gone for skinny girls, but she had an intriguing suggestion of curves under her simple clothing. Her short-sleeved T-shirt revealed toned arms. Were her legs that shapely?
He felt a curious impulse to haul her over his shoulder and take her to his room to strip her and find out, and that startled him because he hadn’t had the urge to take anyone to bed since the accident.
“This is painful,” she huffed after a minute of running.
He grunted. She had no idea how painful it really was.
“My lungs are on fire.” She slowed her treadmill down to a walk. “And you do this willingly. You must be either insane or masochistic.”
He glanced at her. Her face was flushed and her hair slipped from her hair tie. She’d look like that during sex.
Not something he needed to think about. He kicked up the level, to punish himself for going there.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”
Frowning, Ian shook his head. “What?”
“Whether you’re insane or masochistic. When I move in with you.”
He looked at her incredulously. “You’re the insane one. Move in with me?”
“It’s how I work. I move in with my subjects to get to know them before I start taking
“Delirious,” his friend drawled with a lazy smile. He went back to the door and said, “Coast is clear, Goldie. Come on in.”
Ian stumbled on the treadmill—not because of his knee but because of the woman who walked in. That photographer with the mesmerizing blue eyes he wanted to dive into was back.
“What is she doing here?” he asked Rowdy.
“ She is in the room and can hear you.” The woman set her enormous bag down and looked around.
He glared at Rowdy.
The man crossed his arms, looking smug. “She told you. She wants to take your picture.”
“And I said no.”
“That’s my least favorite word in the English language,” the blond pest said as she came alongside him.
“My father was right,” he said to Rowdy. “You’re a pain in the arse.”
Rowdy grinned. “Your old man loves me. Donald sent me off with a bottle of his famous Scotch, and we all know Donald MacNiven doesn’t give his precious fire water to just anyone.”
True, but he wasn’t in the mood to agree. “I don’t want her here.”
“I’d never have guessed that,” the woman chimed in.
What was Rowdy thinking? He shot his friend a death glare. The last thing he needed was media reporting on how his knee was healing. At least he was wearing long workout pants so she couldn’t see the scars and speculate about how he was really doing.
“Come on, Mac.” Rowdy tossed him a towel. “Give her a chance. I have a good feeling about this. We time Goldie’s photo essay to come out around the championship, and you’ll be relevant again. It’s a good plan.”
Having the blonde in his face, poking her nose in his business, was a terrible plan. He shook his head. “No.”
“Well.” Rowdy clapped his hands together and then steepled them in front of his chest. “I’ll let you two kids talk, then. It shouldn’t be a problem for you, Mac, since you’re going as slow as an old lady.”
Cursing under his breath, Ian punched up the level.
Titania hopped on the treadmill next to him.
He took a sidelong glance at her. She frowned at the console as though she’d never seen an exercise machine before. She pushed a couple buttons and then gripped the railings to keep from falling off when the treadmill began to speed up.
Most of the women he knew were religious about exercise and diet. They were also vain.
He couldn’t tell if Titania was vain. She wore no makeup that he could see and had her hair in a messy ponytail. Did she not know how beautiful she was, or did she just not care? Her skin was glowing, and her big eyes were the same color blue as the loch at his parents’ property that always tempted him to dive in. She was slim and tall and looked ridiculously sexy in her faded jeans.
He’d never gone for skinny girls, but she had an intriguing suggestion of curves under her simple clothing. Her short-sleeved T-shirt revealed toned arms. Were her legs that shapely?
He felt a curious impulse to haul her over his shoulder and take her to his room to strip her and find out, and that startled him because he hadn’t had the urge to take anyone to bed since the accident.
“This is painful,” she huffed after a minute of running.
He grunted. She had no idea how painful it really was.
“My lungs are on fire.” She slowed her treadmill down to a walk. “And you do this willingly. You must be either insane or masochistic.”
He glanced at her. Her face was flushed and her hair slipped from her hair tie. She’d look like that during sex.
Not something he needed to think about. He kicked up the level, to punish himself for going there.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”
Frowning, Ian shook his head. “What?”
“Whether you’re insane or masochistic. When I move in with you.”
He looked at her incredulously. “You’re the insane one. Move in with me?”
“It’s how I work. I move in with my subjects to get to know them before I start taking
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