He should have scared me—he still did scare me, in a way. But every time I looked into those eyes, I felt like I was falling. Every time I watched his lips move, I felt the ghost of their imagined touch on mine. That accent was the most wondrous thing I’d ever heard, a complex melody of flowing vowels and upward lilts. It was music made from dirty steel and slabs of stone and it did a number on me every time he spoke.
And then he’d said the one word I hadn’t expected: no. The word washed over me and seeped into my skin, chilling it like a north wind. I took a half step back, stumbling as if he’d slapped me.
Maybe Alec had been right about him. Maybe he really was a bastard.
And it was worse than that. I’d got it into my head, somehow, that he liked me. I was sure I’d felt his eyes on me, more than once. The shame rose up in my stomach, hot and wet and flaring scarlet. Of course he doesn’t like you. A super-hot guy like him? From the way the woman at the gate glared at me, I wasn’t the first woman to come looking for him. Maybe he’d taken a passing interest in me, considered me for a casual fuck, but nothing more than that.
When he’d helped me, back at The Pit, it had been out of pity, or because he felt he had no choice. And now I’d showed up at his work full of expectations and he just wanted rid of me.
I hated him, in that moment. I felt like the geeky girl who smiled shyly at the football captain and heard the whole room collapse into laughter. All I wanted to do was walk away.
But I couldn’t. I still needed him. There was no one else who could help me.
I couldn’t bribe him—I didn’t have any money.
There was only one thing I could offer him instead.
Aedan
“You can have me.”
Her voice was sullen and desperate, close to tears. It took me a few seconds to really process what she’d said.
When I spun around, she was lifting the hem of her tank top. A sleek, tan stomach came into view, then the purple cups of her bra. The tank top pulled tight across her breasts and she hooked it over them. Soft, sweet perfection, the flesh bouncing lightly as it was freed. Everything I’d dreamed of….
“You can have me,” she said again. “I’ll sleep with you.” She was staring right at me, her eyes brimming with tears. “Just—please—teach me how to fight.”
I broke out of the spell she’d cast on me and stepped quickly over to her. Grabbing her tank top, I rammed it down again, covering her. Trying not to think about how smooth her skin was, how good it felt as it grazed my fingers.
I stood there panting with the shock of it. I glanced around. No one else was nearby, thank God. “Jesus!” I snapped. “What are you doing?”
She looked up at me and blinked a couple of times. I could see the tears start to spill. Oh feck! Now she thought I didn’t want her.
She folded her arms protectively over her stomach, hugging the tank top to her. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “It’s all I have left. What do you want? What will it take?”
Oh Jesus! What have I done?! I felt as if Dwight had dropped the damn cargo container right on me, crushing me down into the dirt. I’d reduced her to this. I’d made this angel want to trade her body like a whore because I was too ashamed to go back to—
I can’t. I really can’t. She’s a girl! And I was a fighter, not a trainer. Even if I could train her, how much good could I do, in a month?
I stared at her hopelessly. Her face was upraised to me, the tears coursing down her cheeks. I’d never seen anyone look so vulnerable. A single word from me, now, and she’d crumble completely.
She has no one else to go to. If she did, she wouldn’t be here.
And what was the alternative? Turn her away and know that she was going into that fight without any preparation at all? I knew that I’d never be able to persuade her to run. She felt the same way about her brother as I did about—
I felt the tattoo on my back itch.
“Okay,” I said at last. “But you don’t need to...do that.”
She didn’t say anything. She was too busy trying to hold back the tears. She closed her eyes and nodded twice, sniffing.
I felt my stomach clench. She was going to feel grateful. She’d want to reward me. Even if she didn’t really like me, she’d offer up the temptation. That face. That body. Every feckin’ day. And I’d have to keep pushing her away because the best way to hurt her would be to let her get involved with me. She wasn’t like one of the women I’d picked up in bars. She deserved better than me.
It had to be all business. Just training.
I took a deep breath. “We start tomorrow.”
Sylvie
I agonized about what to wear. It wasn't like I had a massive collection of gym wear to choose from—when I did exercise, it was a clumsy attempt to follow an aerobics video I'd found on YouTube, in the privacy of my bedroom with the blinds closed. So all I had was sweatpants and Lycra tops.
The problem, as I was hotly and painfully aware, was that Aedan would be there. And however much I was focused on the fight, however scared I was for Alec and myself and what awaited us in a month's time, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I knew his reputation. I knew I should be running in the opposite direction. But instead, I kept thinking about the feel of his hand on mine, when he’d briefly held it. Those blue eyes that seemed to see everything. The jagged, ugly scars on his neck that only made the rest of him seem more beautiful. I should be scared of him. I was scared of him. But at the same time, I was drawn to him. And so I agonized about what to wear.
Eventually, I screamed at my own reflection in the mirror. And I stood there, listening to the silence and, after a few seconds, I realized I'd been waiting for Alec's answering shout from his room, telling me to shut up. That nearly started me crying again.
It had been a long night. I'd slept alone in the apartment plenty of times, of course—Alec had had plenty of one-night stands, usually with curvy blondes, and he preferred to go back to their place because no one wants to have to introduce their sister over breakfast. But I'd always known, those times, that he'd be coming back eventually.
I threw a towel in a bag and headed out before I could think about it anymore.
***
The gym wasn't what I'd expected. It didn't look much like the gyms I'd seen on TV, all polished wood floors and gleaming machinery and sunlit, airy studios filled with people doing yoga.
This was a boxer's gym.
The walls were whitewashed breezeblocks. There were only two types of equipment: things to lift and things to hit. And the place was full of men lifting and hitting.
That was the other thing that was missing: women. I couldn't see a single woman in the entire place. I stood there feeling completely out of place.
Then an Irish voice from behind me. "You okay?"
For a moment, I thought it was Aedan. I spun around and found myself looking at someone completely new. He was a little smaller in the shoulders than Aedan and leaner, too, though he was ripped as hell. And he was topless. A tattoo on his bicep said Ruth. A fresher-looking one on his other bicep said Karen.
He had blue-gray eyes and similar black hair to Aedan. Almost as good looking, too. What was this? Had I stumbled into some Irish-run gym? Was it a membership requirement that you be blue-eyed and gorgeous? "Umm..."
"Relax," he told me. "You aren't the only woman."
I looked around. "No?"
"Oh, no. Natasha's been here. And Jasmine." He frowned and then gave me a look that managed to be flirty and apologetic at the same time. "To be fair, they only came once, but..."
"Making friends?" Another Irish voice, behind me. One that sent an unexpected tremor of excitement down my spine. I spun again to see Aedan. He was in a blue tank top and black sweatpants and he looked...amazing. The other guy was ripped and good looking in a filthy sort of a way. But Aedan was powerful on a different level—raw and primal. Dangerous. If the other guy was a wolf, Aedan was a lion. And he was staring at the other guy with a knowi
ng glare and just a hint of...something.
"Just saying hi," said the other guy, grinning. He looked between the two of us questioningly.
"I'm training her," said Aedan. And there was something in the way he said it, something that made me frown inside. As if there was an unspoken message alongside it.
"Oh," said the other guy, nodding as if message received. "Okay. No problem. Got it." And he gave Aedan an especially big grin.
Aedan put an arm around my waist and led me away. "Don't mind Connor," he muttered. "The fecker just...flirts."
"Was he? Did he?" For some reason, I was blushing. I was also trying not to react to the feel of Aedan's muscled arm caressing my waist with each step. I was re-running the conversation in my head. Had he just basically told Connor to back off?
Was Aedan jealous?
Aedan must have caught my confused look because he cleared his throat and shrugged. "He's just some wanker," he muttered. "Plays the guitar and thinks women all worship the ground he walks on. Flirts even now that he's attached.”
I nodded to let him know I understood. But my mind was spinning. He was a little jealous. And, at the same time, I was trying to keep a straight face because I’d never heard anyone say wanker before.
He led me over to a thick gym mat and slipped off his sneakers. It hit me just how big the size difference was between us. It wasn’t just his height—it was the width of his muscled shoulders and the presence of him. He looked like a statue made out of granite. I felt as if I was made out of matchsticks.
This is ridiculous. I can’t learn how to fight. Look at me!
But it was the only chance I had.
I knelt to untie my sneakers. I'd settled, in the end, for gray sweatpants and a black Lycra top over a sports bra. As I knelt there, I became aware of something. A sort of hot, tingling wave lashing across the tops of my breasts. A feeling that soaked down into me and finished between my thighs.
I didn't have to look up to know he was staring down at me. It only lasted a second. When I glanced up, he was looking off towards the far end of the gym. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I was just transferring all my feelings onto him.
I couldn't take my eyes off his shoulders. Under the hooded top, they'd looked big. Now, though, exposed by the tank top, they were huge—powerful and solid, and the way his arms narrowed and then flared again into thick biceps and sculpted forearms...wow. I'd been expecting him, somehow, to be covered in tattoos—a lot of fighters were. But I couldn't see one anywhere. The only mark on him was that jagged, twisting maze of scars down one side of his neck. I could see it better, in the daylight, and the viciousness of it made my chest ache. Someone had not just stabbed him but twisted and gouged and—Jesus. What would drive someone to do that to him?
It didn’t make him ugly—not in my eyes. It made me want to kiss him, there, press my lips along every hardened scar. If my kisses couldn’t heal him, they could at least show him that it didn’t matter.
That isn’t going to happen. Going by his gruff manner, this was going to be all business, even if he had been a little jealous when he saw Connor talking to me.
That knowledge didn’t stop me looking, though. It couldn’t—his body was too damn addictive, harder and more solidly real than any guy I’d seen. His strong chest narrowed to a trim waist, giving him that gorgeous X shape between shoulder and thigh. Big thighs, too. Powerful. And between them—
I jerked my eyes upward and found myself looking right into his. He'd been staring down at me again, just as my eyes had strayed towards his cock. I didn't know which of us was more embarrassed.
I slipped off my sneakers and stood up. "Okay," I said. "Where do we start?"
He nodded, all business again. I was getting all kinds of mixed signals from this guy. Did he like me or not? And it didn’t help that, up close to him like this, he was freaking intimidating. That darkness, rolling off him in waves. The sense that, without even thinking about it, he could just crush your head or pound you into the ground.
Pound me into the ground. The phrase echoed around my head a few times and then seeped mockingly down into my body, liquid-hot. I forced myself to focus, my face growing hot, and looked expectantly up at him.
"Hit me," he said. That strong accent again, each short word like an impact of stone on metal. Harsh and uncompromising. And sexy as hell. Hit him?!
I blinked at him a couple of times. "Really?"
"Really."
I hesitantly made a fist and lifted it, then put it back down. "Just...hit you?"
"Just hit me."
I punched him lightly in the stomach, like I was miming it. My knuckles brushed his abs and I could feel the ridged hardness there, warm through the fabric.
"No...actually hit me. I have to see what you've got. Hit me like you mean it."
I swallowed and hit him as hard as I could, in the same spot. I expected him to do some lightning-fast block or maybe dodge out of the way. But he just stood there and my fist connected. I hit a wall of solid, warm muscle, like punching rubber. He rocked back maybe half an inch.
"Oh shit!" I said. "I'm so sorry!" I instinctively put my hand on his stomach where I'd hit him. "Are you okay?"
He looked down at my hand, then into my eyes. "Aye," he said softly.
I removed the hand.
He checked there was space behind him. "Come at me again," he said. "Try and hit me."
"Where?" I asked hopelessly.
"Anywhere."
He started to move backward in an easy, fast-footed shuffle. I swung at him and, this time, he moved. I missed completely. I tried again and he dodged the other way. He seemed to know where I was going to go before I did it. How was that possible?
He stopped suddenly and I pulled up short to avoid crashing into him. Then he lunged forward.
I yelped and staggered back, tripped over my own feet and went down. I landed with a whump on the mat, arms and legs everywhere. I instinctively glanced around the gym. Everyone else there looked like they belonged. Even Connor was slugging a punchbag. No one was actually laughing at me, but I could feel it in their looks. What's she doing here?
"Don't mind them," said Aedan. He put out his hand for me to take. "You've got as much right to be here as them."
I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet. His warm grip felt amazing. As if he could have easily lifted me right up into the air one-handed.
I wound up standing very close to him, our toes almost touching. For just a second, everything seemed to stop. My breathing quickened. We were close enough that the tips of my breasts were almost brushing his chest—
He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. "You can't hit," he said. "You've got no feckin’ power. You've got no idea how to stand or move or guard."
I stared at him, open-mouthed. "Well...thanks."
But he hadn't finished. "You've got no balance," he said, shaking his head. "You've got no presence."
"What the hell does that mean?" I asked angrily.
"You intimidate too easily. I got in your face and you jumped back."
I felt like I should deny it, but I knew he was right. "Is there anything good?" I asked at last.
He stared at me for much longer than the question deserved. His eyes roamed down my body from head to toe and I felt it as a hot wave again, sluicing deep down into me and finishing with a tightening at my groin. The air seemed to thicken and crackle between us.
"You're small," he said at last, looking at the floor. "That makes you harder to hit."
He lifted his eyes and we stared at one another.
"Well, that's something," I whispered.
He stared at me for three more beats of my racing heart...and then he sighed and glanced away. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s start with your stance.”
He came around to stand behind me, so close that I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck. His big, warm hands landed on my shoulders and he started to guide me into the position he wanted me in.
The
position he wanted me in. A shudder went through me. Oh, quit that you moron! He doesn’t even like you! Or if he did, he was shying away from it for some reason.
None of which stopped his hands feeling absolutely amazing.
“You’re right-handed, yeah?” he asked. I nodded. “Okay. Turn sideways a little. Makes you a smaller target. Left hand up like this—no, other way around.” He gently turned my forearm. His big paws encircled it completely. “Other hand up like this.” Then his hands were sweeping down my sides to my hips. “The power has to come from here—understand? Twist.”
He left his hands there, the heat of him throbbing into me. I realized he was waiting for me to try it. I twisted, lashing out with my right hand, and felt my muscles move under his palms. Much like I was riding him and he was holding onto me as I writhed.
I nodded. “Got it,” I said shakily.
He released his hands. But he seemed to do it almost reluctantly.
We practiced the boxer’s shuffle, dancing back and forth with my weight over my back foot in case someone tried to kick the front one out from under me. I quickly learned how tiring just moving around the ring non-stop is—all those fast little movements add up. Then he put gloves on me for the very first time. I stared down at my hands with their huge, comedy padding. I felt like a mascot at Disneyland who’d forgotten the rest of her costume.
He showed me how to jab and cross and hook. After an hour, I felt like it was actually beginning to come together. I looked, if you squinted hard, kind of like a boxer. But he was looking at me with concern. It started to drive me crazy.
“What?” I demanded at last.
“You’re too mechanical. Like a puppet with someone yanking your strings. You’re just repeating what I’ve shown you.”
“Of course I am! That’s what you said to do!”
“But it’s too...stilted. You’re punching and moving. You’re not fighting.”
I looked at the bag we were hitting. “That’s because I’m hitting a bag,” I said, a little defensively.
Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) Page 30
