Come Lie With Me - Linda Howard [28]
She finished her leg sets and adjusted the system of pulleys and weights to what she wanted for her arms. Puffing, she began again. The demand she was making on her muscles reached a plateau that was almost pleasure. Again. Again.
“You damned cheat!” The roar startled her, and she jerked upright, alarm skittering across her features. Confused, she stared at Blake. He sat in his wheelchair, just inside the door, his face dark red and contorted with fury.
“What?” she spluttered.
He pointed at the weights. “You’re a weight lifter!” he bellowed, so furious that he was shaking. “You little cheat. You knew the day you beat me at arm wrestling that you’d win! Hell, how many men could beat you?”
She blushed. “Not everyone,” she said with modesty, which seemed to make him even angrier.
“I can’t believe it!” He was yelling, getting louder and louder. “Knowing how it would make me feel that a woman could beat me at arm wrestling, you made a bet on it anyway, and you rigged it!”
“I never said that I wasn’t good at it,” she pointed out, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. He looked wonderful! If sheer rage could have put him back on his feet, he’d have been walking right then. A giggle escaped her control, and at the sound of it he began pounding his fist on the arm of the wheelchair; unfortunately he was pounding on the controls, and the chair began jumping back and forth like a bronc trying to rid itself of an unwanted rider.
Dione couldn’t help it; she gave up even trying to keep a straight face and laughed until tears ran down her face. She howled. She beat the weight bench with her fist in mute mockery of the way he’d pounded the wheelchair controls; she clutched her arms across her stomach, gasping for breath, and every new eruption of rage from him sent her off into renewed paroxysms.
“Stop laughing!” he thundered, his voice booming off the walls. “Sit down! We’ll see who wins this time!”
She was so weak that she had to haul herself to the massage table where he’d propped his elbow and was waiting for her with a face like doom. Still giggling, she collapsed against the table.
“This isn’t fair!” she protested, putting her hand in his grip. “I’m not ready. Wait until I stop laughing.”
“Was it fair when you let me think I was wrestling a frail, normal woman?” he seethed.
“I’m perfectly normal!” she hooted. “You got beat fair and square, and you know it!”
“I don’t know any such thing! You cheated, and I want a rematch.”
“All right, all right. Just give me a minute.” Quickly she squelched the remaining laughter that wanted to bubble out and flexed her hand in his. She began tightening her muscles. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“On the count of three,” he said. “One…twothree!”
It was fortunate that she was ready for the quick count he gave. She threw her entire body into the effort, realizing that the extra weight he’d gained and the few days of workouts that he’d had with the weights had increased his strength. Not by much, perhaps, but with the added impetus of his anger and the laughter that had weakened her, perhaps it would be enough to win the match for him.
“You cheated!” she accused in turn, gritting her teeth as she bore down with all her strength against the force of his arm.
“You deserved it!”
They panted and huffed and grunted for several minutes, and sweat began to run down their faces. They were close together, almost face to face, as their locked arms strained harder and harder. Dione groaned aloud. His initial burst of strength had been greater than hers, but not enough to make a quick end to it. Now it was a matter of stamina, and she thought that she could outlast him. She could have let him win, to soothe his ego, but it wasn’t in her to trick him that way. If he won, it