Going Overboard by Christina Skye Page A

change as his body rose and fell, utterly controlled.
    “Something about the way you stand the way you move. There's a sense you give off.” She frowned searching for the right word. “As if you're… ready.”
    “It's something I pride myself on.” He dropped from the bar and tugged off his sweatshirt.
    Sweat glistened on his chest. Carly stared aching for a camera.
    “Ready for the bench press?”
    “Probably not.”
    “Here, slide in. I'll keep the weight low. This will help your camera work by building upper-body strength. Go for ten.”
    “Sure, why not? All I can do is break both arms.” Despite an initial awkwardness, she was surprised to feel a pleasant heat in her arms as the bar rose and fell smoothly. “What do you do when you're not giving fitness lessons?” she asked between lifts.
    “I keep busy.”
    “Busy, as in investment banking? Car dealerships? Real estate?”
    “I move around a lot.” He reached over and caught the bar. “No more. You don't want sore muscles while you're juggling lenses.” He laughed at Carly's expression of utter horror. “Don't worry, it's not going to happen.” He tossed her the water bottle.
    “Are you in the travel industry, McKay?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “Then what, exactly?”
    He flicked his towel lazily. “Recently I've been developing deep-water rebreather technology.”
    “As in scuba diving?”
    “Close enough.”
    She considered the answer. “So you're some kind of scientist or engineer or something.”
    “Or something.”
    “Are you with a giant corporation or are you in independent R&D?”
    His lips curved. “Our corporation's pretty big. Our team is damned good at what they do.”
    “Why do I get the impression that there's a whole lot you're not telling me?”
    “I have no idea. Now back to the treadmill before you cool down.”
    Before she realized it, Carly was on the machine beside him, easing into a comfortable trot while red lights raced over the elaborate panel. “I know some of these lights show speed and distance. What do the others mean?”
    “If you can read them, it means you're still alive. That's always a positive sign.”
    Carly huffed on. “You're pretty good at this stuff. If you ever want to become a personal trainer, you could probably make a fortune.”
    “I'll keep that in mind,” he said dryly. “So how did you get started behind the camera? Did your mother show you the ropes?”
    Carly ignored the sudden tension at her chest. “Now and again. Mostly I learned by watching.”
    “You're good at that.” His stride lengthened. “Your mother must be very proud of you.”
    Carly missed a step, then fought her way back into stride. “She's dead. I lost both my parents when I was fifteen.” Aware of his gaze, she concentrated on the flickering lights.
    “I'm sorry.” His pace was effortless and unflagging. “You've got some amazing photographs. You must have wonderful memories to go with them.”
    The red lights blurred for a moment. Carly punched the power button, slamming the machine to a halt. “She left me memories,” she said breathing hard. “Lots of memories.”
    She grabbed her towel and stepped down, hating the pull at her chest. Hating the swirl of bitter thoughts. “I've had enough.”
    “Stay.”
    “I can't.” To her fury, her voice was ragged.
    Without warning, she found herself pinned against a vertical bar. “Talk to me,” he ordered. “Don't turn away and go inside yourself.”
    “I don't want to talk.” She swung out one arm wildly, fighting to break his grip. “Let me alone, McKay. Who asked you to—”
    She fought back painful memories, furious to feel the bite of tears. Her pulse was hammering and her legs were shaky. “I don't want to talk about it. Not now, not ever.”
    His hands settled gently at her face. “Why?”
    “Because my past is no one's business.”
    “I pushed. My fault.”
    She stiffened as his knuckle skimmed her cheek. “I think we should go shower and