Phoenix (Flames & Ashes Book 1)

by Carolyn Anthony

  I finished up on the bench as she strolled into the weight room. I put my hoodie on, but tracked her through the mirrors. Same fucking response as soon as she saw me. She hesitated a second before continuing to her spot. This time, though, if I hadn’t misread her mouth dropping open a little, she might have said, “Fuck me.” I choked back the laugh.

  Give me the time and place, sugar . . .

  I moved to the incline bench behind her.

  She swung around as I dropped my gear. “It’s Sunday morning.” She crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at me. “Why are you here?”

  And people bitched that I had no filter?

  “Hello to you too, sweetness.”

  Her eyes widened and she instantly squeezed them shut. “Sorry. No. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I just—you’re never here on weekends.”

  I loaded two plates to both sides of the bar, then straddled the bench. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you? What the hell are you doing here?”

  She shrugged and dropped her eyes for a second. “I’m always here.”

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “And why is that, exactly?”

  Her eyebrows scrunched together, and I could see her trying to think of what to say. Something about the way she searched for an answer bothered me. I preferred the uncensored version.

  “I’m an insomniac. This helps.”

  I nodded in understanding. I had no trouble sleeping, but I could see a good workout helping with sleeplessness. “Fair enough.”

  She cocked her head. “What do you do? Where do you work?”

  There she was. Random and unfiltered, just the way I liked her. I smiled, and her cheeks reddened. “I’m an architect. Partner and head of design at a firm down the street.”

  “What’s your specialty?” She bent over, still keeping her eyes on me, and pulled out her lifting gloves from her bag.

  “I can pretty much design anything, but for the firm, it’s high-rise buildings and industrial complexes. I was on a site most of the day yesterday, which is rare, and then had a project to finish up. Sometimes I can’t shut my brain off. So here I am. At your service.”

  “Huh. I can’t draw a stick figure. You must be good at your job to be a partner. Do you like it?” She grabbed two fifteen-pound dumbbells and sat on her bench, setting one on each knee.

  I picked up the bar and started doing warm-up reps. “I do. I get carried away with the plans sometimes, but in the end, yeah, I like what I do and who I work with. On that subject, remind me to ask you something later.”

  She sat up straighter on the bench and turned her body toward me. “What?”

  I kept up the reps. “Later, sugar. I’m warming up here.”

  Her perfect mouth formed a small “O” and she shook her head. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. I—I’m sorry.” She rolled back on her bench and lifted the weights above her.

  Fuck me.

  “Hey.”

  She kept lifting.

  “Valentina, stop for a second and look at me, please,” I said, securing the bar and sitting up to face her.

  With the weights above her head, she paused and rolled her head toward me.

  “Something you should know upfront, since we have this gym thing happening here: I joke around. A lot. And you’ve already proven entertaining as hell to mess with.”

  She nodded and bit the inside corner of her bottom lip.

  Another nervous habit, but one I found insanely sensual. Every time that lip half-disappeared between her teeth, I wanted to kiss the shit out of her and suck on the fuckin’ thing.

  “Good to know,” she countered. “Thank you for the warning, and just so you know, I’m here six to seven days a week for your amusement.”

  I got up, loaded a forty-five to each side of the bar and chuckled. “I appreciate you being so accommodating.”

  Rolling up off the bench, she shook her head and began a core set on the mat beside her bench. We went about our workouts, which was cool. It was an unspoken sort of thing, a timing thing. I waited until she was in between sets and added two more plates.

  “Hey, wanna give me a hand here real quick?”

  She got up and walked around the bench to me. “Is this what you wanted to ask me?”

  I pulled out my weight-belt before chalking up my hands. I nodded behind my bench to the platform behind it. “This isn’t that.”

  Valentina leaned around me. She frowned at the 360 on the bar. Looking back up at me, she lifted one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “What exactly do you need a hand with?”

  “Spot me.”

  She exploded with a sexy laugh that made all the blood in my body rush to my dick. Fuck, I could listen to her laugh all damn day.

  “Spot you?” Her eyes grew large as she lifted her hand at the bar. “Spot that? Do you have a death wish?”

  “You’re funny. Come on. You don’t think you can do it?” I adjusted my earbuds.

  Her lips pursed and those gorgeous eyes got even greener—challenge accepted.

  Nice. Spunky as hell—fucking loved that. But whatever got her closer to me, I was good with. I wasn’t above a little manipulation, and what I did pick up on almost immediately was that this woman rose to pretty much any challenge thrown at her.

  She took a deep breath before speaking, “What exactly do you need me to do, Jaxx? Because while I’m tempted to let that weight fall on your smart ass, I don’t want you hurt. We both know I can’t help you if you get in trouble, benching what might as well be a Mini Cooper.”

  “Ahh, see? You do care. I don’t need much, just lift off with me and guide it back in.”

  Looking around the weight room, she came around to stand right in front of me. “I get you’re new here, but there are more men in the weight room now. Do you want me to ask one of them? Because you do get that me spotting you is a like a minion spotting Superman, right?”

  I intentionally didn’t look at her and got settled under the bar. “No big deal. Just get up behind me and I’ll show you what I need. Now move your ass. If I get cold, we’re both fucked.”

  “Stubborn, frustrating, man,” she grumbled, but she did get up on the platform. “Remember it was me who said this is a bad idea. What do you need? I’ve never spotted before. Nobody I know lifts heavy enough for a spot.”

  Leaning back, the top of my hat was level with her hips. She couldn’t step back, because she’d step off the platform. I looked up as she glanced down at me. The fresh, beachy coconut scent of her surrounded me, and I prayed to every saint listening, to not let me get hard. Workout shorts didn’t hide that shit.

  “See the smooth spaces on the bar? Put your hands there between mine. When I say lift, lift with me and let go. I’ll let you know when we’re locking it in. You need me to move down?”

  It was then she seemed to notice how close we actually were. Her face paled, but she stayed where she was and shook her head. “I’m fine. Just do what you do and don’t get hurt.”

  Fuuuck.

  She was too damn tempting all flustered, but I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. I checked her body language in the mirror and glanced back up at her. “I can move down so you’re comfortable.”

  “Oh, my God. Jaxxon! I’m breaking out in hives here. I’m fine. Worry about you.” She put her small, quivering hands on the bar the way I’d told her to and looked between them. A tiny crease lined her forehead as if she were concentrating.

  I was a dick. She was genuinely afraid I was gonna hurt myself, and I could do this with no spot. I just wanted her closer. “You worried about me, sugar?” I asked, flipping through my music.

  “I kind of hate you right now. Please stop talking.”

  Chuckling, I got comfortable. “I’ll tell you if I need you. Keep your hands inside mine.”

  “Yep. Got it. Get your head straight.” She let out a long sigh.

  A wave of peppermint fell over my face. Was it weird I wanted to make out with her right here in the weight
room? I literally wanted to pull her over the bar, spread those thighs across my lap, and didn’t give a fuck who saw.

  It’s 360 on incline—this isn’t bench. Focus, fucker.

  I took a few deep breaths and lined my hands up. “Ready?”

  “Yes!” she snapped at me.

  “Lift with me on three. One, two, three,” I grunted out. Six. I probably had six in me today. I lifted it off the bar and purposely did slow reps, knowing the pump would strain the muscle more, pop the veins . . . and that would be obvious in my tank. I wasn’t usually a dick that way, but with her, I was quickly becoming one vain motherfucker. “One more.”

  “Got it.”

  We locked the bar in and I immediately got up. “Thank you.”

  Stepping down from the platform, she stopped in front of me and smiled before going back to her safe haven in the corner. “Oh, yes, anytime, because I was so much help.” She shook her head. “You didn’t need me.”

  I grinned down at her as she turned to go back to her bench. “Hey, it’s the only way I could get you close to me, and besides, you smell better than any guy in here.”

  With a gasp, she whirled around. “No you did not! You really didn’t need me, did you?”

  I started taking off plates. “I wouldn’t say that. With that much weight, it helps to have someone there. If I got in trouble, not even a dude could help me, so it might as well be you.”

  She glared at me for a second before nodding. “I’m going to take your word for it, because I know nothing about spotting. If I actually helped, okay. If not, you’re kind of an ass.”

  Smiling at her, I dropped two plates to the ground on each side. “You helped. So, about what I wanted to ask you. If you’re up for it, I could use some non-gym related help.”

  The little crease in her forehead came back. “Depends on what it is. If you tip semis over for fun, then no. I’m going to have to pass.”

  I chuckled. “Not this week. You said you’re an editor right?”

  Her eyes widened and her head jerked back the slightest bit. “I am. Why?”

  “You said fiction. Any chance you edit romance?”

  “Yes.” She studied my face for a few seconds, before the little crease between her eyes made an appearance. “I’m head of the romance division for our LA satellite office. Why?”

  Fuck yeah. “I have a sister who just wrote her first manuscript—some kind of erotic deal. Any chance I can talk to you about that?”

  Plopping down on her bench, she stared up at me and tilted her head. “I’m not sure what I can do. There’s a protocol involved with submissions, but I can talk to you about it, I guess. I can make some suggestions, offer some advice, or try to get it in the right hands. I can’t promise anything without taking a look at it first.”

  “Hey, whatever you can do will sure as hell help me out. I mean, it’s my sister. What the hell do I know about a damn erotica novel?” When she snickered at me, she turned a sexy shade of red, and my goddamn cock jumped. “I’m out of town for a few days, but how about next Saturday? Coffee around 8:00?” I sat back down on the bench for a final burn set while she thought about it.

  “Coffee? Yes . . . I can meet you for coffee. Where?”

  “Not sure when I’ll be back.” Absolute lie. “You mind giving me your number and I’ll text you if I have to stay? If not, I’ll let you know where and we’ll talk shop.”

  “I—I don’t mind giving you my number.” She started gathering her gear to move to another machine and then finally looked at me.

  I pulled my phone out and brought up my contacts. “Hit me.”

  Rattling off her number, she hiked her bag over her shoulder. “So, I guess I’ll either see or hear from you next week then?”

  “Count on it.”

  “I’ll pencil you in.” She gave me a small smile with the reddest cheeks I think I’ve ever seen and walked over to the cables as I finished my last set.

  That went better than I thought it would. At least I could see what options Bridge had, and yeah, it fit my male agenda . . . Bridge would get off my ass, and maybe once I sat down and actually talked to Valentina outside the gym, I could get this quirky, beautifully complicated woman out of my system.

  Good luck with that, motherfucker.

  10

  Jaxxon

  Cheap greasy food with the kids—the godforsaken, shitty food Wednesday night ritual.

  When they were with me, my kids only ever wanted to eat junk. Getting them to eat somewhere a little healthier would take an act of God. Had to be the cookie, ice cream, caramel monstrosities aptly named the Mother-load they ordered without fail. I was sure they ordered them just to spite me, since I forced them to eat healthy on my weekends. Wednesdays were my compromise.

  “Dad, can we get pizza?” Jess asked, scanning the menu so fast I wasn’t confident she even registered what she was lookin’ at.

  “If we’re gonna eat junk, let’s do it right. Pizza it is. What’s the call?”

  Brayden shrugged and slammed the menu shut. “Don’t care. Whatever’s fine.”

  Angst-ridden, monosyllabic responses I’d adapted to, but backed with that much attitude from my son? Not gonna happen. I studied Jessa, who’d barely looked at me since I’d picked them up. “All right.” I put the menu down. “What’s with—”

  The waitress arriving with our drinks and cheese sticks cut me off. Reaching over me so close her musky perfume became my air supply, she handed Bray his Coke before sliding Jessa’s Shirley Temple in front of her. Pure sugar, but what the hell? They were only kids once, and it fell under the Wednesday code.

  “You ready to order?” She winked at me, leaning a hip against Jessa’s end of the booth.

  Jess glared up at her then glanced between me and the waitress.

  Who were these grouchy clones impersonating my usually pleasant kids? Jesus. “Yeah, I’ll take a side salad and a large pepperoni, mushroom, and green pepper pizza.” At least the kids liked those vegetables, and I supposed they’d get something decent in their systems along with all the grease.

  “Got it,” the waitress said, writing down the order. “Anything else?”

  I took the menus from the kids and handed them to her. When her fingers slid over mine, I nodded between the kids. “That’ll do it for now, but I’m sure they’ll want dessert a little later.”

  “Of course. You sure that’s all I can get you?”

  “He said that’s it for now!” Jessa fired back. Even Brayden snapped his head to his sister.

  “Hey! Apologize. Now, Jessa.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “No worries.” The waitress left with a sympathetic glance at my daughter.

  The fuck ..?

  Pushing my iced tea out of the way, I leaned my forearms on the table, taking up most of the space. “Both of you.” I pointed between the two of them. “You want to tell me what the hell’s going on?” I faced my daughter. “Jess, you will never be outright rude to someone like that again. You understand me?”

  Jessa’s fiery blue eyes met mine. “I don’t like the way she looked at you.”

  Jesus Christ!

  While my kids were more mature than most, Jessa picking up on something so subtle shocked me. The waitress had been sweet, just doing her job. Maybe a little flirty, but what the hell? They relied primarily on tips—I’d flirt my fucking ass off too, in that position. The girl hadn’t done anything blatant, definitely nothing my ten-year-old daughter should have flipped out over, but now I wanted to know what Jess thought she saw. “How did she look at me?”

  Shrugging one shoulder and running a cheese stick through a scoop of marinara sauce, she plopped it down on her plate. “I don’t know. I just didn’t like it.”

  “You do know. What didn’t you like?”

  “She just looked at you too long, okay?” She slammed her back into the cushion with a huff. “It was like me and Bray weren’t even here.”

&nb
sp; “Bray and I,” Brayden corrected her and pulled out his phone. “And seriously, this is the first time you’ve noticed the way chicks look at Dad?” He scoffed. “Where’ve you been?”

  This was some fucked-up dimension where my kids had lost their damn minds.

  “Bray, phone down. Not at dinner. And don’t say, ‘chicks,’ it’s girls or women.” I turned my attention back to Jessa as Bray shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Jess, just because someone looks at me, or Bray, or Mom a certain way shouldn’t upset you to the point you’re openly rude—that’s not you. She was just doing her job. Now, why are you so fired up?” I looked between them. “Both of you.”

  Bray and Jess shot each other covert glances . . . with me sitting right in front of them. Nice. Co-conspirators.

  Before I could say another word, Jessa sat up straight, slamming both hands on the tabletop. “Mom has a date! With the same guy.”

  “Jessa!” Braydon barked. “I’m supposed to tell him. I’m older. It should come from me.”

  I waited for my stomach to turn. For the surge of rage that would make my head explode. Thinking about my ex with another man should have made me want to put my fist through a wall . . . but it didn’t. We were divorced. I dated, so what, she couldn’t? Double standards weren’t my deal, but I did expect the first time I heard she was dating for it to piss me off. Huh.

  I considered both my kids’ reactions. Jessa’s behavior read sharp and snappy, while Bray remained stoic. His shoulders and arms strung tight like rubber bands stretched thin.

  The divorce included, Leah and I had been separated for two years. I wanted my ex to have a good life—she was the mother of my kids, after all. But beyond that, I wanted Bray and Jess as intact, healthy, and happy as they could possibly be with divorced parents.