Play Hard

by V. K. Sykes

  He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told her he wasn’t going to be able to put his hands on her and not fuck her. In that bakery kitchen, he’d had a front-row view as she struggled against her personal demons with honest strength. He’d had to make himself turn and walk away.

  She tempted him far more than anyone in a long time. And he hadn’t even kissed her yet.

  ***

  Kat parked her car in the lot and stared at the massive two-story gym. SLAM Fitness and Training Center blazed across the sign.

  She could do this. Sloane had called her minutes after she sent the text to him Thursday night. They’d arranged this time at one of his gyms to train. And negotiate. Sloane liked to have the terms of their arrangement clear so there were no misunderstandings.

  So why were her fingers wrapped around the steering wheel? Knuckles white? Damn it. She hated this in herself, hated being weak and afraid. This was her chance to be something more than the broken woman she was. Forcing her fingers to unclench, she reminded herself that she’d be safe. Hadn’t Sloane already demonstrated his protectiveness? Stopping the carjackers, and later insisting she text him once she was safe in her condo.

  He wasn’t David.

  But even better than relying on him, he was going to teach her how to keep herself safe. Taking her keys, she picked up her bag with her water bottle and towel, and the small square bakery box. She got out and made her way across the parking lot.

  Before she could second-guess herself, she walked into the artificially cool air scented with sharp-smelling cleansers and musky sweat. Music pounded from hidden speakers. The front desk curved around a pretty girl wearing a black shirt emblazoned with the name of the gym across the front. She glanced at the box in Kat’s hand, smiled and said, “Welcome. Are you Ms. Thayne?”

  Clearly she was expected. “Yes. I’m meeting Sloane Michaels.”

  “You’re his guest today.” The girl walked out from behind the desk. “My name is Charity. I’ll show you where he is. Would you like to put your bag in a locker first?”

  “No thanks.” Following the girl, Kat noted the huge floor area filled with gleaming machines.

  “As you can see on the right, there’s the pool and hot tubs. This is the area for the state-of-the-art fitness machines, and over there…” Charity pointed left, “…is our racquetball courts and classrooms. There’s also a basketball court.”

  Kat took it all in.

  “Upstairs is our cardio areas, including spin classes. Down this hallway are the restrooms, lockers, saunas and massage. Our massage therapist leaves at…”

  She stopped listening. Awareness sung through her nerve endings at the sight in the huge free-weight area.

  Sloane.

  In nothing but shorts and shoes.

  Doing pull-ups on a high bar.

  Kat’s mouth dried, and she had the urge to wet her lips. His back was massive, with large muscles in his arms, shoulders and upper back bunching and releasing beneath tanned skin. Flowing dark lines of a tattoo wrapped around his right biceps. His waist narrowed into the band of his black shorts. He had his long legs bent, and clamped between his ankles was a heavy-looking weight.

  He pumped out between five and ten flawless pull-ups.

  She couldn’t tear her gaze away, didn’t want to. His muscles and tendons rippled with tightly controlled power. Clutching the box, she wished it was him—all warm skin over steely muscle—she held instead of flat cardboard.

  Hell, she wanted him over her, his body branding hers as he thrust into her. Breathless, she flushed hot while tingles of fear skittered up her spine.

  The sensation of being watched filtered into her. It came from the mirror in front of Sloane. His laser-sharp gaze tracked her in the glass. Slowly, he lowered himself until he hung straight, released his ankles and let go of the weight he’d had clamped there.

  Hitting the ground, he prowled toward her.

  She knew there were others in the gym, but Sloane consumed her. His hard face, the thick column of his throat down to his shoulder.

  Oh Lord, his shoulders and arms, pure brawn that begged to be explored. Touched, stroked and squeezed. The sheen of sweat covering his chest made her think of long licks…

  Get a grip! She didn’t do instant lust like this. Hadn’t ever thought of licking a sweaty man.

  Sloane grabbed a shirt off a treadmill and pulled it over his head before stopping in front of her. He glanced over at Charity, and said, “I’ve got her, thanks.”

  Kat had forgotten the girl. Sloane did that to her, made her forget everything but him.

  “What’s in the box?” Sloane glanced to her hands.

  Box? Oh! “Cupcakes. For you.” A flush heated her skin, but she forced herself to ignore it. “Kind of a thank you for doing this today.”

  “You brought me cupcakes?”

  It had been a dumb idea, bringing cupcakes to a gym. To a guy who looked like Sloane—he obviously didn’t eat a lot of sweets. “You can throw them away.”

  “Hey, Michaels, I’ll take the cupcakes,” one of the men shouted.

  Sloane’s eyes took on a tinge of smoldering sienna color. He snapped his head around toward the man. “Touch them and die, Carson. She brought them for me.” He took the box from her and shoved them under his right arm. A grin broke out over his face. “Right, Kat? Just for me.”

  It struck her that he was shocked. But why? Women wanted him, flocked around him. She’d seen the reaction he caused at the wedding reception. She imagined they did all kinds of stuff for him. The cupcakes weren’t a big deal.

  “Just for you,” she said softly. Unnerved by his intensity, she cut her gaze away, right to a group of guys watching them with blatant interest.

  “Don’t worry about them.” Sloane settled his hand on her back.

  His palm was warm and large, making her feel small, delicate.

  “We’re going to a private room. No one will bother us.” He led her down a hallway, stopped at a door and pressed some buttons on a keypad to open it.

  Kat moved into the big room with mats covering the floor. The far wall had floor-to-ceiling cupboards that she assumed held equipment. The remaining walls were covered in mirrors, and in one of those, she watched Sloane walk into the room behind her. Immediately the large area felt smaller, hotter.

  He closed the door, sealing them inside.

  Chapter Seven

  Part of her wanted to bolt now. Run. Escape. Go back to her bakery where she belonged. Kat set her gym bag down and steeled her spine.

  No running. No panicking. She could do this.

  Sloane. He filled the room with his powerful presence as he carefully placed his box of cupcakes in a sheltered spot. Once he was satisfied with that, he crossed the mat.

  This was his domain, his world. He was as at ease here as he’d been striding into the wedding reception and taking down the carjacker with a knife.

  Did nothing faze him?

  Well, apparently a gift of cupcakes did. Her thoughts scattered when he stopped right in front of her, his evocative stare sliding down her length.

  She sucked in a breath, vividly aware of her pink-and-white top with the halter cut and built-in bra that left about two inches of her belly bare. Dark grey sweatpants rode low on her hipbones.

  “You’re just full of surprises, baker girl. You are so damn hot.” He closed his eyes, his throat working a long swallow. Recovering, he said, “You’re going to test my limits of self-control.”

  She flushed and spirals of desire bloomed through her. It was too much, too fast. She barely knew him, yet her body reacted. But her mind shouted that she needed to be sure she could trust him. “Sloane, I haven’t agreed to your plus-one proposition. This is just an experiment.”

  He caught her hand, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive skin between her thumb and first finger. “We’ll discuss it further after we finish training.”

  The heat of his touch rippled through her. “No sex,” she blurted out. She
wasn’t ready, didn’t know if she ever would be.

  “Agreed. For tonight.” Releasing her hand, Sloane’s expression grew serious. “Tell me about your leg.”

  It took her a second to catch up. “Badly fractured tibia that ran up into the knee joint. I have plates and screws in there. Limited range of motion. I can’t fully extend the knee or do a full bend.” She kept the explanation of her injury and limitations simple.

  He looked down.

  Kat tensed. Was he going to demand to see it? Quickly, she added, “I’ve done years of physical therapy with Kellen, plus I ride a bike and do yoga. I know what I can handle and what I can’t.” In spite of what her family seemed to think. But that wasn’t something she needed to share with him.

  Sloane narrowed his eyes. “You will tell me if you’re in pain. Clear?”

  Kat almost told him what he wanted to hear. But Sloane didn’t win fights without having some pain, so he had to understand. “I’ll tell you when it hurts more than it should.”

  Tilting his head, he seemed to be determining if she really knew her limits. Satisfied, he nodded. “Let’s get started.” Standing behind her, he turned her to face the mirror. “If you’re attacked, your goal is to disable your attacker and escape. To do that, you need to hurt them badly enough to get them on the ground, then you run.”

  His hands were branding her waist, but Kat listened. “Hurt them how?”

  “I’m going to show you the weak points where you can do the most damage.” Pointing, he said, “Eyes, but that’s hard for women, and hesitation can get you killed. Then there’s the nose, the neck.” He touched her throat. Dropping his hand to her rib area, he went on, “Solar plexus is right here between your breastbone and bellybutton.”

  A tremor went through her as he lightly skimmed the spot. She ignored the sensations of his fingers on her and focused.

  “The knees.” He crouched, tapping the inside and outside of her knee. “It’s very effective to aim a strike at either of these places and disable your attacker. If you do it hard enough, the pain is excruciating. The attacker will fall and you can run.”

  Kat winced, the memory of her own pain when she woke in the hospital rushing through her. She fought a wave of nausea.

  “Kat?” Sloane remained crouched on the mat.

  She swallowed. “Knee strike, got it.”

  He rose in a fluid motion. “Show me.”

  Quickly, she repeated the places she could cause the most damage.

  “Good. Now your body is equipped with weapons. Your head, your fist.” He demonstrated a fist. “The heel of your palm.” He showed her how to pull her fingers back and thrust out the bottom edge of her palm. Then he finished with, “Elbow, knee and foot.”

  To him, this was normal. Talking about ways to hurt other people, and body parts becoming a means to do it, was just another day in his life. Her stomach clenched.

  Sloane waited, his silently raised eyebrow assessing her.

  Toughen up! Lifting her chin, she said, “Got it.” She would remember it.

  “I’m going to teach you how to handle a couple situations. But that means I’m going to come at you or restrain you.” He stepped closer.

  She had the feeling he was crowding her on purpose. Her chest constricted. “What if I panic?”

  He touched her shoulder, his fingers warm and reassuring. “You talk to me. Tell me when you’re feeling symptoms of panic.”

  Her heart rate increased, but she still was in control. It was hard to admit how very flawed she was, how deep her panic attacks went, but she had to tell him. “And if I can’t talk?”

  He slid his fingers down her arm and caught her hand. “If you can’t talk, this is your safe gesture. It’s called a tap out.” Lifting her arm, he bent his fingers and tapped them three times on her skin. “Feel it?”

  “Yes,” she breathed it out. How could something so simple work?

  “You tap like that anywhere you can find on me. I’m trained to react to that, Kat. I can be in the biggest match of my life, but I feel that—three quick taps—and it’s a signal to stop instantly. My opponent’s life can depend on it. You tap, I stop, got it?”

  The idea of having that power over him shivered through her. “That easy?”

  He moved behind her again.

  In the mirror, he was a head taller than her, his shoulders much wider, and his arms were popping serious muscle. She’d seen Kellen stripped down to shorts, knew he was lean, fast and surprisingly strong, but Sloane took it to a whole new level.

  And she was going to trust him? Stop him by just tapping?

  He lifted his arms and put them around her in a bear hug. They surrounded her like immovable steel bands, locking her arms to her sides. Then he tugged her back against his chest.

  Before Kat could process what she felt, if she was even scared, he spoke.

  “Tap.”

  She met his eyes in the mirror. “But my arms are trapped.” Just saying it made it real, and her fingers tingled. The sick sensation of helplessness ballooned in her mind.

  “Find a spot. Tap. Don’t give up.”

  She forced a breath and rotated her right hand at the wrist. Her fingers hit his thigh, and she tapped three times.

  He released her immediately. “Good.”

  A new sense of power rushed through her. “I did it. Even with my arms locked down.” It felt good. Exhilarating.

  “You did.” He touched her face. “It’ll work when I have you naked too, Kat. Remember it. You’re not powerless. Not with me. I don’t want you scared and panicked. I want you hot, panting and desperate for me to make you come. Understand?”

  It wasn’t fear that increased her heart rate this time. Oh no, that was desire. At a loss how to respond, she just nodded.

  “Good. Now let’s see what we can do about the next asshole who tries to pull you out of your car. In that situation you have several moves. The first is a block. When he reaches for your hair or arm, you bend your elbow and swing your arm up in a windmill fashion, blocking him.”

  Kat paid attention as Sloane demonstrated by bending his arm and swinging the forearm. Tried to picture herself doing it. “But I’m not as strong as you.” Understatement of the year there.

  “Doesn’t matter. Most of these moves are based on leverage and targeting the right areas.” Stepping into her, he wrapped his fingers around the outside of her left biceps. “Try it.”

  His strong hold made her doubtful, but he was the professional with championships to his credit. So she bent her elbow and quickly rotated her arm, creating the windmill.

  He lost his hold.

  Awesome. Grinning, she said, “It worked.”

  Sloane gripped his own wrist and held it up. “See where my fingers meet my thumb?” At her nod, he went on. “That is the weak part. My grip met at the inside of your arm, you blocked, pushing out from that, breaking the weakest part of my hold.”

  It made so much sense. “Yes!” Okay that came out a little excited, but damn, she’d never known this stuff.

  Amused crinkles fanned out around his eyes. “It’s all about finding your opponents weakness and using your strength against it. Skillful fighting requires rapid thinking.”

  “Which means I can’t panic.” That was her hurdle. She had to keep her fear under control, but that was her issue, not his. “Show me more.” She wanted to learn.

  “Assuming we’re still dealing with the guy pulling you out of the car, you’ve blocked his attempt to grab you. Now you attack using the heel of your palm. You curl your fingers back and slam it into his nose, punching upward with as much force as you can.” He showed her his fingers pulled in tight, wrist bent, heel of his palm protruding. “Even sitting, you can snap it hard and up, connecting right below the nostrils, and punching through.” Turning to the side, he snapped the punch into the air.

  Awed by his pure speed and power, she was pretty sure her mouth hung open.

  “I’ll show you again.” He went through
the motions a couple more times, then he made her do it, observing and correcting her until he was satisfied.

  “Okay.” Sloane got in front of her. “I’m going to reach for you. Put both moves together. Knock away my hand and snap the heel of your hand right below my nose.”

  Horrified, she said, “I’ll hit you.”

  “Not a chance, baby. The only way you could hit me is if I’m asleep or unconscious.”

  Right. She’d seen how fast he moved. Ignoring a flush of embarrassment, she said, “Maybe I’ll get good enough.”

  Nodding his approval, he added, “You can’t be afraid to hit or hurt your opponent. Not in training, and not if you’re in a situation where you have to defend yourself.”

  In other words, stop acting like a scared little girl. That was exactly the reason she was here. “Let’s do this.” Centering her weight, she watched him carefully. Which arm would he strike with?

  He jabbed out with his right.

  She windmilled her left arm up, connecting with his arm and throwing it aside. Following that up, she aimed for his nose with the heel of her right hand.

  He easily leaned back out of the way and caught her hand with his.

  Kat stumbled forward with the momentum of her punch.

  Sloane wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into him. “The mechanics are there, but you need to get much faster and aim hard. Once you master that, we’ll add a knee strike.” He set her on her feet. “Again, Kat.”

  ***

  An hour later, Sloane knew it was time to call a halt even though they hadn’t gotten to knee strikes yet. Kat was sweating, bent over and rubbing her knee and calf. He’d noticed her slight limp was more pronounced in the last ten minutes.

  But damn, she’d impressed the hell out of him.

  “You’ve had enough for tonight, Kat.”

  She snapped upright, her blue-green eyes darkening like a churning sea. “I can keep going. I do spin classes longer than this.”

  He walked into her space, glad she didn’t draw back like she’d been doing in the past. “You like this. You like fighting.”