adjusting to her revved-up motion, the movement of her legs becoming an unconscious stride. Slowly but surely her thoughts blurred and fell quiet as the muscles in her calves protested. Her feet throbbed from the hard surface of the pavement and her heart stepped up its beat, pounding faster as the hill demanded more from her body.
It only took a minute to crest the hill, and Ben visibly reined in his stride on the flat stretch at the top. In her peripheral vision she could see how often he glanced her way, ensuring his pace was just fast enough to urge her on without pushing her too hard. He set their direction, he regulated their tempo and, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she was happy to hang back and let him take charge.
As her anxieties about navigating and speed and sweating through her socks gradually faded out, she relished the sound of her soles smacking against the road, the cool air that was fresh in her lungs and the lush scenery that she’d only ever seen from behind a car window. She drank in the sunshine, the palm trees, the bright blue sky, as her rational mind quieted down with every springing step.
It took less than a mile for her mind to be clear of everything except the rhythm of her body, the waft of the breeze and the hushed sound of Ben’s breathing beside her. She had no idea where they were, how to get back, how far they’d run or how much farther they had to go.
She’d never been more out of control—or more blissfully content.
* * *
His baggy shorts bunched between his thighs, his shirt stuck to his back and each strike of the pavement against his thin-soled canvas sneakers sent pain shuddering up through his shins. But as Ben watched Regan’s dark, tightly locked face open and glow like a blossoming daylily, he knew he had to push on.
If holding her felt like catching an impala, running beside her felt like setting one free. Her movement was as smooth and sure as it was on the court, but without any of the tension of strategy or restraint. There was joy in each step, radiance in her eyes, and Ben felt privileged to be there to behold it—and like the least worthy man in the world after she’d so squarely called him out on his distanced behavior.
He’d been in torment ever since they said goodbye in the hotel in Miami. He tried to slip out during the post-panel schmoozing, but Regan intercepted him on his way out the door.
“Are you heading out?” she’d asked, her back to the window that offered panoramic views of the city and the ocean beyond. He’d admired the cityscape earlier, but when she stood in front of it and stared up at him with eyes full of hopeful question, he completely forgot it was there.
“I’m having dinner with an old friend,” he’d answered, omitting the fact that he had two hours to kill before they were due to meet.
“Oh, fun,” she replied, and he’d had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at her poor attempt to fake some enthusiasm. “No time to stick around for a drink in the bar, then? Nonalcoholic of course.”
“Not this time. Remember, I have my spies—I’ll know if so much as a mouthful of beer passes those lips.”
He regretted those words before he’d finished saying them, as the image of her soft lips pressing against the cool rim of a bottle and the hoppy liquid swirling over her small pink tongue hardened him so instantly he nearly gasped. Thankfully Regan didn’t notice, and as he felt her gaze lingering on his back as he’d hobbled out of the room, his confidence in his ability to restrain himself until the Baron’s took a serious knock.
He could keep his hands to himself for six weeks, couldn’t he?
Now, as she glided beside him over the gently rolling sidewalk running along the perimeter of the golf course, he was grimly reminded that her allure was unlike anything he’d experienced before. There had been times during the past week that he’d been thankful for the frustrating
It only took a minute to crest the hill, and Ben visibly reined in his stride on the flat stretch at the top. In her peripheral vision she could see how often he glanced her way, ensuring his pace was just fast enough to urge her on without pushing her too hard. He set their direction, he regulated their tempo and, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she was happy to hang back and let him take charge.
As her anxieties about navigating and speed and sweating through her socks gradually faded out, she relished the sound of her soles smacking against the road, the cool air that was fresh in her lungs and the lush scenery that she’d only ever seen from behind a car window. She drank in the sunshine, the palm trees, the bright blue sky, as her rational mind quieted down with every springing step.
It took less than a mile for her mind to be clear of everything except the rhythm of her body, the waft of the breeze and the hushed sound of Ben’s breathing beside her. She had no idea where they were, how to get back, how far they’d run or how much farther they had to go.
She’d never been more out of control—or more blissfully content.
* * *
His baggy shorts bunched between his thighs, his shirt stuck to his back and each strike of the pavement against his thin-soled canvas sneakers sent pain shuddering up through his shins. But as Ben watched Regan’s dark, tightly locked face open and glow like a blossoming daylily, he knew he had to push on.
If holding her felt like catching an impala, running beside her felt like setting one free. Her movement was as smooth and sure as it was on the court, but without any of the tension of strategy or restraint. There was joy in each step, radiance in her eyes, and Ben felt privileged to be there to behold it—and like the least worthy man in the world after she’d so squarely called him out on his distanced behavior.
He’d been in torment ever since they said goodbye in the hotel in Miami. He tried to slip out during the post-panel schmoozing, but Regan intercepted him on his way out the door.
“Are you heading out?” she’d asked, her back to the window that offered panoramic views of the city and the ocean beyond. He’d admired the cityscape earlier, but when she stood in front of it and stared up at him with eyes full of hopeful question, he completely forgot it was there.
“I’m having dinner with an old friend,” he’d answered, omitting the fact that he had two hours to kill before they were due to meet.
“Oh, fun,” she replied, and he’d had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at her poor attempt to fake some enthusiasm. “No time to stick around for a drink in the bar, then? Nonalcoholic of course.”
“Not this time. Remember, I have my spies—I’ll know if so much as a mouthful of beer passes those lips.”
He regretted those words before he’d finished saying them, as the image of her soft lips pressing against the cool rim of a bottle and the hoppy liquid swirling over her small pink tongue hardened him so instantly he nearly gasped. Thankfully Regan didn’t notice, and as he felt her gaze lingering on his back as he’d hobbled out of the room, his confidence in his ability to restrain himself until the Baron’s took a serious knock.
He could keep his hands to himself for six weeks, couldn’t he?
Now, as she glided beside him over the gently rolling sidewalk running along the perimeter of the golf course, he was grimly reminded that her allure was unlike anything he’d experienced before. There had been times during the past week that he’d been thankful for the frustrating
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