For the past forty-five minutes, Alexa had stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze from Zack’s gorgeously muscular and shirtless body. Although she’d seen him fight before, she was now riveted by the mass of tattooed skin and athletic muscle moving in a violent clash less than ten feet away from her. Zack and his sparring partner moved fluidly around each other, their feet never stopping, gloved fists darting out with impressive speed. Several other spectators circled around the octagonal cage to watch, murmured conversation blending with the music throbbing through the gym’s speakers. Zack kicked at his opponent, sending him stumbling back into the chain-link fencing lining the octagon. The cage rattled as the man pushed off it and launched himself at Zack, sweeping his feet out from under him with a low kick. On his way down, Zack managed to get his legs around his opponent’s torso, and he tumbled him to the ground. Lightning fast, Zack climbed on top of his sparring partner, practically mounting him, and Alexa’s stomach quivered. His muscles, slick with sweat, strained and flexed as he struggled against his opponent, and she traced all those gorgeous lines on his arms, on his back, on his thighs, with her eyes. The tips of her fingers tingled, and she licked her lips, heat flushing through her. What would it feel like to be underneath all that muscle, to be surrounded and pinned down by all that strength?
The fighters were back on their feet, and she drank in the sight of Zack, his hair damp with sweat, his chest heaving. Something pushed up right into the center of her chest, lodging there, a hot, heavy, frustrated weight that made her want to pace and fidget and scream. Back in the parking lot, she’d wanted so badly to kiss him. To pull him against her and chase away the fear and the worry and the guilt, to obliterate them with the feel of his mouth on hers. She’d never wanted to kiss a man like that. Wanted his mouth for purely selfish, greedy reasons. Wanted it for her own pleasure, and not necessarily his. Wanted him for herself, not because someone had told her to. Not because it would help her career somehow.
Reciting it like a prayer, she went through the litany of reasons she couldn’t allow herself to go there with Zack. The fact that he’d dated her friend, whom he’d chosen first. Her past, which was complicated, to say the least. The upheaval she’d gone through over the past couple of days. The dangerous investigation she’d signed up for.
What if, somehow, her father knew she was helping the police? She shivered as a chill worked its way down her spine at the sobering thought. Tomorrow they’d have dinner with her family, and she’d find a way to plant those bugs throughout the house. She’d studied them, memorizing the weight and feel of them, reciting over and over again Morales’s instructions about where to place them and how to activate them. Hopefully, once the bugs were in place, she could step back and let Morales, the LAPD, and the FBI take over.
She didn’t know what would happen once the bugs were in place. She didn’t want to think about it, because when she did she almost drowned under the confusing eddy of guilt and anger and sadness that pulled at her. Guilt over what she was doing, anger at everything her father had done, sadness that so much of her life, of what she knew, had been a lie. She’d broken herself for him, to make him happy and keep the peace, to live up to the expectations he’d held. She wasn’t sure if helping the authorities take him down would help her feel whole again, or just break her even further.
She wrapped her arms around herself, holding it together, somehow. She glanced around the gym, and for a second she felt as though she were floating. Everything took on a surreal yet harsh quality. The fluorescent lights were too bright, the music and conversation around her too loud, the scent of sweat and rubber and leather too strong. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a deep breath, fighting back the panic threatening to take hold. Another breath. Another. Her skittering heart slowed, and she opened her eyes.
Zack had locked his sparring partner’s arm between his legs at what looked like an excruciating angle, and the other man tapped his free hand rapidly against the mat. Zack released him immediately and hopped to his feet, catching her gaze and sending her a smile and a wink. Something settled over her, a peaceful sense of security, and the lingering panic subsided.
She didn’t have words for how grateful she was to have him on her side. He made her feel safe and protected in a way she never had before. And yet she hoped this situation was over as soon as possible because, although they’d barely begun, she wasn’t sure how much more pretending she—her heart, her brain, her long-dormant libido—could take. She was trying to keep it together, but every time he touched her, she felt as if she could come undone. She’d never responded to a man’s touch that way before, and it unnerved her.
A trainer yanked open the padded door to the octagon and stepped in. Zack and the other man listened as he gave them feedback. Then they followed him out and toward a long row of punching bags on the other side of the room. She followed, obeying Zack’s instruction to stay close. As if she could’ve done anything else.
Zack worked the bag, connecting with a series of punches and elbows, correcting his form when his coach gave him pointers. She watched, completely fascinated by the way his muscles moved beneath his skin. Fascinated by all that controlled strength, all that deadly accuracy. His fight was fast approaching, and her stomach clenched hotly at the thought of watching him again.
She lost track of time as she watched him, her only marker the fact that it was now completely dark outside. Around her the gym was slowly but steadily emptying, but Zack was still practicing what looked like various grappling holds with his coach. Finally, his coach patted him on the back, dismissing him and ending the training session. But instead of heading toward the locker room, Zack turned and made a beeline for her.
“I talked to Jenks, and he said we can stay for a while,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of his coach.
“Why do you want to stay? Are you worried about leaving because of what happened earlier?”
“No. I want to teach you some basic self-defense because of what happened earlier.”
“You…Oh. Um…I’ve never, you know…” She shrugged, feeling self-conscious. “I’m not exactly Ronda Rousey.”
He smiled, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “It’s okay, princess. I don’t expect you to be a ninja.” Something in his expression darkened, and he stepped closer. “But I need to do everything to keep you safe, and that includes giving you the skills to defend yourself. Self-defense isn’t about beating up someone else. It’s about getting away from your attacker as effectively as possible so you can get someplace safe. I’d also like to teach you how to throw a basic punch and kick so that you can do the most damage without hurting yourself should the need arise. Plus it might help relieve a little stress. Might feel good to move.” She barely concealed the shiver that raced through her at the idea of relieving stress and feeling good and moving with Zack. Her mind was taking that comment in a completely different way than he’d intended.
She swallowed, her mouth a little dry. “I don’t like violence.”
He took a step closer, and suddenly his hands, still wrapped in black fabric, were on her shoulders. Even through all the fabric separating them, she could feel the heat, the weight of his touch. “And I don’t like the idea of you getting hurt because I failed to teach you how to look after yourself.”
The truth of his words settled over her, and she nodded. “Okay. Teach me what to do.”
He led her to a quiet corner of the gym with a punching bag and several mats set up on the floor. He faced her with his arms crossed. “The most important thing to remember is hard to soft. That means using the hardest parts of your body,” he said, reaching out toward her, “your elbows, your knuckles, your knees, even your head.” He gently tapped each part of her body as he named it, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted him to put a shirt on or not. It’d be a shame to cover up all that glorious skin and muscle, but it was also immensely distracting. She tore her eyes away from his abs and forced herself to pay attention.
“You want to use these parts against the softest, most vulnerable parts of your attacker,” he continued. “You’re not Ronda Rousey, but if you jab someone in the eye with your fingers, it’ll hurt regardless of how much bigger than you they are. So use the hardest parts to go for the eyes, the nose, the throat, and, of course, the groin.”
“Okay. That makes sense.”
He smiled, the skin around his deep-brown eyes crinkling. “I’m going to show you a few moves that exploit these weak areas. Now say someone is coming at you like this…”
He spent the next hour showing her how to break various holds and how to exploit those soft areas. What to do if someone grabbed her arm, her leg, her torso, from various angles. She’d been hesitant starting out, but she’d improved as the lesson went on, gaining confidence and speed. His touch had been distracting at first, but as she’d focused on the lesson, she’d gotten used to the feel of his hands on her.
Her panties were soaked, and her entire body was throbbing, that throb only getting hotter and heavier with each touch, making her want more.
A fine sheen of sweat coated her skin, and she had to admit that he’d been right. It felt good to take action, to take back a little bit of control. To let off some steam and feel a little bit less powerless.
Zack lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, but she was ready for him. She circled her shoulder, wrenching away from him, while bringing her other arm up against his shoulder, grabbing him in an arm bar.
“Good, Alexa! And what would you do next?”
Without hesitating she brought her knee up to his stomach, barely touching, not hurting. She then mimed kicking his hip and shoving him away from her as hard as possible. “And then I run like hell.”
He nodded. “Last one, and then we’ll work on punches and kicks. Ready?”
She nodded. “Bring it.”
He circled around behind her and grabbed her in a bear hug. She chucked her weight forward, tipping him off balance. “And now what?” he asked, his breath hot against her ear, his arms still wrapped tightly around her, his body draped over hers.
Her mind went blank; she couldn’t think with his body pressed against hers like that.
“Think, Alexa. Hard to soft. What’s available to you right now? You want to get out of my grip.”
“I…I could stomp on your foot.”
He took a breath, his chest pressing against her back. “You could, but that might not make me drop my arms. Where are your hands?”
She glanced down and saw that her left hand was only inches from his groin. Her heart picked up its pace as blood rushed to her cheeks. “Oh.”
“I have a cup on, it’s okay.”
Oh God. She couldn’t take this. She was going to spontaneously combust.
His arms tightened around her slightly. “What would you do, Alexa? Show me.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she laid it as lightly as possible over the shell of his cup. “I’d squeeze and pull and twist. Hard. Cause pain.” She swallowed, heat racing over her skin.
“Good.” His voice was slightly husky, and he let her go.
Cold air washed over her as he stepped away, goose bumps rising up on her overheated skin. Instantly, she missed the contact, the reassuring solidity of his body around hers.
“As soon as he lets go, you run. Never stay and fight. The object is always to get away from your attacker.” He cleared his throat. “Punches and kicks,” he said, his voice still a little rough around the edges as he tipped his head toward the punching bag.
She followed him, grateful for an outlet for the electricity snapping through her veins. If she couldn’t jump Zack, she could at least take out her frustrations on the punching bag.
* * *
Zack turned away from Alexa, trying to adjust his cup as subtly as possible to accommodate the monster erection he’d been sporting for the better part of the past hour. Although he knew that teaching her self-defense was the right thing to do, he hadn’t taken into account the challenge of having to put his hands all over her to do it. He was so wound up that he was about ready to come, just from touching her and wanting her.
He cleared his throat as he turned to face her. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed, her skin glistening with sweat. Her nipples were hard, pressing eagerly against her T-shirt even through her bra. She met his eyes, and her lips parted slightly.
God. It would be so easy to tug her against him and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. But he knew that he’d be hard-pressed to stop if he did. Kissing her would be like pushing a boulder downhill: good luck stopping it once it was in motion.
No. It couldn’t happen, as much as he might want it. He cleared his throat again before he spoke. “We’re gonna work on two more things today: a straight punch and a simple front snap kick. You’re right-handed, right?” She nodded, eyeing the heavy black punching bag in front of them warily. “Oh. That reminds me. Got you a present.”
She smiled, her face lighting up. “You did?”
“Can’t have you hurting yourself, princess.” He turned and jogged into the locker room to retrieve his bag. After setting it down, he rummaged through it and pulled out a small pair of pink-and-black women’s MMA-style gloves.
“Oh,” she said softly, and reached out to take the gloves from him. “You got these for me?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I saw them here in the shop this morning, and they made me think of you.” He winked at her, and she smiled, the blue of her eyes bright and sparkling as she tugged the gloves onto her small hands.
He moved into a relaxed boxer’s stance, calling on every ounce of self-control and discipline he had. “See how my left foot is slightly ahead of my right?” He pointed down and she nodded again. He brought his loose fists up in front of him. “This is called an orthodox stance. You try.”
She copied him, except for the fact that her hands were too low. He nudged her elbows upward. “You don’t want to leave yourself exposed when you throw your right. Gotta keep those hands up.” He turned back to the bag and fell into stance. His right fist shot out, connecting hard with the bag, leaving it swaying on its thick chain. “That’s a straight punch. Let me show you slower, and I’ll explain what I’m doing. When you punch, not all of the power comes from your hands and arms. See how I’m pushing off with my right foot and twisting my hips and shoulders so that I’m square with the bag? That’s where the power comes from. You’re creating momentum when you push off and twist slightly.” He did it again, slower, this time leaving his arm extended. “Once you’re fully extended and you’ve made contact, you want to snap your fist back to your chin to try to avoid getting punched back. And always keep that left fist up, even when you’re throwing the punch. Okay. You try. Go slow. Technique is important.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, lust flashing in her eyes as she looked up at him, and he knew she’d picked up on the completely unintentional double entendre in his words. So he crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head at the bag. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of fantasizing about all the techniques he could show her, and how he’d take his sweet time doing it too.
She got herself into proper stance and, after huffing out a breath, threw her right fist into the bag.
“Hey, not bad,” he said, nodding approvingly. “Don’t twist your shoulders quite so much, though.” He moved around behind her and placed his hands lightly on her upper arms. “Like this.” He guided her gently, showing her how to move.
“And what about my hips?” she asked over her shoulder, looking up at him.
He dropped his hands to her hips, and before he realized what he was doing, he’d flexed his fingers into her. “Hit the bag,” he said, his voice coming out a little rougher than he’d intended.
She did, and he gripped her hips, showing her the right degree of pivot to get the most power in her strike. A door shut toward the front of the gym, and as he did a visual scan of the space, the music shut off. As he’d been working with Alexa, everyone else had wrapped up their workouts and cleared out. The only sounds were a soft hum coming from the gym’s ventilation system and his blood rushing through his ears, although how there was blood anywhere but his achingly hard dick, he had no idea.
She glanced up at him again over her shoulder, and he gripped her hips harder, pulling her back against him. The need he felt for her was taking over, possessing him like hunger takes over a starving man. He dropped his head a few inches, and her eyes fluttered closed. She arched back against him.
“Fuck, Alexa,” he said, unable to stop himself from lowering his mouth toward hers. She trembled slightly against him, and he knew he was about to cross a line. Not just cross it, but fly over it with no thought of hitting the brakes.
He couldn’t deny the truth any longer: he’d wanted her from the day he’d met her. Sweet, lovely, kind Alexa. He’d never stopped wanting her. Probably never would.
Metallic music burst from his bag, and Alexa leaped away from him, an almost guilty expression on her face. Fuck. His phone. He scrambled to answer it in time.
“De Luca.”
“It’s Owens. You guys still at the gym?”
He glanced at Alexa, who’d moved away to retrieve her purse from where she’d set it in the corner. “Yeah. Just finishing up. You got anything?”
“Morales ran the plate. It’s a fake, so it was a dead end. But Priestley followed the Camry to a private residence in Bel Air. Real estate record search shows it’s Elijah Todd’s property.”
Zack frowned and wiped at his sweaty brow. “That name sounds familiar.”
“He helps run Fairfax Films. Morales says they think he’s the second in command in the Brotherhood.”
“Well, shit.” His heart sank.
“Yeah, that about sums it up. I’ll get Clay in on this too,” Sean continued. “See what he can find that could help us. And in the meantime, tread carefully. We don’t know what they know. Could be Fairfax is just checking up on his daughter. Regardless, Alexa’s safety comes first. Fuck getting the intel if it’s too risky.”
Hell yeah, her safety came first. “Got it. We’ve got the dinner with her parents tomorrow, so hopefully we can just lie low after that.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Sean disconnected the call, and Zack looked up to find Alexa right in front of him.
“Was that Sean? What did he say?”
Zack dropped his phone back into his bag and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Colt followed the Camry to a house in Bel Air. Apparently it belongs to Elijah Todd?”
She’d been fidgeting, twisting her fingers together, but she stilled at the name. “He’s friends with my father. More than friends. They run Fairfax Films together.” She chewed on her lip. “So whoever followed us went to Elijah’s house?”
“Looks like, yeah. So it could just be your father checking up on you in the wake of the break-in.” He shrugged, and she finished his thought.
“Or the Brotherhood might be watching us.”
Zack ground his teeth together, tension radiating through his jaw. “I don’t like this. You don’t have to plant those bugs. We can go underground, disappear until the FBI finishes their investigation.”
“No. We can’t just disappear. What about your fight? Won’t it seem even more suspicious if we fall completely off the radar and stop living our lives?” She paused before continuing. “And what if the FBI investigation doesn’t work out? I can’t hide forever.”
Zack shoved a hand through his hair. She had a point. “You’re right. We’ll figure it out. And while we’re doing that, I’ll protect you. I promise.”
Even if protecting her meant keeping his hands to himself.