“I love you, Isabel. And I hope eventually, you’ll understand why I’m doing this.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth and nodded. “I love you too.”
She exhaled in relief when I said it, but her face was sad as she walked out.
The building pulsed with silence as soon as she walked out, and I inhaled unsteadily. Moving slow, I packed up my bag and turned off the lights in my office. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I almost looked up at the ceiling because I could’ve sworn that brick by brick, unimaginable weight was falling on top of me. My hands started shaking, and I curled my fists tight to make them stop.
I needed this tension … this feeling … out of my body.
First work.
Now my sister, my family.
Both had me rocked with no place to grab onto. Or that was what it felt like.
And the truth, which I also hated, was that I didn’t have anyone who could shoulder it the way I needed them to. To take the brunt of the pressure building and building, no outlet, no valve to release. They all had someone. They all had that person who’d know exactly what they needed at the moment they were most out of control.
My hands shook, and I imagined that metal box splitting angrily at the seams, paint peeling, edges crumpling from what was being held inside.
And what I needed, in the face of all this blistering emotion, was someone to roll with whatever came out of my mouth with no judgment and without trying to soften the blows or tell me I was overreacting, that I was too much for feeling this way.
Striding over to the iPad on the wall, I cued up one of my angry rock playlists and turned the volume up. A moment later, my hands were wrapped and shoved into my favorite black and purple gloves.
If there was no one to be that for me, I’d be that for myself.
I let out a deep breath in front of my favorite bag, stretched my arms out a few times, and started to move.
Chapter Ten
Aiden
It was a mistake to go back to the gym when I saw the lights on and realized her car was the only one in the parking lot. I’d recognize it later, the ramifications full and clear once all was said and done.
But at the moment, I wasn’t thinking about that. Even if I hadn’t left my wallet on my desk, the sight of her lone car, the bright lights, and the dark sky around the building probably would’ve made me stop.
Because it was only a matter of time before I recognized something important when it came to Isabel.
Curiosity and attraction were two entirely different things. Interest was so mundane because so many things held my interest.
Football held my interest, which was how I knew who she was, who her family was.
Working out held my interest because it kept me feeling strong and healthy and sane.
When I had the time, reading held my interest if the story was good.
Those were all easy and peaceful things that kept my attention and reduced my stress.
But if I thought my manager would fall neatly into that category once I figured her out, I was kidding myself.
That became apparent when I approached the front door, and with a grimace and a flare of anger, I found it unlocked. Interest never exploded into a bright ball of fiery emotion, something unnameable, at the realization she was inside with the music blaring while the door was wide-fucking-open for anyone to walk in.
Attraction did that. But I wasn’t ready to name it. Not until later.
The music was hard and angry—sort of like the rippling waves of emotion I was trying to keep in check—with guitars and drums and screaming rock, so I knew Isabel wouldn’t be able to hear the ding of the bell over the pulsing from the stereo system.
Even then, I could’ve turned around, locked the door behind me with my key, and left her to work out in peace. Once I knew that my state of mind was hardly polite, hardly civilized.
But I didn’t do that either.
“What the hell is she thinking?” I muttered.
When she avoided me, I let her be.
When I caught her dumping out the cup of coffee I bought her, I didn’t push.
When she continued, over and over, to do things that seemed completely at odds with what Amy had told me, I didn’t engage in the way I wanted to.
When I caught myself watching her, studying her, fighting the urge to pick her apart until I understood all these things that I didn’t seem to understand, I’d let her be.
But as I rounded the corner and she came into view, I knew I should have left. Something inside me screamed to turn and go. Leave her be now when it matters.
Because the first thing that came into my head when I noticed the graceful strength in her body, with hair unkempt, limbs and back coated with the sheen of unbelievable effort was, I could watch her do this all night.
I’d been lying to myself that I was only curious about her as my employee.
It wasn’t polite or professional as I stood and watched her. This had sharp, snapping teeth and a voracious appetite, something I hadn’t tapped into before.
Like shaking a limb that had fallen asleep, wincing through the pins and needles as the blood flow returned because for so long, that side of me had been silent.
I stopped to watch Isabel draw her left arm across her body to deliver an explosive back fist to the bag, followed by a right hook and, with a quick snap of her arm, an elbow strike.
Her technique wasn’t perfect, but when emotion took over, it was rare that anyone held their body correctly.
Finally, finally, I was seeing the real her. And I knew the truth of that bone-deep.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I tried to fight the warring emotions behind my ribs.
Leave now was the thought battling for dominance, but my curiosity and the completely mesmerizing way she moved held my feet firm on the ground.
No. Not curiosity. Attraction disguised as something far more innocent.
My gaze caught the edge of her high cheekbones and the sculpted line of her jaw. Even from where I stood, I could see how tightly she clenched that jaw, and I wanted to lay my hands on her shoulders and tell her to relax and breathe.
If I tried hard enough, I knew exactly how it would feel if I did. If I drew my thumbs down the line of her neck to unlock the muscles she was holding so tense. She’d go pliant if I did that. If I treated her with softness.
But I didn’t want to see her melt. Didn’t want to see her go into some sweet, tender place.
The fire in her was palpable, and I knew I was about to walk into it.
It was that instinct that had me leaning down to snatch the focus mitts that laid on the ground next to the ring. The remote for the stereo was on the floor by her bag, and as much as I didn’t want to get a roundhouse kick to the face from Isabel Ward, my own seething anger at her leaving the door unlocked had me approaching from her blind spot.
Just to see what she’d do.
Just to see what would happen.
It was stupid. And nothing, not a single thing, had excited me this much in two years.
If this was my chance to see the real, unguarded version of her, I would not waste it. And later, I could curse myself for a moment of weakness.
I shoved my hand into one focus mitt and rolled my neck before sticking the second one on.
When she drew her leg back and kicked the bag with such force that my eyebrows popped up, I held one mitt up to protect my face and touched her shoulder with the other.
With a roar fit for an Amazon, she whirled, glove aimed right at my face. I yanked my hand to catch the right cross on the mitt.
“Not bad!” I shouted over the music. “But next time, go for an uppercut off your back leg.”
Her chest was heaving, her blue eyes wide, and she kept her gloved hands at guard.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” she yelled.
I gestured to the door. “Anyone could’ve walked in here.”
Her eyes narrowed in a vicious glar
e, and for just a moment, I couldn’t help but glory in how well she wore anger. Isabel tugged off a glove, then reached down and snatched the remote, turning the volume down to a more manageable level.
Neither one of us spoke, but Isabel was breathing heavily. Since I’d seen her earlier, she’d pulled off her gym T-shirt and stood in front of me in a sweat-soaked purple bra and black leggings. I hated that I noticed, and because I did, I kept my eyes firmly on her face.
This was, without a doubt, the absolute last fucking thing I needed.
And it was the only thing I wanted from her.
No more tiptoeing. No more leaving her be.
Isabel broke the stare first, setting her hands on her hips and letting out a weighty exhale. “This just … figures, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“You!” she yelled, lifting her head, eyes blazing. “Of course you’d show up right now.”
I stepped around her, and she moved as I did, keeping her front foot centered toward me, just as she should have. “You got a problem with me showing up at my own gym?”
“At the moment? Yeah.”
I held up a glove. “Show me.”
Without hesitation, Isabel hit me with a jab.
“Why don’t you want me here?”
Each strike hit the mitts with a sharp snap. “You want a list?”
What was this? It was so immediate, so unfiltered, and the exact opposite of every interaction we’d ever had. My blood screamed with something hot and pulsing, something new and furious.
“The last thing I need,” she said, chin raised and chest heaving, “is you here to see this.”
“Again.” I held up the gloves.
Snap.
Snap.
“I almost punched you in the face.”
“You didn’t almost punch me in the face,” I said calmly, which made her eyes narrow even further. “More.”
She gave me more. Three more in quick succession. But she didn’t calm. There were words brewing, and I could see them flaring hot in her eyes. But I knew she wouldn’t give them to me. Not easily.
“What happened to your advice to Casey earlier? I thought the goal was to disengage, not attack.”
Isabel lifted her chin. “For her, that is the goal.”
“And you hold yourself to a different standard?”
She didn’t answer. But watching the flash behind her eyes, like someone dropped a match into a vat of gasoline, I knew I was right. This was Isabel Ward. And she was fucking glorious.
I wanted more of it. More of this. No matter how wrong she was for me, how badly this might go, or how much I might regret it. I wanted more.
That was why I leaned in and whispered, “Lock the fucking door next time.”
Her mouth fell open.
Satisfied that I’d made my point, I nodded, lifting the mitts. “Let’s go. Whatever your problem is, get it out right now.”
Isabel eyed me carefully. “Who says I have a problem?”
“Anyone with eyes, based on how you were treating that defenseless bag.” I hit the mitts together, the sharp snapping sound echoing around the gym. She didn’t so much as flinch. “Come on, Ward.”
For a moment, she just stared at me, and I found myself holding my breath at how she would respond.
And because it was the first moment of just the two of us, it was also the first time I saw how carefully she held herself. The sharp edge of wariness in her gaze. What, exactly, did Isabel Ward think I was going to do to her to make her look at me like that?
“No,” she said. “Not tonight.”
I nodded slowly, waiting until she’d turned away from me.
“What are you afraid of?” I asked.
Her frame, tall and strong and proud, went perfectly still. It was almost like watching her turn into a statue right in front of my eyes. If an artist somewhere had carved her out of marble, those gloves tucked under her arms, hands still wrapped, she would’ve been called something like, A Warrior in Repose.
But when she slowly pivoted back in my direction, the wariness was gone, completely replaced by blade-sharp resolve. Isabel jammed her hands back in her gloves, and I held up my mitts.
“I am not scared,” she snapped.
“Prove it.” I stepped closer, and she held her ground. “I am the only person in the building you hide from, and that ends now.”
“You think you’re going to earn it like this?” She raised an eyebrow. “By fighting it out of me.”
“Hell yes.” I held her gaze, and her eyes went wide at my honesty. “This is probably the only place you feel like you can be yourself, be honest about what you feel. I’d bet the whole fucking gym on that, and if you and I are going to move forward, we work your reservations out here.”
Isabel’s rib cage expanded, the light from overhead catching on the sheen of sweat coating the curves of her cleavage.
“I’ll do this under one condition,” she said, bouncing lightly on her toes, arms up to guard her face. “You don’t get to ask me what I’m angry about.”
Judging by the look in her eyes, like the slightest thing could set her off, it was an easy thing to agree to. I nodded. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We started simple. I kept just far enough away that she had to throw her weight behind each strike, and I called out what I wanted her to do, counting down until she could take a deep breath or a drink of water.
Isabel and I found a rhythm easily, and once we did, her movements became more precise, less wild. Her chest shone under the lights, sweat dotting her forehead until a few stray strands of her almost-black hair clung to the line of her neck.
After about fifteen minutes, I stepped back, and extended my arm out, tapping by my elbow with the focus mitt. “Watch your form right there, when you go in for the left cross. If I went to block, it would be really easy for you to adjust and hit me with a right elbow off your front leg.”
She nodded, breath sawing in and out of her mouth.
I jerked my chin up. “Show me.”
We started slow, almost like a dance. She came in with the left. I pushed her arm down, and when I barked the command, she pitched her right elbow up, stopping just shy of hitting me in the cheek.
“Excellent,” I told her. “Try again. Let’s move a bit faster.”
She got that down almost immediately, and I stepped back, swiping my arm over my forehead. I caught a quick flash of a grin on her face.
“I didn’t anticipate a workout tonight,” I told her.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have interrupted mine.”
I exhaled a laugh, gauging her facial expression as she said it. “You sorry I did?”
Instead of answering, Isabel tugged off one of her gloves to pull a long drink of water from her bottle. When she set it back down, she did a heavy exhale of her own.
“No,” she said. Then she put her glove back on.
I held up the mitts. “Let’s go again. After the elbow, use your right arm to push my blocking arm down, come up with a knee to my midsection while my momentum is in your favor.”
She nodded.
We practiced once. Twice. Then faster. And again. Her hair smelled like something citrus when her braid whipped past my face. The fourth time, she had her full strength behind pushing me down, and I grunted when her knee had a bit more oomph behind it than I was expecting.
“Easy,” I warned, as I stepped back.
But Isabel didn’t smile. She was watching me set up again.
“What?” I asked, dropping my mitts to take a drink of my own.
Her gaze was heavy on me while I swallowed.
“I got a job offer from Punch Fitness.”
The water stuck in my throat, and I coughed into my hand. She didn’t look very sorry about her timing as I tried to compose myself. After another sip, I was able to breathe normally.
“You taking it?” I asked. My voice was so calm and steady, but inside of my body, something roared and snarled. Another dangero
us sign. Another impossible reaction to this woman. I wasn’t ready for something like this. Like her. Something big, something wild.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“That guy’s a hack,” I heard myself say. Because he was. She’d be wasted at a place like that.
I couldn’t read a damn thing on her face, not like earlier, when I’d seen more. This was the guarded Isabel, the collected Isabel. And I found I liked her transparency better. In her anger, no matter how dangerous that was to my well-being, I could see everything she was thinking.
I jammed the mitts back on my hands, even though my forearms were getting a hell of a workout. Holding them up to my face, I barked, “Again.”
She set her feet, and we started the dance all over.
But this time, there was an edge.
Each time she struck the mitts and knocked my arms back, I felt more and more coming from her. I blocked her knee when it came up a little too hard and gave her a warning look.
Her lips, full and pink, curled up in a satisfied smile, even as her upper body heaved with exertion.
“You don’t want that job,” I said quietly.
Isabel’s jaw clenched, and she ducked to the side when I was expecting her to throw the left cross. She came in with an uppercut, and I blocked it easily.
“How the hell do you know?”
I swatted her arm away when she tried to jab. “Because this is not just a job, or a paycheck for you.”
Isabel sidestepped and tried to do a low roundhouse, but I knocked her leg down with the mitts. Her eyes flashed hot, because I wasn’t holding back as much. But neither was she.
“You don’t know me,” she said, striking the left mitt hard with a jab.
“Because you don’t let me.” She hit the mitts three more times in rapid succession, the pop pop pop sound echoing around us. “But I see you, even if you don’t want me to.”
She swore.
“You treat the employees like family,” I said. She danced around me, neither one of us making a move. “You do the same to the clients.”
I slapped the mitts and she attacked, jab, cross, cross.
“Good,” I yelled. “And you know every inch of this place like it’s your own home. You may think I’m just hiding in my office every day,” I leaned in when she backed up, “but I know exactly what this building, these people mean to you.”
Forbidden: A Ward Sisters Sisters Novel Page 10