The Choice Read Online Free PDF Page B

for a spot.” She walked toward the bench press. “Not all of us are so foolhardy as to lift that kind of weight with no backup.”
    Cullinane frowned. “I know what I’m doing.”
    Her glance swept his body. “Oh, I don’t doubt that for a minute.” She began adjusting weights on the bar, handing the excess plates to him. “But it’s still a bad idea.”
    Of course she was right. But this morning he’d had some frustrations to burn off.
    Most of them caused by the woman standing next to him.
    “So how much you want to lift?” He indicated the bar with a nod of his head.
    “A hundred.”
    He issued his own whistle. “Pretty impressive...”
    Jillian shot a glance his way. “For a girl, you mean?”
    “For anyone who weighs at least a hundred pounds less than I do.”
    She seemed appeased. “Size isn’t everything.” Mischief glimmered in her gaze.
    He moved toward the racks holding the plates. “Sometimes size matters a lot.”
    They exchanged grins.
    Then inwardly he cursed. He didn’t want to know she had a sense of humor, too.
    When she settled on the bench, he moved to stand behind her head. His gaze drifted across her supple body, taking in the breasts beneath her black sports bra...the bare creamy skin at her taut midriff...the skin-tight black shorts hugging well-defined thighs...
    Shit. He cleared his throat, “Ready?”
    Her eyes caught his for one suspended moment. Finally she nodded. “Yeah.” She reached up for the bar.
    He lifted it off the rack, handing it to her, oddly reluctant to burden her with it. He was careful to pull his support away smoothly.
    An odd feeling, this, watching someone whose graceful body he’d held in his arms last night use that same body with such power and strength now. No question that she knew what she was doing. No neophyte would be pressing this much weight for her size.
    Impressive, he had to admit. Her body was a finely-honed machine, exhibiting great strength and the legacy of obvious discipline.
    Yet she was all woman, no question. Jillian’s muscle definition was imposing when she exerted herself, like right now, yet when she simply moved about in the normal course of things, she looked undeniably feminine, no bulging biceps or mannish features.
    But last night she’d been soft. And too damned appealing.
    “What?” she asked.
    Not going there. “Don’t talk. You could get hurt.”
    She glared at him, then focused on the middle distance, concentrating as if he was invisible.
    Peeved, maybe. Definitely not mannish. Cullinane smiled.
    “Twelve.” She pushed the bar toward the rack.
    He took it out of her hands and settled it carefully, and knew he had to get out of here. “Anything else?” he made himself ask curtly.
    “No.” She walked away.
    Cullinane gladly left for his run.
    One step ahead of the urge to turn back.
    * * *
    Jillian peered down the road as she ran, seeking a good place to turn around. She’d finished her indoor workout and decided a run would do her good. Cullinane had left the gym abruptly; she had no idea where he’d gone.
    Stop thinking about Cullinane. Think about Hafner. About what you learned last night.
    Hafner was a creep. No news there. He was much worse than a creep; he’d murdered her sister. A hot ache seized her chest at the thought of the last, angry words she and Belinda had exchanged.
     
    “Stop telling me what to do with my life, Jillian,” Belinda had all but screamed. “I’m not your little sister anymore, and I’m sick of you looking down your nose at my choices.” Belinda’s blue eyes had snapped with the emotion spilling over her lashes. “He loves me, and you’re just jealous!”
     
    Just jealous...just jealous...sick of you looking down your nose... Could there have been any truth to Belinda’s accusation? Belinda had had so much, and Jillian had always been on the outside looking in.
    A horn blasted Jillian out of her daydream. Tires squealed. She jumped off to the shoulder, her breath