by Tara Wyatt
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 scramble
d 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.
Chapter 13
Alexa stood in front of her parents’ house trying to see it through Zack’s eyes. The sun was just beginning to set, casting the entire courtyard—with its wrought-iron gates, cobblestone drive, tinkling fountain, and soaring cypress trees—in a purplish-pink glow. The fountain burbled quietly behind them as they stood in the shelter of the portico, massive stone columns on either side of them.
The house spread out before them, wings to the east and west. The property sat nestled against the base of Franklin Canyon, and they were surrounded by rising greenery. None of the neighboring houses were visible. It was opulent and isolated and beautiful and cold. She couldn’t imagine what Zack saw. It was like looking in the mirror and not really understanding what others saw because your face was simply yours, something you saw and wore every day. It just was.
She listened to the elegant peal of the doorbell’s chimes echo through the house, and she blew out a breath, forcing herself to relax. Zack threaded his fingers through hers and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“We’ve got this,” he said quietly, and squeezed again. She bit her lip and nodded, steeling herself for the performance ahead, reminding herself who her father actually was and what he’d done to her two best friends. She wouldn’t let him hurt anyone anymore.
Including her.
The heavy wood door opened, and one of the household staff, an older man named Joe, ushered them inside, giving Alexa an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “They’re waiting for you in the drawing room,” he said, nodding politely as he began leading them down the main hallway. Their footsteps echoed off the polished stone floor, matching the tempo of Alexa’s pulse pounding in her ears. Instead of his usual jeans and T-shirt—or those sweatpants she was really starting to love—Zack had opted for a light-blue button-down shirt that brought out the olive tones in his skin and emphasized his broad, fit frame, and a pair of black dress pants. Alexa had chosen a simple sleeveless red cotton maxi-dress, wanting to be comfortable.
Her heart pounded in her chest as Joe led them into the drawing room and both her parents rose to their feet. As per usual, jazz floated through the air from concealed speakers, and her mother held a glass of wine while her father held a tumbler of scotch. The drawing room’s ceiling was high, with part of the open second-floor hallway of the east wing looking down onto the room. The stone floor was covered in an expensive Oriental rug, which was bordered by heavy, overstuffed cream-colored furniture. A massive fireplace dominated the far wall, opposite the French doors that led to the backyard’s terrace. Despite the golds and creams in the room and the fire crackling quietly in the fireplace, there was no warmth. At least not for Alexa. And once again she knew she was cataloguing her surroundings as a way to keep the anxiety at bay.
She met her father’s eyes and smiled, pushing everything else aside and letting herself slip into familiar behaviors. “Mom, Dad, thanks for inviting us. This is my boyfriend Zack.”
Zack smiled winningly and held out his hand, which her father shook while eyeing him, a completely unreadable expression on his face. Zack nodded politely at her mother, who was appraising Zack hungrily, her eyes roving up and down his body. Alexa carefully schooled her features to hide her disgust.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” said Zack, smiling warmly at her parents. He slipped an arm around Alexa’s waist and pulled her a bit closer, glancing around the room. “You have a beautiful home.” He glanced down at her and winked, the hand at her hip giving her a slight squeeze. “And a beautiful daughter.”
“I like beautiful things,” said her father, sinking back into his chair and propping his ankle up on his knee. Her mother sat down on the couch, her attention flitting between Zack and her phone. Alexa led Zack to the love seat facing the couch and armchair, sitting much closer to him than she normally would’ve allowed herself to. Damn, but he smelled good. Like clean laundry and soap and a hint of aftershave. She kicked her sandals off and tucked her feet up under her on the love seat, making herself at home, just as she would’ve before. Zack laid an arm across her shoulders and nestled her against him, and her entire body heated. God, that felt good. He was so big, so warm, so solid.
“Something to drink?” asked Joe, smiling politely at them. Alexa didn’t want to drink tonight, but she also knew it might raise questions if she didn’t.
“I’ll have a glass of white wine, please, Joe. Zack?”
“I’d love a beer, if you’ve got one.”
Joe tipped his head and disappeared around the corner.
“Not a very fancy drink for a bartender,” said her father, peering down into his drink as though it held the answers to the mysteries of the universe. Alexa wasn’t surprised that her father had managed to find the fake information they’d planted about Zack. Clay had created a fake online presence for him, including a Facebook page and an Instagram account.
What would pre-shit-storm Alexa have said? “I don’t recall telling you that Zack’s a bartender.”
“I Googled him,” said her mother, not looking up from her phone.
Alexa gave an impatient snort and then smiled sweetly. “I don’t recall telling you his last name either.” At that her mother looked up from her phone with a slightly guilty expression on her face.
Her father shrugged. “You told me you had a boyfriend; I got curious. So sue me.
” He tilted his head and gave Zack a scrutinizing look. Joe returned with their drinks, and as Alexa took a sip of her wine, her father wagged his finger at Zack. “You look very familiar to me. I’m wondering if we’ve crossed paths before.”
Zack took a sip of his beer and smiled, meeting her father’s gaze, not missing a beat. “I’m positive I’d remember meeting you, Mr. Fairfax.”
Her father stared at Zack for a second and then nodded, a small smile on his face. “Mmm. Yes. I’d say you would.”
“Alexa, why didn’t you mention him the other night?”
She shrugged. “It’s still really new, Mom. To be honest, I was trying to avoid…well, this,” she said, raising one palm in front of her. “I knew you’d want to meet him, and you guys are intimidating.”
Her mother gave a high-pitched, birdlike laugh. “Oh, we are not.”
Zack set his beer on the coffee table beside him and leaned forward slightly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Respectfully, Mrs. Fairfax, I disagree. I grew up in Thousand Oaks. My mom’s a high school science teacher. My dad’s a dentist. This,” he said, gesturing around them, “is pretty intimidating.”
Alexa smiled, glancing down at her wine. He was so charming, this pretend boyfriend of hers.
Her mother laughed, more naturally this time. “Point taken.”
“So how did you come to be dating my daughter, Zack…Sorry, what was your last name again?” asked her father, his voice low and calm.
Zack eased back against the love seat and once again tucked Alexa against him. “Caruso. We both volunteer at the Children’s Hospital.”
“Oh. Well, that’s nice,” said her mother, sounding slightly bored. “So you just met there, and he asked you out?”
“Pretty much,” said Alexa, shrugging.
Zack smiled and pulled her a bit tighter against him. “The first time I saw Alexa was almost a year ago. I walked into the room, and she was sitting there, talking to someone else. I felt like everything around me had stopped. All I could see was her.”
