Chapter 19
Jamie: Argued with Ethan. He doesn’t want to hold the match in the gym.
Kayla: Why not?
Jamie: Leaks too bad. Rich people don’t like buckets.
Kayla: What about umbrellas?
Jamie
I’m still annoyed about what Ethan said about my uncle’s gym the other night, but we have a training session this morning. As I’m a professional, I’m not tempted to make him work harder as payback.
Okay, okay, I’m totally tempted.
In fact, as I catch the elevator up to his private gym, I’m planning a punishing workout in my head, with enough squat jumps to make him vomit.
But he’s already hitting the heavy bag when I arrive, and the instant I see him, I know something is seriously wrong.
His jaw is tight and he’s vibrating with rage, the force of his punches making the punching bag swing.
It’s only six o’clock, and he must have been at it for a while because his t-shirt is already clinging to him.
The damp fabric highlights his wide shoulders and narrow waist. His muscles are pumped up from the excursion, standing out in sharp definition.
Damn, he looks good when he’s angry.
He’s so focused on what he’s doing that he hasn’t noticed me come in, so I can just stand there and openly drink him in.
He arrows his fists at the bag with force and precision, and my mouth dries as I watch his muscles work. His body is perfect. Just the right amount of size and strength. He’s a work of art. So beautiful, he weakens my thighs and sends heat rushing to my core.
My fingers go weak too, and my duffel bag slips from my hand and thumps onto the floor.
The sound makes him jerk his head around.
“Hey,” he says, barely pausing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, walking over.
“Miles fucking Marzoni.” He spits the words out between punches.
“What did he do?” My stomach lurches. “Oh no. Miles hasn’t pulled out of the boxing match, has he?”
“Nope. We’re still fighting.” Ethan gives the bag one more punch, then steps back and drops his hands. He’s breathing hard, his chest heaving. “The asshole makes a point of screwing with my business. He does everything he can to make things hard for me.”
“Is punching the bag making you feel better?” I ask. I’m curious, seeing as it always works for me, but Scarlet or Kayla hardly ever blow off steam that way.
“Definitely.” He pulls off his boxing gloves. “I’d feel a lot better if that bag was Marzoni’s face.”
“He really annoyed you, huh?”
“Annoyed me?” Ethan lets out a bitter laugh.
“He has the OSHA inspector onsite every day, making up violations. But that wasn’t enough for him.
He just lodged a new objection to the Crystal Heights demolition.
We’ve got all the right permits, but now some clerk at the planning office has to check it all again.
Every time he does it, we get held up.” He drops the gloves and picks up the water bottle he left by the mirrored wall.
“Costs me a fucking fortune each time, just for his spite.”
I step closer, watching him swallow some big gulps of water.
Then I find myself tracking a drip that escapes the side of the bottle.
It runs down Ethan’s throat and disappears into the neck of his t-shirt.
Biting my lips, I wrench my gaze away. There’s nothing sexy about that water droplet. Nothing at all.
“How is Miles getting away with it?” I ask, extending one leg back to stretch my hamstring.
“Money.” Ethan puts the water bottle down. “He has people on the inside and he’s paying them off.” He picks the gloves back up. “I need to keep punching. Talking about it is pissing me off all over again.”
I wave at the bag. “Don’t let me stop you. But why would Miles go to that much trouble, just to delay you?”
Ethan grunts, pulling the gloves back on. “It’s the asshole’s idea of fun. His sole mission in life is to fuck with me.”
I swap legs to stretch the other hamstring. “What did you do to make him hate you that much?”
Instead of answering, Ethan stalks back to the bag. The gym fills with the smack of his gloves against leather.
“Alrighty then,” I mutter, grabbing one foot behind me to stretch my quad muscle. “Looks like we won’t need to do squat jumps.”
Ethan pummels the bag while I warm up. By the time I have my hand wraps on, he’s panting, and his blows are slowing. He looks ready for a rest.
That means it’s the perfect time to exact my revenge for last night.
“Let’s kick this workout into gear,” I say brightly. “We’ll do sprints and jump-rope exercises first, then work with the focus mitts.”
He drops his hands, not reacting with the groan I’d expected, but with a serious look. “First, I need to tell you something.” His rage seems to be under control, but he’s frowning. “Your father spoke to me last night. He was outside the gym when I left, and he introduced himself.”
My stomach lurches. “What did he want?”
Ethan’s eyes soften and his tone goes gentle. “I’m sorry. He asked for money.”
“Ugh.” I clench my jaw against a wave of resentment.
“And I asked my security team to watch your place last night, to make sure he didn’t bother you. I figured you weren’t in the mood for it.”
Annoyance flares. “I don’t need your security?—”
“I know you don’t. It was for my own peace of mind. I’ve called them off now.” He meets my gaze, unapologetic, and I soften toward him.
I’m still furious with my father, though. How dare he ask Ethan for money?
“Now I’m the one who needs to punch the bag.” I pull on my gloves. “Move over, I’m coming in hot.”
He steps back, giving me full access to the heavy bag, and I unleash a combination that gets it swinging.
It feels good. The anger pours out of me, transforming into determination.
My father has already taken so much from me, I refuse to give him anything else.
I don’t want to waste any more time feeling bad because of him.
It doesn’t take long before I’ve cleared my head. And when I turn away from the bag, Ethan is watching me with dark eyes, his expression hungry. “I love watching you do that,” he says in a low voice.
Heat licks up my body. My nipples tighten and I see his gaze flick down to them, then slowly move back up to my lips. He looks like he wants to devour me.
The heat from my body starts to crawl up my neck and desire throbs between my thighs. This thing between us feels like a hand grenade without a pin, like it could explode at any moment.
“Let’s do some sparring,” I say, hitting my gloves together. “Now’s a good time for you to experience what it’s like to be punched in the face.”
He lets out a startled laugh. His face lightens, and when he nods, his mouth is still curved up, his gorgeous dimples peeping out at me. “Is this about our argument?” His tone has turned teasing.
I can’t help but smile back. “Absolutely.”
I’m not planning to hit him hard, but he needs to get used to taking blows. Miles won’t be holding back, and the man is built like a front-loader.
“Did you work enough of your anger out so you don’t get carried away?” Ethan cocks an eyebrow at me. “I have some meetings later, and I don’t need a black eye.”
“Guess we’ll find out.” I move into a boxing stance. “Let’s get into a rhythm. I’ll throw some hooks, while you bob and weave, moving under the punches. Go side to side, but don’t move backward. Stay in close.”
He does what I ask, raising his gloves into a guard position, and I punch slowly over his head, giving him plenty of time to get out of the way. It’s good that I’m shorter than him, as it makes him work harder. Bobbing and weaving sucks up a lot of energy.
I wait until he’s tiring, then flick a soft jab that connects with his cheek. Not enough to hurt, just enough to startle. I expect him to jerk backward like anyone would.
Ethan does the opposite.
He lunges forward, coming in low and sweeping me up with him. His body hits mine, then I’m the one stumbling backward. My back hits the wall.
Ethan steps in close. I’m tall enough that the sensation of being loomed over isn’t one I’m used to. But Ethan manages to loom. His gloved hands go to the wall, and suddenly I’m caged in. His body is only inches from mine, his face angled down to me, his fists on either side.
I blink up at him, my head still reeling. What was that?
Heat emanates from his body, and I breathe in his masculine aroma. Spice, sweat, and leather. My heart thumps hard in my chest. Tiny wings take flight in my stomach.
“Most people retreat from a face punch,” I say, my voice breathless. “It’s a natural instinct.”
“Not me.” His voice is low. Intimate. “My instinct tells me to punch back.”
I try to control my breathing and sound casual, as though being caged against the wall by him isn’t sending my pulse into orbit. “I should have guessed you wouldn’t have a normal reaction.”
Instead of answering, he lowers his face. His eyes are dark, and he looks predatory. His gaze is on my mouth, tracing the line of my lips.
He’s going to kiss me. And if I let him do it, I won’t be able to stop.
Putting my gloves against his chest, I push him away. At least, I try to. He resists. And when I put some effort into the push, he strains back, clearly staying where he is with some difficulty.
“You’re strong,” he growls.
“Newsflash. I work out.” I stop pushing and narrow my eyes at him. “If I wanted to, I could put you on the ground a dozen different ways. If I swept your legs out right now, you’d go down. Hard.”
“Funny thing. I like going down... hard.” His eyes glint, and the only way his tone could be more suggestive would be if a porn track were playing in the background.
Heat flushes up my neck. His desire is clear, and I’m so tempted to melt against him, I can barely resist the urge. The only thing stopping me is that tiny voice of reason in my brain. He’s not a good guy. And after the last time he kissed me, I spent ages beating myself up for it.
“Training is over,” I say in as final a tone as I can manage. “Let me go.”
A shutter falls over his hungry expression, switching it off. His features rearrange into neutrality. He steps back from me, dropping his fists. Then he turns abruptly and strides over to the bench.
I let out a breath. My legs feel wobbly.
Ethan sits on the bench. He tugs off his gloves, then starts on his hand wraps.
I strip off my own gloves and hesitate. Should I leave? The tension is still there between us, but now it feels awkward. The silence feels heavy.
Instead of walking out, I sit next to him to remove my wraps, then grab my water bottle.
I have to break the silence. My mind races, searching for something to say. Then I remember how angry he was when he arrived, and the reason for it. “Tell me something,” I say. “If Miles hates you so much, how do you know it wasn’t him who sent you the threatening note and the photos?”
Ethan wipes his forehead on his sleeve, not looking at me. “It wasn’t Miles.”
“Why does he hate you?”
“He just does.”
“There must be a reason.”
No answer.
“Ethan?”
Several seconds tick past in silence. Ethan drops his hand wraps on the ground between his feet.
“Tell me why,” I say.
He slumps back against the wall and gives his head a weary shake. His face finally turns to me, and he’s wearing a resigned look. “You’re not going to drop the subject, are you?”
“It’s my job to know these things. I’m supposed to be helping figure out who’s threatening you, remember? I need all the relevant information.”
“It’s hard to explain. I’d have to take you through a whole lot of old history. It would take too long.”
“I have time.”
Forget the fact I told Kayla I’d be at the office by eight thirty. His reluctance to tell me means I absolutely need to know. This is more important than my catch-up session with Kayla and Dani to go over our cases.
Ethan closes his eyes for a moment as though regretting the offer. Then he sighs. “Fuck,” he says in a conversational tone.
I grab my water bottle and take a long drink. “So?”
“I’ll tell you,” he promises. “But I’ll do it some other time. Better when we’re in the car and I can show you the places I’m talking about.”
“I’m okay with going for a drive right now.” I lift my eyebrows, challenging him with my eyes, daring him to say yes. Pretty sure he can’t resist a challenge. We have that in common.
He huffs out a resigned breath, then eyes my duffel bag. “You bring a change of clothes with you?”
“I have a spare set of workout clothes.”
He gets to his feet. “Fine. Then we can shower in my apartment before we go.”