Stone Cold Knockout

by Lavender Parker

  Gennifer resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his authoritative tone. She had asked for this, after all. She'd known exactly what she was getting herself into. So she jabbed, aiming for the mitts that covered his hands.

  “Harder,” he demanded. Gritting her teeth, she swung harder. He popped his gum and shook his head, not impressed. She tried again, and he shook his head again.

  “Okay,” she said. “Show me.”

  “Show you?” He cocked his head, his jaw working.

  “Yeah.” Gennifer held up her gloved hands, mimicking him. “Show me how you want me to do it.” A slow smile worked over his lips. He pulled the mitts off and dropped them in the grass. She steeled her spine, bracing for his blows. He brought his fists to his face and the intensity in his eyes was slightly concerning. He jabbed quickly with no warning, right then left. The force behind his movements sent a jolt through her, but she could see his muscles straining from holding back. He didn't want to hurt her, she supposed. He was big enough, he could have knocked her on her ass.

  “Extend your arm like this,” he said, throwing a punch in slow motion. Of course, his control, balance, and form were perfect. He wore a T-shirt with the arms cut off and every inch of his bare arms exuded power. She narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn't stop herself from smiling, too.

  “Show off.”

  “Show off?” He raised an eyebrow like he didn't understand.

  “Never mind.” She laughed and shook her head.

  “You are laughing at me,” he said. “Trying to distract me.”

  “I'm not laughing,” she said. “But I am trying to distract you.”

  “Come.” He waved her closer. She inched over, suspicious. He put his big hands on her shoulders and turned her around, putting her back to him. Before she knew it, he was massaging the sore muscles of her back and she nearly moaned in relief. She lifted her hair off her neck to give him unobstructed access and he took advantage. His thumbs worked miracles as she dropped her chin to her chest. “You are not used to working so hard.”

  “Stop talking,” she mumbled. “You're ruining it.” His low chuckle reverberated in her ear as his warm hands moved down her back. She felt herself leaning back into him, her eyes slipping closed. She wore only her sports bra and she knew she should probably stop him from touching her. Skin-to-skin contact was not a good idea if she was going to keep herself in check. His hands felt so damn good, so sure and strong, she knew she should put an end to it. But did she want to? Hell no. In fact, she wanted more. Earlier, on the jogging trail, she'd been sure he was going to kiss her. There was something about the way he looked at her, like he was a starving wolf staking out a meal. But he hadn't.

  “You like what I do?” he asked, his lips so close to her ear that his breath caressed her cheek. His fingers skimmed the bottom of her bra and goosebumps broke out over her skin, despite the heat of the summer afternoon. He knew exactly what he was doing to her; she was well aware. She was melting and he was the one fanning the flames with a smug smile on his face. But his hands felt so good she didn't want him to stop. “You work hard, you deserve it.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Gennifer murmured, not in the position to disagree. Then he dropped his hands and her eyes popped open. The sounds and reality of the park returned, and she realized she'd just been getting all hot and bothered in full view of anyone who felt like watching. She immediately turned to face him, crossing her arms to cover her tell-tale hard nipples, pointing through her thin top.

  Damn Russian.

  “You work hard, I give massage when you want,” he said, with a nonchalant shrug. “Like...” he trailed off, as if searching for the right word. “Reward.” She scoffed at his cocky words, but her body was tingling in appreciation. She knew that whatever he was offering, she'd gladly accept.

  “Any time I want?” she asked, rolling her shoulders. Her muscles felt like silk and her skin was humming and sensitive. She still craved his touch, but she kept her distance as he grabbed the mitts off of the ground and slipped them back on. Then he held up his hands and gave a curt nod, like nothing at all had happened between them.

  “Any time,” he said. “Now jab.”

  A few hours later, Gennifer collapsed on her couch, feeling like it was two in the morning as opposed to two in the afternoon. She was dead-tired. Mikhail had worked her ass out until she could barely move. Her muscles were limp with exhaustion, but tight with tension at the same time. She'd always considered herself to be fit. Now, she realized that she was just as out of shape as he'd said she was. And he had loved every minute of torturing her. She could tell in his eyes how much he enjoyed seeing her taking a beating. He was a sadist, plain and simple.

  With a moan, she kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes. Even her toes were sore. Ridiculous, she thought, laying back against the throw pillow. As she stared up at the ceiling, she realized Mikhail expected her to do it all over again the next day. He was insane, but she was the one who'd asked him to train her, so maybe she was insane too. Apparently, Russians did not play around when it came to competition.

  Her phone vibrated and she stretched her hand out, wanting to move as little as possible, and picked up it up off of the coffee table.

  “Hello?” she murmured, closing her eyes.

  “Did you just get out of the shower?” Mikhail's thick accent jolted her out of her half-sleep. Suddenly a shower sounded amazing. “You sound relaxed.”

  “How did you get my number?” she asked, feeling a smile already curling over her lips.

  “You gave to me,” he said, cocky as ever.

  “I'm pretty sure I didn't,” she said.

  “Are you regretting asking me to train you?” he said, his voice low in her ear.

  “No.”

  “Good.” The single word sent a tingle of arousal through her.

  “Do you regret agreeing to train me?” Gennifer settled back on the couch, bringing her knees up to her chest with a wince.

  “No,” he said, and she wondered what he was doing right then. She wondered if he was like her, laid out and exhausted. She doubted it. He was in excellent shape. She could see it in every move he made. His body was a work of art. She closed her eyes again, thinking about how she needed to date more. Then she wouldn't be so mixed up over a Russian gym rat with a dangerous look in his eye.

  Maybe she should sign up for an online dating site.

  “Same time tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Correct.”

  “I don't suppose we can skip the swimming?”

  “Do you want to succeed or do you want to fail?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Gennifer said, laughing in spite of herself. “Fine. I'll swim.”

  “I like when you are obedient,” he said smoothly.

  “Don't get used to it.”

  “Do not be late, solnyshka,” he said, and she blinked, wondering what the Russian word meant. “Or I will have to punish you.” She opened her mouth to reply, but he hung up before she could.

  Chapter 5

  “What the hell kind of music is this?” Gennifer grumbled as she tossed her bag onto the chair beside the pool the next morning. Mikhail grinned as the chugging country-sounding music pumped through the surround sound speakers overhead. She looked around for the source of the music and found an iPod player built into the wall. The fancy gym was state of the art, apparently.

  “The King,” he said.

  “Who?” She held up a coffee for him and he took it. “Black. I didn't know how you take it,” she explained as she kicked off her shoes. It was 4:55 a.m., but she was awake and ready to go, now that she knew what to expect.

  “What are you drinking?” he asked, his fingers brushing hers as he took the cup from her.

  “Non-fat iced latte. Two shots of hazelnut.” She lifted her cups to her lip and wrapped her tongue around the straw. The caffeine coursed through her veins as soon as the heavenly liquid hit her tongue. She smiled as she shimmied out of her leggings. She could get used to wak
ing up so early on the weekends as long as she had coffee and a fine-ass man to look at. When she glanced up, he was watching her with rapt attention. His expensive-looking, tight swim shorts left little to the imagination and Gennifer bit her tongue to keep from telling him exactly what she thought of them.

  “Americans,” he said, taking a gulp of his coffee, then setting the cup down beside the chair. “Everything has to be sweet or you do not want it.”

  “Russians,” she mimicked him. “Everything has to be bitter or you do not want it.” He cocked his head, gray eyes dancing.

  “What do you know about my people?” he asked.

  “Sadists,” Gennifer said as she yanked her tank top off, revealing the brand new purple one-piece that she'd picked up the night before. “Extremely competitive sadists. But that's only a guess, based on the one Russian I know.”

  “You only know one Russian?” He advanced on her and a flutter of anticipation ran up her spine. “You are lucky. I know too many.” Sucking on her straw, she craned her neck to look up at him. When she first saw him, handsome wasn't the first word she thought of, but now, she wasn't so sure. There was something about his face that was infinitely attractive. She didn't think she would ever tire of looking at him. He took the latte out of her hand and put the straw to his own lips. She couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face as he tasted it. He scrunched up his nose and and shook his head. “Disgusting.”

  “It's delicious.” She reached for her drink, but he held it up out of her grasp. “That's mine!”

  “It will be waiting here for you.” He set it on the ground beside his.

  “I don't have time for coffee?” she asked, swatting at his bare chest.

  “No.” He swung his arm and caught her around the waist. Before she knew it, she was slung over his shoulder and he was carrying her toward the pool.

  “Uh uh. No way!” she screamed. “I already have to listen to your terrible music. I need my coffee!” Mikhail froze and stared up at her like she'd just said that God didn't exist or something.

  “Elvis is not terrible. He is the best.”

  “If I say he's the best, will you let me down?” Gennifer asked as sweetly as she could muster.

  “Perhaps.” He ran his hand up her thigh.

  “Are all Russians as touchy-feely as you?” she asked, turning her head to look at him.

  “What do you mean?” He raised an eyebrow, but his hand didn't leave her thigh.

  “You're always touching me.”

  “Is that a problem?” He let her down then, and she slid down his body until her feet touched the floor. “If you do not like it, I will stop.”

  “You couldn't stop if you wanted to.”

  “You are right. Russian men touch women. It is what we do.”

  “Creepy, but honest.” Gennifer dropped her hands to her hips, examining the black tattoo on his chest. “Do you touch just any woman?” The tattoo looked like a name, Катя, she realized after a moment. She was tempted to trace the lines of the tattoo with her fingertip, but she didn't. Someone had to have some self-control, after all. She'd only known the man for a few days.

  “No.” He shook his head slowly, a devilish smile curving over his lips. She didn't have time to interpret what the smile meant before he pushed her, sideways, into the pool. She had a split second to curve her body into kind of a dive before she hit the water too hard. With a jarring splash, the cool water enveloped her. She felt herself sinking into the blue depths and a memory washed over her. A memory of the first time her mother took her to the Bronx Y, all those years ago. She'd been terrified of the water, but her mother had insisted she learn to swim. Her mother had let go of her hand and she'd panicked, her head dipping below the waves. Eventually, she began to kick her legs and she made it to the side of the pool, crying and hysterical, but alive.

  Gennifer rolled over onto her back and kicked her way to the surface, pushing her hair out of her face as she did. She knew she should be pissed at Mikhail, but the childhood memory had quieted her. She floated on her back for a moment when she reached the surface, staring up at the white metal beams that held up the ceiling high over the pool, remembering her mother's happy face when she swept her up in her arms. “You are my little strong girl, Genny,” she'd whispered in Gennifer's ear. “So strong. So brave.”

  Mikhail dove smoothly into the water and Gennifer turned her head in the water to watch him. He swam past her, doing a lap in his own lane. Competitiveness sparked in her and she pushed the painful memory to the back of her mind, where it belonged. She pushed over onto her side and kicked her legs harder, adrenaline shooting up her spine. She had no chance of catching up with him, but she was damn sure going to try.

  ***

  Mikhail pushed until his muscles ached but he didn't care. He could feel Gennifer beside him, her energy egging him on. He was so used to doing his workout regiment alone, it was strange to have someone beside him. It was strange, but he liked it. Until that moment, he hadn't realized how lonely he'd been in New York. He had Vadim, of course, but his brother was busy with the restaurant and he was busy as well. He hadn't had a trainer since Sergei died, so there had been no one to push him except for himself. But Gennifer's competitiveness matched his own. She didn't want to lose and neither did he. He liked that about her.

  He liked a lot of things about her.

  However, she didn't like Elvis, which was a serious strike against her. Glancing over, he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. She was slow and her technique needed work, but she was getting better. She was a fast learner. He dove deep and did a flip, turning to go back. He hesitated a moment under the water, watching her legs kicking, the muscles in her thighs flexing with each move. Her toenails were painted black, he realized, as his eyes skimmed down her leg to her feet. Something in his chest squeezed tight. He pushed off of the wall and sliced through the water. He surfaced and gulped in air, his concentration thrown off.

  Earlier, she asked him why he touched her. He touched her because he couldn't help himself. Russian men didn't bother with formalities and polite conversation. When they saw a woman they wanted, they didn't hesitate to let her know it. And he wanted Gennifer. The irony was not lost on him. Before she died, his mother's only dream in life was for her sons to marry devout Orthodox girls and have stocky Russian babies. Katya Ivanhof never would have approved of a dark-skinned American girl for her son, but Mikhail left the motherland for a reason. Russia had begun to feel like a prison of tradition and corruption. The freedom and diversity of New York City was the antithesis of St. Petersburg's claustrophobic society. Besides, he was drawn to Gennifer and he didn't give a fuck.

  He wasn't looking for a wife anyway.

  When he reached the end of the lane, he draped his arm on the edge of the wall and watched her swim back toward him. He ran his finger over the tattoo of his mother's name on his chest, feeling his heart beating hard underneath his skin. At the end of the lap, she grabbed ahold of the wall as well, her fingers gripping the cement.

  “Good?” she asked, breathlessly, pushing her new goggles up onto her forehead.

  “Good.” He nodded and she smiled. Then she skimmed her hand over the water, spraying him with drops of water. She squealed as he dipped under the divider and into her lane. She pushed off the wall as he advanced on her, kicking her legs in front of her to fend him off.

  “That's what you get for throwing me in,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at him.

  “You were wasting my time. With coffee and endless questions.” He swam toward her slowly, stalking her through the water.

  “Asshole,” she muttered, but she was smiling. He grabbed her ankle and yanked her toward him. Her thighs opened, and he took advantage, slipping between her legs so she was forced to straddle him. She threw her arms around his neck to steady herself and her eyes widened as he pulled her close, her breasts smashing against his chest.

  “You think I am an asshole?” he asked. />
  “Definitely,” she said, her gaze trained on his lips.

  “I may be.” He dragged his eyes down her face, studying her. She was a natural beauty with big brown eyes, high cheekbones, and disarmingly full lips. She exuded confidence and strength, but her beauty was hard, like a cut diamond. She was intimidating at first glance, not soft and warm and welcoming like a woman should be. Her stance said 'don't fuck with me' and she had probably scared off many a weaker man. If she hadn't been the only one in House of Pain to spar with that night, he might never have said anything to her. They might never have had any interaction at all. Fate wasn't something he put much stock in, but it seemed to have been smiling on him that night. He just as easily could have overlooked her. He would have gone on with his life, never knowing that she existed, and the thought sent a chill through him. He couldn't imagine not knowing a woman named Gennifer Rainbow Rodriguez.

  “How old are you?” she asked, taking him off guard.

  “Old enough,” he said.

  “What kind of answer is that?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

  “Why do you ask so many questions, solnyshka?” He ran his hands up her sides, wishing she hadn't worn a suit even though he'd told her to. He had gotten too accustomed to having her skin bare to his gaze. He raised his hands to her ribs, his thumbs brushing the swells of her breasts.

  “It's called conversation.” She tightened her slick arms around his neck as took a deep breath. Not bothering to stop himself, he strummed her hard nipples through the thin fabric of her suit, and she gasped, her lips parting in surprise.