I push off the ropes hard, forcing her backward, then roll to the side and flee to the opposite end of the ring. She stalks toward me. I lash out with a front kick, and Synthia pauses, just out of my reach. I retreat further, outpacing her. But she keeps on coming, like a lightning bolt determined to find me.
Once you've been struck by lightning, you're more likely to be struck again.
I wait for her to get closer then try another front kick. She blocks it and strikes out with one of her own. I jump back, just avoiding it.
My jaw and stomach are aching from her punches. I grip the mouthguard between my teeth and meet her hard gaze. Then I slow, letting her meet me in the middle of the ring. She jabs at me, testing the distance and my reaction.
I jab, then step forward into a cross punch, which she backs up to avoid. Taking advantage of my slight momentum, I crouch down and slide forward, coming up under her and landing an uppercut.
Yeah!
She stumbles but recovers fast, an elbow coming down on my injured shoulder. I spin away, throwing a body shot as I sidestep. She oofs out air at the impact. I step in close, striking with my other fist and creating the rhythm for a series of body blows.
Synthia kicks out, catching me in the knee so that it gives way, and suddenly I’m kneeling.
Her knee comes up, aiming right for my face, and I throw myself onto my back. She launches onto me. Crap, the woman is a judo freaking master.
Fresh sweat, clean soap and the musk of effort fills my sense as she covers me. Her arm wraps under my leg, trying to get me into a hold. I scoot away, inelegant and verging on desperate. Synthia has my leg, though. With a practiced strength, she flips me onto my front, leg pinned to my back. She leverages her weight so that my femur is at her mercy.
I strain for a moment, but she tightens her grip. She can break my leg. I lost.
Tapping the mat, I admit defeat.
Synthia immediately releases me and stands, offering her gloved hand while smiling around her mouth guard. “You’re too good at this,” I complain. It comes out garbled because of my guard, but Synthia laughs as I accept her help. The gym is filling up, voices and the dull thud of gloves meeting flesh echo in the cavernous room.
"Angela?" I turn toward the voice. Julian stands on the other side of the ropes. He's wearing workout gear—a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt made of synthetic, moisture-wicking material that hangs off each well-defined muscle. His blue eyes are focused on me, hurt behind the lashes.
I’m such a dumbass. I've been avoiding him since we got back from Shanghai. I get my mouth guard out in a pile of spit. Ew, classy. Jesus, could this go any worse? "Hey," I say. Super lame.
He shifts slightly, looking almost nervous—to the extent a man that good-looking and assured can look nervous. "How have you been?"
"Good. And you?"
He gives a nod. "I heard about the new Star Wars film, congratulations."
"Thank you, I..." God, he is so cute. "Can—" I glance at Synthia, and she raises her brows in a what the hell is wrong with you expression.
I sigh and approach the ropes, crouching down so that I'm at the same height as Julian. "I'm sorry," I say quietly.
He gives me a half smile, just enough to bring out one dimple. "For what?"
I purse my lips. "I've been an asshole."
"Have you?" His smile grows to reveal the second dimple.
"I should have called you back."
He gives a shrug. "It's considered polite.” Julian steps closer. "Treating a man like that can confuse him."
"Isn't that usually the girl’s line?" I look down at my gloves. I'm still holding my saliva-covered mouth guard. Awesome.
“I don’t know. But, I like you Angela. And..." he brings his gaze up to meet mine. "I thought you liked me too. I mean…in Shanghai..."
We had like the best sex ever.
"I did. I do. I think…would you believe that I got scared?"
Synthia clears her throat. "I'm gonna grab a juice. You want anything?"
I look over my shoulder at her. "No, thanks."
She looks at Julian. "No, thank you," he says. Synthia nods and starts taking off her gloves, headed for the in-house juice bar.
"Can I make it up to you?" I ask Julian.
"You want to take me to dinner?"
"Yes, please."
He gives a small laugh. "When?"
"Tonight?"
"I've got plans," I frown and he grins. "But I'm free tomorrow."
"Okay." That shy, I like him smile is tugging at my lips.
"Julian!" A guy calls from one of the other rings. I glance up at the big, muscled man, wearing gloves, and leaning on the ropes. "Come on!" he shouts.
Julian winks at me. "Trainers," he sighs dramatically. “See you tomorrow.” He turns and jogs over to the other ring. I stand and grab my water, watching as Julian climbs under the ropes and pulls on gloves and headgear before slipping in a mouth guard.
Julian glances over at me as his trainer taps his gloves, and I raise my water bottle to him. He grins around his mouth guard, then focuses on his sparring partner.
They circle each other, gloves up, Julian's leg muscles in sharp relief as he dances on his toes. "Damn," Synthia says from behind me.
"I know, right.”
"He's as gorgeous in person as in the movies."
"I know," I say again.
"You've been avoiding his calls?"
I look over at her. "Yeah," I admit. "My life's kind of crazy right now." To put it real mild.
She shrugs. "I'm never too busy for a piece that fine."
I laugh. "He's more than a 'piece,’ " I say, attempting to make air quotes with my gloves on.
She shrugs. "Come on, let's get back to work."
We go two more rounds, and she wins them both. My legs and butt are burning with exertion, and my shoulders are going to throb tomorrow, but it’s a good feeling.
"You should come to my dojo," Synthia says. “I want to start working on some more advanced weapon training."
My heart gives a small thump. “Great," I say, my mouth dry.
"You're going to need to know how to look good with a light saber."
I laugh. "Too true."
A thrill of excitement races through me. I'm going to be the star of a freaking Star Wars movie. As we push into the changing room, I let gratitude grow inside of me. My life is good, even if it's so damn complicated.
The next morning, when I text Julian to confirm our date, he gets right back to me. “How about my place?” I suggest. “I’ll cook.”
“Sounds amazing,” he responds.
“Wait until you taste my cooking.”
“I like what I've tasted so far.” Damn.
I bite my lip, not sure how to respond. Memories of his head between my legs rush over me, raising goose bumps. Why did I wait so long to get back together with him? Oh right, because I'm a freaking secret agent, and I'm pretty sure someone is trying to kill me. My eyes scan my living room. Not that anyone has tried anything since we got back from Shanghai; it’s been all quiet on the secret-agent front. I have not even heard from Temperance about that whole Reginald Grand thing.
“Can't wait to see you tonight,” I type, then delete. I want to write something sexy. Last time he saw me I was all sweaty, wearing headgear and holding a spit-covered mouth guard.
Should I take a sexy picture? No. That's the kind of thing that gets hacked and posted online.
“My skills in the kitchen are nothing compared to my bedroom skills.” I delete that immediately. Archie jumps up on the couch next to me and circles once before snuggling into my side. I need to say something!
I turn my attention back to the phone. It starts ringing before I can respond. Saved by the bell.
I don't recognize the number so I let it go to voicemail like any sane person does. I'm left staring at Julian's message again, feeling all hot and bothered when a voicemail pops up.
I hit play.
"
Hi, this is Reginald Grand. I'm sure you've heard of me." Seriously? "I'd like to meet you. There are some issues of national security I'd like to discuss. Call me back." He leaves a number.
I close my eyes. Ugh. My to-do list is getting long: call back a presidential hopeful, figure out something sexy to say to Julian, and make dinner tonight. I haven’t even decided on what to cook.
First, Julian. I switch to that screen as another text comes in from him. “What can I bring?”
“You can carry the watermelon.” It’s a Dirty Dancing reference I’m hoping he’ll get. Not sexy, but it is funny… I think. I’m such a goober.
Now on to figuring out dinner. I’ll save political intrigue until later. Standing up, I grab my reusable shopping bags from the front closet, slip on my sandals, and heft my purse onto my shoulder. Archie follows me around. "Okay, boy," I say, pulling his bag out. He barks with excitement when I put it on the floor for him to climb in.
My phone pings. I glance at it quickly before heading out the door. Julian sent me an emoji of a couple dancing. The man might be my soul mate. Warmth spreads over my chest as I put the phone back in my purse and head to the market.
I've got eggplant roasting in the oven and marinara sauce bubbling on the stove, a bottle of red wine open—though I've limited myself to just one little jam jar full as I cook. Don't want to be wasted when Julian gets here. I'm making Mario Batali’s eggplant Parmesan. A rare indulgence. Cheese…yum.
Inviting a man over for dinner and then offering him my usual platter of steamed vegetables and poached salmon is just wrong. Besides after that hard workout with Synthia I'm sure I can handle a little mozzarella. There is nothing fried here!
It’s annoying that I’m even having this conversation with myself as I slice the soft cheese.
Wiping my hands off, I take another sip of wine and stare at my phone. I should call Reginald Grand back. Waiting more than a day when a presidential candidate calls you about “national security” seems just wrong. Not that I've ever dealt with something like this before, but common sense says return that call quickly.
A sigh breaks free as I pick up my phone. Grand picks up on the second ring. "Angela." His tone is warm, like we are old friends. The guy might be running for his first political office but he sure sounds like a politician. Or a producer.
"Mr. Grand,” I say, putting a note of awe into my voice. It's seems a safe bet that a man trying out for leader of the free world has an ego that enjoys stroking.
"I'm so glad you called."
I stir my marinara. "Of course, how can I help?”
"I'm going to be in California for a few days—fundraising and the like. I want to meet you."
"That's flattering, sir. But I make it a point to stay out of politics." Check my Instagram, bro—it's all pics of my dog, sunsets, and me working out.
"I totally understand; it's a dirty business." He's injecting humor into his voice, trying to be self-deprecating but just coming off as slimy. "But the things I want to talk about can't be discussed on the phone."
Crap on toast.
"I see." The timer for my eggplants buzzes, and I grab a hot mitt.
"I'll send a car for you. We can meet at my hotel. I promise we won’t let anyone find out."
Pulling open the oven, the soothing aroma of baking eggplant rushes out on a wave of hot air. "Um..." Can I say no? How do I say no? "When? I've got a really busy couple of days."
"I thought your new movie didn't start shooting for a few more weeks." Two months actually.
"Yes, but," I inject a smile into my voice. "I have a life, training, you know how it is." We are both big time, right fella?
"I can work around your schedule." His voice is getting colder. I'm starting to piss him off.
"Okay, when are you going to be here?” I put the eggplants on the stove and walk over to my iPad, opening the calendar app.
He speaks to someone in the room with him.
"We get in tomorrow evening. I've got a rally the following night and a fundraiser lunch. The best time for me is 3 p.m."
"I have training," I say, which is true.
"What about after the rally, midnight?”
"Plans with my boyfriend."
"You're dating someone?" He sounds surprised, as if he had intel that I wasn't dating. I’m not answering that. Clearly this isn’t as much about national security as he claims.
"What about the following morning? Early?"
"Fine." His voice is flat.
"Six a.m."
"Fine," he says again, clearly annoyed.
"Great, do you need my address?”
"We have it. The car will pick you up at 5:45."
I hang up. Maybe I should move.
“I like this place," Julian says as he steps into my living room. “It’s cozy.”
Is that a nice way of saying small? ”Thanks." I take the bottle of wine he's holding. It's a chilled rosé. "I was actually just thinking about moving."
He nods, slipping off his leather jacket, releasing his scent into the air. I have to work hard to keep my eyes from rolling into my head with pleasure. It's wrong to just try to screw him on my couch, right? I need to wine and dine him first, after all the no-getting-back-to-him stuff. "How many bedrooms?” Julian asks.
"Just the one. And it's all rental stuff. Mary got it for me last year when we started shooting The Tempest."
He hands me the jacket, and I put the wine down on my entry table to hang his coat in the closet. "I can see how you'd be ready for an upgrade."
I give a short laugh. "This is really nice compared to where I was living before."
"Where was that?" he asks with a grin that pops his dimples.
“Housing for aspiring models," I say. "I had to share a bedroom." I give him a fake frown. "Growing up I had my own room—we lived in a farm house."
Grabbing the wine, I start to walk toward the kitchen. "Smells great in here," Julian says.
"I'm making eggplant parm."
"Oh, yum."
"Want some wine?" I ask, putting the bottle on the counter. "I've got red open." I turn to him. "Or we could open this?”
“Either works for me.”
He leans against the counter, watching me as I open the wine. A blush creeps up my neck at his close inspection. "Is it wrong that I just want to kiss you?" he asks, and I almost drop the bottle. His hand comes out to steady it. "Sorry.”
"No." I shake my head, screwing up the courage to look at him. "I just—" A grin steals over my face. "I was thinking I had to wine and dine you before attacking you."
He moves closer, smiling. "I'm easy," he smirks, taking the half-opened bottle out of my hand and putting it on the counter. His other arm goes around my waist, and my breath stops. He's so handsome I can barely even take it.
I want to say something witty and sexy that will make him chuckle, but I've got nothing. My eyes close at the feel of him against me. A small moan climbs out of me, and he gives me that chuckle I wanted. The warmth of his face grows close, and then his lips find mine. My hands remember they exist and slide up his arms, finding those shoulders. Another moan comes out as I dig my fingers into the strong muscle there.
His tongue swipes at me, and I open for him. His one hand drops down to my ass and pulls me tight, while the other roams under my shirt, skirting up my spine and breaking goose bumps over my skin.
I want to have sex—right here, right now—in my kitchen.
"You do?" he says.
Holy shit! "Did I say that out loud?"
"About having sex in your kitchen right now?" He's smiling against my lips. I open my eyes. He's right there, those big blue sapphires of his shining down at me. "Yeah, you did."
My mouth goes into a perfect little “O” of surprise. Some secret agent I make. "I..."
"I'm happy to oblige." He turns us so that my back is to the counter. He pushes the wine away and lifts me up so fast that I let out a little yelp of surprise, followed by a quick, sharp laugh
as my grip tightens on his shoulders.
"Is that why you wore this skirt?" he asks, running his hands up and down my thighs, pushing the white material up slowly.
"I thought we'd have a drink first."
He grins at me then leans over and grabs my jelly glass of red wine, taking the last sip. "I'm good," he says. "You?"
I can only nod as I watch his tongue lick his lips. Running my hands up his shoulders into his hair, I bend my head to kiss him as his fingers push my skirt out of the way. He's wearing a dark, silky T-shirt. I reach down to find the hem and pull it over his head. He lets me and then pulls at my shirt, getting rid of it.
I giggle, and he growls. It's like we've been lovers forever, not just a night in Shanghai. He kisses me with his hands on my cheeks, holding me, worshiping me.
That sense of power I felt last time we were together fills my brain again. It's a heady mixture of raw hunger and the realization of my own physical capabilities.
Blood pounds in my ears, and I'm suddenly desperate for him, my fingers pulling at his jeans. He meets my passion, pushing them down and pulling me to the edge of the counter so that we fit together. So that we can be together.
So we can both get exactly what we want.
"This is really good," Julian says, moaning around another bite of eggplant parm. It's his second portion.
I sip my wine and watch his pleasure. "I'm so glad you like it. And I'm really sorry I avoided you." The words just spill out. I'm so relaxed right now, wearing his T-shirt and nothing else, an empty plate in front of me. I could not be more satiated.
His eyes find mine, and he smiles. "I'm glad to hear that." His gaze drops back to his plate. "So, you were afraid?"
I don't answer, instead just sip my wine again, feeling the warmth infusing my body.
"I get that," he says, bringing his eyes up again. "I think." A blush springs to his cheeks, and he looks away.
"What?" I ask, intrigued by the sudden change in color.
He shrugs, and I get to see all his muscles work to make that happen. Stealing his shirt was such a good idea.
A Spy Is Born Page 13
