Connection (Temptation Series Standalones Book 2)

by K. M. Golland

  “Master Will?”

  We glance down at Dylan, whose tugging Will’s shorts, Evan standing beside him with hope in his pleading eyes.

  “Can you teach Evan to box too? His mum’s new boyfriend is a creep.”

  My hand shoots up to cover my mouth, eyes wide as I look from Will to Dylan, then to Evan, and back to Dylan again. “What do you mean by creep?” I ask the boys.

  Evan doesn’t speak, so Dylan says, “He’s really mean. He yells a lot, doesn’t he, Evan?”

  Evan curls into himself, looks at the ground, and shrugs.

  “Right. I—”

  “I’ll teach you how to box, mate.” Will lightly squeezes Evan’s shoulder.

  His head springs up, and he smiles, hope returning to his eyes.

  “How ‘bout you boys go pack your bags then line up at the door.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow at boxing class, Ms Hanson,” Dylan says and runs off with Evan.

  “You can’t just offer to teach the kids how to box, Will,” I murmur behind my hand.

  He ignores me. “You think there’s truth to what Dylan just said?”

  I look at Will, his eyes fixed on Evan. “I’m…” I rub my forehead. “I’m not sure.”

  “Because if there is, I’m gonna need to find out who this new boyfriend creep is.”

  I turn to face him as the bell rings, and the kids filter out of the room. “You will do no such thing. There are proper avenues and channels to go through.”

  “Shit like that takes time.” Will’s eyes follow Evan like a cat would a mouse. “Time a little kid like Evan might not have.”

  I watch Evan too as he meets his mother, and she quickly ushers him toward the car park.

  “Will, as noble as your concern might be, this has nothing to do with you.”

  “As a human fucking being who doesn’t like to stand by while the strong hurt the weak, it has everything to do with me.”

  I touch his arm, and his eyes meet mine, fury blazing within them. I can’t deny I feel the same wrath, because I do, fear and anger rolling through me like thunder. To think one of my kids is possibly being harmed makes me sick to my stomach. But something like this needs to be dealt with correctly, and I intend on doing that.

  “Just let me do my job. I’m mandated to report any suspected abuse. I have no reason to suspect it right now based solely on what Dylan just said, but I’ll fill in a report and speak to Evan on Monday. I promise.”

  He clicks his jaw from side to side but nods.

  I relax. “Good. Now tell me about this boxing lesson. What time and where?”

  The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”

  Will’s truck engine cuts outside the front of my home, and I smile as I glance at my watch. One minute to nine. Impressive! He might not be Prince-Charming-perfect, but my God he’s punctual.

  I quickly throw on a loose tank top over my sports bra, smooth down my Lorna Jane yoga tights, and pull my ponytail taut.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I say to my reflection in the mirror before grabbing my water bottle and handbag.

  Carly and Will’s voices travel along the hallway until I find them both in the lounge room, Sasha once again in Will’s arms.

  I scruff her golden fur, smile, but shake my head. “Such a spoilt girl, aren’t you?”

  Her jaw opens, and her tongue flops out of her mouth.

  “Ready to be jabbed?” Will asks, his smile all teeth.

  “Pardon?”

  “Are. You. Ready. To. Be. Jabbed?”

  My brows draw together. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

  “Sweetheart, when I jab, it’s as fuckin’ pleasant as it gets.”

  Carly laughs, shoves a mouthful of cereal into her gob, and mumbles, “’Ave a ‘ood ‘ime.” She waves her fingers and dribbles milk onto her chin.

  “Charming.” I turn to Will and point at Sasha. “You need to put her down. We can’t take her with us.”

  He pouts. “Goodbye, beautiful.”

  Sasha’s wayward tongue smothers his face, and he lets it before placing her on the ground.

  “After you,” he says, gesturing with his arm that I walk ahead of him.

  “Thank you.”

  Smiling, I take note of his chivalry, bookmarking it right next to his punctuality.

  Will groans, low and carnal, so I glance over my shoulder, which is when his eyes rise from staring at my arse.

  “Really?” I ask, eyebrow cocked.

  He goes to speak, but Carly beats him to it. “Yes, really, your arse looks unreal in those pants. If you weren’t my best mate and a know-it-all superior bitch, even I’d want a chunk of that.”

  My jaw drops. “I’m not a know-it-all superior bitch. Well… maybe superior.”

  Will looks at Carly and she shrugs.

  Growling, I storm out of the house, down the front path, and wait by the passenger side door of Will’s truck.

  He follows and reaches out to open the door for me. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you release all that pent-up anger and frustration.”

  “Ha! Funny you should say that, because you’re partly the reason I have it in the first place. Between you and Carly, it’s a miracle I haven’t been admitted to an asylum yet.”

  He rubs his hands together. “This is gonna be fun.”

  After climbing into the truck, I secure my seatbelt. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “Have a little faith, Elizabeth,” he says before closing my door. “I’ll take good care of you.”

  Faith? Faith is the absolute last thing I have when I step into the boxing studio not even thirty minutes later. Mirrored walls skirt three quarters of the large, well-lit room, and people of all ages, genders, and sizes punch each other and boxing bags suspended from metal stands and the ceiling, a constant slapping sound rhythmic in the air.

  It looks barbaric.

  “Master Will, Ms Hanson!” Dylan calls out.

  I search in the direction of his voice until I see a small hand frantically waving in the air.

  Will waves at the same time I do, then says, “Drop and give me ten.” He puts his bag down at the edge of a cushioned mat and fires me a sadistic grin. “That goes for you too.”

  I point to my chest. “Me? Do push-ups?”

  “You need to warm up to help prevent injury.”

  “But I am warm. Feel me.” I hold out my arm.

  He wraps his hand around mine and pulls me flush with his chest before turning me around and whispering into my ear, “I have every intention to feel you at some point, but for now, while you’re under my supervision in this gym, you will drop and give me ten.”

  Heat rockets up my spine, and I can’t help but squirm in his embrace. “But I… I don’t know how.”

  “I’ll make it easy for you.” He gently guides my bag off my shoulder and places it next to his. “On your hands and knees.”

  The sheer sexiness of his command tells me this isn’t going to be any easier, but I do as I’m told, and he drops to one knee by my side.

  “Your hands should be shoulder-width apart.” He leans over me and places his paws on my shoulders then slowly skates his fingertips down my arms to reposition my hands, my skin buzzing everywhere he touches. “Back straight.” He gently presses down on my arse. “Ankles crossed.”

  Will scoots backward to my feet, so I glance over my shoulder and laugh, my arms already like jelly before even attempting my first dip. “I’m definitely not cut out for this.”

  “From my angle, sweetheart,” he says, voice low, “you definitely are.”

  My cheeks flame. “Behave, Will, or I’ll sit and watch.”

  He chuckles and gets to his feet again then moves to stand at the helm of the cushioned mat. “Good morning, Beginner Boxers.”

  “Good morning, Master Will,” several people reply. If he thinks for one second that I’m going to refer to him as Master Will, he has another think coming.

  Slo
wly lowering my chest to the mat for the second time, I take note of five kids and two adults—one woman and one frail-looking man—all of them rising and falling at a much quicker pace than me.

  Dylan springs up first and proceeds to jog around the outer edge of the mat, and the rest of the group follow. I’m only up to push-up number four.

  “You may want to speed it up a little, Elizabeth,” Will says, amusement in his voice.

  Arms straining, I glare at the son of a bitch.

  He raises his hands in defence. “Okay. That’ll do. Jog around the mat twice then come back here and we’ll get started.”

  Rising to my feet, I nearly stumble and fall flat on my face when Will unzips his jacket and shakes it off, revealing a loose black singlet that barely covers his hulk-like chest. Oh my!

  “Come on, Ms Hanson!” Dylan yells as he passes me. “You’re too slow.”

  I quickly focus on him but can’t help taking peeks at Will as I start my second lap, this time launching into a coughing and choking fit when he pulls down his tracksuit pants. Sweet legs of Hercules!

  He steps out of each pant leg, now wearing nothing but lightweight jogging shorts that perfectly accentuate well-defined quads. I whack my chest with my palm, forcing it to wake up and help me breathe again.

  “You all right?” he asks as I slow to a stop.

  Bending at the waist, I nod then join the rest of the group who are standing before him, spaced roughly two metres apart.

  “This is my special friend, Elizabeth,” he says, gesturing to me. “She’s—”

  “She’s my schoolteacher,” Dylan blurts out.

  Will continues. “Yes, she is. This is her first time boxing, so I hope you all make her feel welcome.”

  Everyone smiles, so I give them a sheepish wave.

  “Right, let’s get started. One hundred air jabs, fifty air jabs and hooks, then a hundred uppercuts.” What the fffk? I’m exhausted just listening to that.

  Everyone starts punching the air, kinda like a Cobra Kai karate class. I try to copy, when Will slides in beside me and rests his hand on my lower back.

  “Not you, sweetheart. We gotta work on your technique first.”

  “My technique?”

  He nods, eyes roaming my arms, shoulders, and chest. “You lefthanded or right?”

  “Right.”

  “Step forward on your left foot.” He squats, and I can almost see up his shorts.

  “You won’t see much.”

  I look straight ahead. “See much of what?”

  “What I’m packin’.”

  I snort. “I wasn’t trying to see what you’re packin’. They’re all the same anyway.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, you are in for a treat.” Will palms my thigh and slowly glides his hand down over my knee and calf until he’s repositioning my foot. “God did not create us all equally.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Oui.”

  I laugh.

  “Now, shift your weight onto your right leg and turn it out on a slight angle.” He grips my hips, firm but gentle. “Soft knees,” he murmurs.

  I’m about to say thanks and that I use a milk bath powder from the Body Shop, when he continues.

  “Don’t lock your knees. Relax. We call this ‘soft knees.’”

  “Oh.”

  “Foot work and posture are very important. If you don’t have good balance, you can’t throw good punches.” He stands up and moves back, hand on his chin as he assesses my position. “Does that feel comfortable?”

  I look down at my feet then back at him. “I think so.”

  “Good. The power of your punch comes from your hips and your knees as you properly distribute your weight.” He moves behind me, his chest pressed to my back, his large, masterful hands on my shoulders. “As you punch forward,” he says, cupping my right fist with his right hand, “your body pivots.”

  Will’s lips and beard skim my earlobe, his breath tickling my neck, and I almost topple into his arms.

  “Posture, Elizabeth.” He places his hands on my hips again. “You gotta hold your body strong. All movement stems from this very spot.”

  Guiding my hips back and forth, he moves me in unison with him, as if we’re doing some kind of erotic Hokey Pokey dance—my right arm in, my right arm out. And for a second, I’m tempted to shake it all about.

  I don’t.

  Master Will is very serious.

  And the last thing I want is to be forced to do more push-ups.

  “When do I get to punch something?” I ask.

  “You don’t rush what you want to do right,” he whispers into my ear. “You gotta take your time and pay attention to every detail.”

  The tip of his nose nudges my neck, and my eyelids flutter then close.

  “Look in the mirror,” he says.

  I snap my eyes open and focus on our reflection.

  “Think of it like fucking.” He pulls my hips inward, his cock pressing above the apex of my arse. “Sure, we can go at it hard and messy and get there in the end. And, sure, it’ll be fun and wild.” His eyes flare, and so does my uterus. “But when you want perfection, you gotta take it slow, be precise, learn, and appreciate every little aspect involved. Once you’ve done that, you can go as fast or as slow as you like.”

  I swallow, hard, just as Dylan shouts, “Done!”

  All of a sudden acutely aware that one of my students can see us, I quickly step forward, away from Will, now internally grateful for Dylan’s interruption. I make a note to give him extra house points next week. He deserves it. Because little did I know, boxing was like fucking, and little did I know it would turn me on just as much.

  I’m not here to be turned on; I’m here to learn how to punch.

  “Okay,” Will says to the group. “Repeat those punches, but this time grab your gloves and a set of pads, and pair up. Elizabeth, you’re with me.”

  I wrinkle my nose.

  “You’ll like this. You get to punch me.”

  A sinister gleam creeps onto my face. “Finally!”

  Will bends down and takes out a set of gloves and pads from his bag, and his shorts pull tight across his arse. Fuck me, he’s right. God did not create us all equally.

  I quickly look away but notice his tickled expression in the reflection of the mirror. Shit! Busted!

  He inconspicuously cups himself as he stands then hands me a pair of gloves. “Chuck them on.”

  I cock my brow. “They’re pink.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do they have to be pink?”

  He gives me the same puzzled look he gave the sleazeball the night we met at Opals. “I don’t friggin’ know. Why is the moon round?”

  I’m tempted to tell him it’s not, that it’s actually oblate, but I don’t. There’s a time and place for that type of scientific discussion, and it’s neither here nor now.

  I shove the gloves at his chest. “I find it sexist that I’m expected to wear pink boxing gloves solely because I’m female.”

  He blinks, then blinks again. “Fuckin’ pink sexist shit,” he mutters under his breath. Will drops them back into his bag and takes out another pair, this time red, and dangles them in front of me. “These better?”

  “Yes. Red is fierce.” I snatch them. “They also match my hair.” Slipping my hands into the gloves, I tighten the Velcro straps and fire him a devilish smile. “I’m ready to punch you now.”

  For the next forty-five minutes, Will teaches me various techniques in punching and blocking until I’m drenched in sweat and exhausted.

  “Head up,” he says, tilting my chin to look at him. “Lock your frame.”

  I slump like a non-compliant puppet, arms and body akin to a piece of flailing string.

  “Look, spaghetti arms. This is your boxing space, and this is my boxing space.”

  Bursting into laughter, I bend at the waist and prop my hands on my knees. “Oh my God! You just quoted Dirty Dancing again. I swear you have a crush on Patrick
Swayze.”

  “Maybe I do.” He claps his pads together then holds one up high, prompting me to punch it again.

  Still laughing, I stand straight, stretch my back, and barely swipe it. “Are we done? Please tell me we’re done. I’m stuffed.”

  Will glances at the clock on the wall then places his padded hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, we’re done.”

  “Thank Christ for that.”

  “You did good.”

  “I did?”

  “For a first-timer.” He takes the pads off and hands me my water bottle. “Now have a drink and meet me back on the mat.”

  “What? Why? You just said we’re done.”

  “You need to stretch.”

  I need a shower and a sofa.

  Grumbling, I have a quick drink then sit on the mat where the rest of the class has congregated.

  “At the end of every session, we need to stretch the muscles to break the release of lactic acid and assist in muscle recovery. Ain’t that right, Dylan?”

  “Yep.” He jumps up and does a warrior pose, and everyone else moves into various stretching positions.

  I go to get up, but Will stops me.

  “I want you on your knees, Elizabeth.”

  Taking in his lecherous stare, I bite the inside of my cheek and shuffle to my knees, ready for further instructions that, at first, aren’t forthcoming.

  “Now what?” I look up through my lashes.

  He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Sit back on your heels and hunch forward, tucking your head into your knees and stretching your arms out before you, breathing slow and deep. You should feel the stretch in your quads, neck, and shoulders.”

  I do as I’m told and close my eyes, steadying my heartbeat. “I like this part of boxing,” I say, my voice a little drowsy.

  He chokes out, “So do I.”

  Lifting my head, I find him staring at my arse again. “I might report you for sexual harassment.”

  He squats, and again, I chance a peek down the leg of his shorts.

  “I should do the same to you,” he says.

  I giggle. “Fair enough.”

  “Okay, now lie on your tummy then push up with your hands and arch your head back. This is called a cobra. It stretches your lower—”