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6
Her
I pound the pavement, jogging the six blocks to the mid-morning boxing class due to start in less than five minutes.
I should’ve been up early to start my research on the names Dan gave me. Instead, I slept in, which is out of the ordinary. Being kept awake until three a.m. with a rabid case of insomnia is also an anomaly. And only one person carries the blame.
Hazel eyes haunted me all night. No, they didn’t haunt. They taunted. Teased. I hadn’t been able to get my pounding heartrate to lessen, which made relaxation impossible. I’d tossed and turned, each movement reminding me of the feel of a dominant man against my skin.
I don’t even know his name.
It could be Bob or Jim or something equally lustless. Whereas I currently imagine calling out Ryder or Heath or Drew in the height of passion.
I could scream the fuck out of Heath.
Jim? Not so much.
I push through the door to the boxing class and haul the pack off my back to scrounge inside, pulling out my black and white sparring gloves and matching defending pads.
“You’re late.” Adam, my instructor, raises his voice as I walk across the room and dump my backpack on the floor. “We’ve got even numbers today. So hurry up and pair with the new guy.”
“New guy?” I scrunch my face accordingly.
Fuck the new guy. I always work out with Adam. He’s the only one with enough respect and guts to challenge me.
“You’ll be fine.” He juts his chin to the left and I follow the direction, already glaring in the hopes my intimidating squint will earn me a place back beside my rightful partner.
“Oh, hell no.” The words whisper from my mouth as my attention fixes on yet another anomaly.
He’s here. My insomnia-inducing, weapon-wielding fantasy is throwing air jabs like the rest of the class, his remarkably cut muscles on display through his white sports tank and mid-thigh black shorts.
He meets my glare with soulless, excitement-starved eyes. Yet, every part of me notices every part of him. Not only the taunting lack of familiarity in his expression, but his tauntingly sexy body, too. Every damn inch of my sweaty, heated skin is well aware there isn’t an ounce of unsculpted flesh anywhere to be seen on this man. Not on his thighs. Not on his arms. And I’d bet my life, not on his ass, either.
There’s definitely no gun hidden on him today, but this time it doesn’t matter. The guy is a weapon in himself. A lethal assassin. At least where my pussy is concerned. This visual inspection is slaying my cooch. It’s brutal and unwarranted and entirely thrilling.
I stride toward him, masking the need to salivate as if my life depends on it. “You following me again?”
He keeps jabbing at the air as a subtle grin kicks at one side of his lips. “That’s a little paranoid, seeing as though I was here first, and this place isn’t even in your suburb.”
That’s the exact reason I’ve been coming here for the last three months. It isn’t somewhere anyone would expect me to be. I bypass two similar classes on the run here. I even jog additional miles, sometimes doubling back on myself, to ensure nobody follows.
So, yes, I do wave the paranoid flag with pride. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t tailing me.
“You’re serious?” His lips thin, and he stops jabbing the air to stand at his full domineering height.
I drop my gloves to the floor and cross my arms over my chest in response. Don’t loom over me, asshole.
He scoffs, the sound barely audible as he shakes his head. “No, princess, I’m not following you. But after seeing you in those curve hugging clothes, a guy might just change his plans.” His interest stalks my active-wear, flittering over my body like a physical caress. Ankles to chest.
I want to tell him to stop, to back the fuck off, but there’s something about the lazy way he appraises me that encourages stupid decisions.
“Thanks, buddy,” I reply with a luscious amount of sarcasm. “It’s actually fu
“I’m sensing a little hostility.”
I raise a brow. “Really?”
He’s different today. Tired. I don’t like that I want to know why. I don’t like much at all about this guy turning up in my life, only his eyes…and his grin…and his confidence, his muscles, the way he kisses…
Shit. I like too damn much about this man.
“You brought a lethal weapon into my apartment. Of course there’s hostility.” I take my position beside him and fall into routine.
Jab, jab, jab.
Jab, jab, jab.
He does the same, those sculpted arms assailing my peripheral vision.
“I can’t believe you’re still hung up on me having a gun,” he mutters under his breath.
“For starters, it happened less than twenty-four hours ago. And second, no, I’m not hung up on you having a gun. I’m hung up on you bringing it into my apartment. Into my home.”
“Would it make you feel better if I apologized?”
I freeze, entirely surprised by the question, because, yeah, a sincere apology and explanation would help this situation. But I’m begi
I don’t want to like this guy. Nope. He is already too far under my skin. Continuing dialogue would be a mistake.
“Forget it,” I mutter. I train my gaze straight ahead, determined to focus on getting the workout I need, not the workout he could give me.
“Time to pair up,” Adam calls. “One throwing punches, one holding pads. I want to see jab, cross, hook. Jab, cross, hook.”
I reach for the gloves at my feet, not giving him the option of who will punch first. I need to swing the frustration from my body. To jab, cross, hook this shit out of my system.
“I guess I’ll hold the pads to start off,” he grumbles.
I glare. At him. At myself. At everything that seems out of place and abnormal. I don’t like this. I’m not comfortable with the human interaction or how much I’m begi
Every time our eyes meet, that zing hits me.
I loathe it.
“So…” He pulls the worn class pads onto his hands and holds them at chest height. “You don’t want an apology, but would it help if I told you I took your advice?”
“My advice?” I throw a hard jab, and he jolts.
He recovers quickly and gives me a game-on smirk. “Yeah. You told me to ditch the gun. Which I did.”
I ignore him and throw a cross, packing all my strength into the swing. This time, he doesn’t flinch. He barely moves.
“And I can assure you, the only thing hard in these pants is my dick.”
A mental image assails me, and I have no idea why my imagination has overcompensated in the package department. Huge man, huge dick. It seems proportionate, but I don’t want that visual.
Nope.
It’s difficult enough concentrating on throwing a powerful hook without my pussy contracting with his every word.
“Jab, cross,” I hiss as I complete the actions. “Hook.” I throw everything I have into those punches, driving him backward.
Jab, cross, hook.
Jab, cross, hook.
“Whoa,” Adam calls out, coming to my side. “Ease up, Emma. I don’t want you scaring away the new guy.”