Chapter 1
A mara Brown picked at the end of her white sundress absentmindedly. She had a folder full of notes in her lap, detailing every reason why she shouldn't be looking forward to her next interview. It all added up to the same thing: Thomas Clark was a mess.
The bad boy of the swimming world had everything it took to be a star and break world records. His talent was undeniable. However, in the previous Olympic Games, Thomas had choked at the last minute, lost focus completely, and ended up going home with only a bronze medal. Since then, the charismatic athlete had spent most of his time being thrown out of bars, mouthing off to the media, and getting in Twitter fights with trolls.
So by all accounts, Amara, being a reporter covering the San Diego Summer Olympics, should have been leery of their upcoming conversation. There was a good chance Thomas was going to be brash and rude to her. In fact, he was known to storm out of interviews regularly.
However, a strange ball of emotion was nestled under her ribcage. It certainly wasn't nervousness - if anything, it was excitement. She didn’t know what to make of it.
The door opened, and a thin, blonde woman stuck her head in. "Mr. Clark is ready."
"Send him in," Amara answered, straightening up in her chair.
In walked Thomas, a sexy swagger in his gait and mischief in his gaze. His white-blonde hair was cut very short, and his grey eyes were prominent in his handsome, rugged face. He reminded her a bit of a Scottish rogue in a romance novel. Before he even said a word, he had sucked the air out of the room, dominating the space with his mere presence.
Amara realized why she had felt weirdly excited about this meeting. Thomas was ridiculously, panty-melting, once-in-a-lifetime hot.
The door shut behind him, and they were locked into the room, which was so tiny that it could almost be mistaken for a cabinet. It housed only two chairs, the one she sat in and one directly across from it. Thomas strode over, flipped the empty chair around and straddled it, leaning his arms on the back.
"Thomas Clark, nice to meet you," he said, his voice deep and sexy.
Amara flung one of her many braids behind her shoulder and gave him a wide smile. "I’m Amara Brown from International Sportsman. It’s nice to meet you too. I know we don't have much time so I'd like to get started right away, if you don't mind."
"Fire away. I'm an open book." His energy continued to radiate through the room, overwhelming her.
Amara looked down at her notepad, trying to avoid his piercing gaze and focus on her work. "Some would say that's a problem. I know you lost a sponsorship earlier this year after posting a rant on Facebook, and no doubt there have been other problems behind the scenes. There are commentators saying you should be more selective in what you say to protect your brand. How would you respond to those people?"
"Wow, you really don't beat around the bush. I thought this would be one of those interviews where people ask me how many eggs I eat while training, or if I'll go to Disneyland after I win. But here you are going for the throat." He sounded impressed rather than offended.
Amara's lip curled slightly. "I don't have any interest in fluff pieces, and neither do my readers. I want to get to know the real Thomas Clark."
"That might be a tall order in twenty minutes," he said dryly. "To know all of me usually takes a bottle of wine and an entire night." He winked at her naughtily.
Amara's cheeks began to get hot at his insinuation, but she tried to keep herself professional. "Unfortunately, twenty minutes is all we have. So, will you answer the question or not?"
"Yes, people would like me to be someone else. But I can't help who I am. I speak my mind, and I always have. I'm not here to flatter people in order to get sponsorships; I'm here to win a gold medal. It's not about the money, so I couldn't give less of a shit about losing an endorsement because someone got their
A mara Brown picked at the end of her white sundress absentmindedly. She had a folder full of notes in her lap, detailing every reason why she shouldn't be looking forward to her next interview. It all added up to the same thing: Thomas Clark was a mess.
The bad boy of the swimming world had everything it took to be a star and break world records. His talent was undeniable. However, in the previous Olympic Games, Thomas had choked at the last minute, lost focus completely, and ended up going home with only a bronze medal. Since then, the charismatic athlete had spent most of his time being thrown out of bars, mouthing off to the media, and getting in Twitter fights with trolls.
So by all accounts, Amara, being a reporter covering the San Diego Summer Olympics, should have been leery of their upcoming conversation. There was a good chance Thomas was going to be brash and rude to her. In fact, he was known to storm out of interviews regularly.
However, a strange ball of emotion was nestled under her ribcage. It certainly wasn't nervousness - if anything, it was excitement. She didn’t know what to make of it.
The door opened, and a thin, blonde woman stuck her head in. "Mr. Clark is ready."
"Send him in," Amara answered, straightening up in her chair.
In walked Thomas, a sexy swagger in his gait and mischief in his gaze. His white-blonde hair was cut very short, and his grey eyes were prominent in his handsome, rugged face. He reminded her a bit of a Scottish rogue in a romance novel. Before he even said a word, he had sucked the air out of the room, dominating the space with his mere presence.
Amara realized why she had felt weirdly excited about this meeting. Thomas was ridiculously, panty-melting, once-in-a-lifetime hot.
The door shut behind him, and they were locked into the room, which was so tiny that it could almost be mistaken for a cabinet. It housed only two chairs, the one she sat in and one directly across from it. Thomas strode over, flipped the empty chair around and straddled it, leaning his arms on the back.
"Thomas Clark, nice to meet you," he said, his voice deep and sexy.
Amara flung one of her many braids behind her shoulder and gave him a wide smile. "I’m Amara Brown from International Sportsman. It’s nice to meet you too. I know we don't have much time so I'd like to get started right away, if you don't mind."
"Fire away. I'm an open book." His energy continued to radiate through the room, overwhelming her.
Amara looked down at her notepad, trying to avoid his piercing gaze and focus on her work. "Some would say that's a problem. I know you lost a sponsorship earlier this year after posting a rant on Facebook, and no doubt there have been other problems behind the scenes. There are commentators saying you should be more selective in what you say to protect your brand. How would you respond to those people?"
"Wow, you really don't beat around the bush. I thought this would be one of those interviews where people ask me how many eggs I eat while training, or if I'll go to Disneyland after I win. But here you are going for the throat." He sounded impressed rather than offended.
Amara's lip curled slightly. "I don't have any interest in fluff pieces, and neither do my readers. I want to get to know the real Thomas Clark."
"That might be a tall order in twenty minutes," he said dryly. "To know all of me usually takes a bottle of wine and an entire night." He winked at her naughtily.
Amara's cheeks began to get hot at his insinuation, but she tried to keep herself professional. "Unfortunately, twenty minutes is all we have. So, will you answer the question or not?"
"Yes, people would like me to be someone else. But I can't help who I am. I speak my mind, and I always have. I'm not here to flatter people in order to get sponsorships; I'm here to win a gold medal. It's not about the money, so I couldn't give less of a shit about losing an endorsement because someone got their
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