Living the Charade(13)

'Of course not,' she said, knowing full well he was a hundred times  fitter than she was and would never suggest they run together.

'You run often?' he asked.

Miller glanced his way, noting his conciliatory tone. 'A couple of  times a week. You?' she added, deciding to accept his olive branch.

'Every morning except Sunday.'

She didn't want to ask what he did on Sunday mornings. She was afraid  her hormones would want her to do more than just visualise it.

He tilted his head, that devilish smile playing around his lips. 'I get time off for good behaviour.'

The incongruity of that statement brought an instant grin to her face.  'Yeah, right. I'm sure you were the type of teenager who crawled out of  your bedroom window when your parents were asleep and partied all  night.'

'They were called study nights at our house.' His deadpan expression made her laugh.

When she realised that he was laughing too she quickly sobered. Because  she didn't want to enjoy his company, and by the wary darkening of his  eyes he didn't much want to enjoy hers either.

But still the light-hearted connection persisted and made her nervous. A  sudden impulse to place his hand back on her breast and kiss him  senseless blindsided her.

'It's a beautiful morning. Why don't we stretch on the beach first?' he suggested.

Shocked by the unfamiliar emotions driving her thoughts and desperate  to break the tension that throbbed between them, Miller cleared her  throat and hoped that single gesture hadn't transmitted to him just how  affected she was by his presence.

'I don't think we should run together.'

Valentino eyed her dubiously. 'How will it look if you run off in one direction and I go in the other?'

Telling, probably.

Miller smoothed her eyebrows in a soothing gesture that failed dismally.                       
       
           



       

She looked down at his long muscular legs dusted with dark hair.

'Come on, Miller, what are you afraid of?'

Him, for one. Her own feelings, for two. Did he need three? 'I'll slow you down,' she mumbled.

'I'll forgive you,' he replied softly.

Miller sighed. One of her strengths was knowing when she was beaten,  but still she was hardly gracious when she said. 'Okay, but don't talk  to me. I hate people who run and talk at the same time.'





      CHAPTER SIX

THE morning was beautiful. Peaceful. The air was crisp, but already  warmed by the sun beating down from a royal-blue sky, and the fresh  scent of saltwater was tart on the silky breeze. Seagulls flew in  graceful circles, while others just squatted on the white-gold sand,  unaffected by the gentle, almost lackadaisical nature of the waves  sweeping towards them.

The beach arced around in a gentle curve towards a rocky outcrop, and  as it was in an unpopulated area it was completely deserted at this time  of the morning.

After a few quick stretches Miller set off at an easy jog along the  dark, wet packed sand left behind as the tide went out, sure that  Valentino would get bored and surge ahead. But he didn't. And then she  remembered that he'd complained about his knee and wondered if she had  hurt him this morning.

Feeling hot already, Miller turned her head to look at him, her  ponytail swinging around her face. 'I didn't really hurt your knee, did  I?' she panted between breaths.

He glanced across at her, only a light sheen of sweat lining his brow,  his breathing seemingly unaffected by his exertions. 'No. The knee is  fine.'

'Was the accident very bad?'

When he didn't respond, she flicked her eyes over his profile, just in time to see him tense almost imperceptibly.

'Which one?'

'There's been more than one?'

He glanced towards the ocean, and she didn't think he'd answer.

'Three this year.'

She wasn't sure if that was a lot for his profession. She imagined they  must crash all the time at the speeds they drove. 'The one where you  hurt your knee?'

He didn't look at her. 'Bad enough.'

His voice was gruff, blunt. Very unlike his usual casual eloquence. 'Was anyone else hurt?'

'Yes.'

'Wh-?'

'I thought you said you didn't like to talk while you ran?'

It was pretty clear he didn't want to tell her about it so she let the  subject drop. But of course her curiosity was piqued. Dexter's comment  about his next race being the race of the decade was making her wonder  if it had anything to do with his accident. She really didn't know  anything about Valentino Ventura, other than the fact that he was called  Maverick and he dated legions of women, but she wouldn't mind knowing  what secrets she was beginning to suspect lay behind his devil-may-care  attitude to life.

* * *

Tino had never run with anyone before. Not even his personal trainer.  Running was meditative, and something he liked to do alone, so he hadn't  expected to enjoy Miller's company as much as he was.

Despite his large family he wasn't the type to need others to be close  to him. He was a loner. Maybe not always, but certainly since his  father's death. And, yeah, he knew a shrink would say the two were  connected but he was happy with the way he was and saw no reason to  change. If he died one day pushing the limits, as his father had, and  Hamilton Jones had last August, at least he knew he wouldn't be leaving a  devastated family behind him.

The image of Hamilton's wife and two young daughters-teary and slightly  accusing at the funeral, because he'd survived and their father  hadn't-caused guilt to fluctuate inside him.

Survivor guilt.

The team doctor had warned him about it afterwards, and while he'd  never admitted to feeling it he knew that on some level he did. But he  also knew it was something that would wear off if he didn't think about  it. Because the accident hadn't been his fault. Hamilton had tried to  overtake on one of the easiest corners on the track, but had somehow  managed to clip Tino's rear wheel and hurtle them both out of control.

Hamilton had lost his life and Tino had missed three of the following  races due to injury. And he'd failed to finish the last two races due to  mechanical issues.

He wasn't superstitious, and he didn't believe in bad luck, but he  couldn't deny-at least to himself-that there seemed to be a black cloud,  like in a damned cartoon strip, following him around at the moment.                       
       
           



       

A sudden memory of the moment his mother had returned from the bathroom  and he'd had to tell her that his father-the love of her life-had just  been involved in a hideous accident clamped around his heart like an  iron fist. No one knew what had caused the accident that had ended his  father's life-engine malfunction or human error-but the pit crew had  said his father hadn't been himself that morning, and Tino remembered  overhearing his mother urge his father to pull out of the race. But the  old man had ignored her and gone anyway.

Tino swiped a hand through his hair. Had that been what had killed him?  His mother's soft request? Tino shuddered. It was a hell of a position  for a man to be put in.

Refocusing on Miller's steady rhythm, he was surprised that he didn't  have to temper his speed all that much for them to remain together.

Waking up beside her, he hadn't meant to have his hands all over her,  and now he decided that it would be best to play the relationship game  her way. So what if Caruthers had the hots for her? It was none of his  business, as she had rightly pointed out. Now that he knew he wasn't  being used as a patsy to hide an affair it shouldn't mean anything to  him that the other man wanted her.

Had they ever been lovers?

Not wanting to head down that particular track he concentrated again on  the rhythmic sound of their feet hitting the sand and the crystal clear  waters of the South Pacific Ocean rolling onto the beach. The coastline  reminded him a little of his house on Phillip Island, near Melbourne,  although he knew the water there was at least ten degrees cooler and a  hundred times rougher.

Miller stopped and started walking, her hands on her hips, and Valentino joined her.

'You can keep going if you want,' she panted.

He glanced at her. He could keep going but he didn't want to. What he  wanted was to stop thinking about the past and make her smile. Like she  had back in their room. He wondered what she did for fun, and then  wondered why he cared.

'You work out a lot?' he asked.

She glanced at him, and he tensed when her eyes dropped to his stomach  as he used his T-shirt to wipe a line of sweat off his brow. He knew she  was attracted to him, maybe even as attracted as he was to her, but he  also knew it would be stupid to follow up on that attraction. Not only  did she not want it-he didn't either. And, while his body might have  ideas to the contrary, his body was just an instrument for his mind, not  the other way around.

'I go to the gym three times a week and try to go for a run along the Manly foreshore on the weekend.'