by Eve Langlais
The stairs to the lower level proved well lit, each riser having its own LED light. At the bottom, she had two choices. The left-most door required a handprint for access. Pressing her ear against the portal, she heard the hum of equipment. Probably a utility room. The door across from it had no type of lock at all, so she pulled it open and immediately heard the soft thumps and grunts of people sparring.
Black mats lined the floor, providing a soft cushion. Around the edges of the room, weight-lifting equipment from standard barbells to pulley systems and a bench were lined up. In the middle of the room was the main attraction, two men dressed only in athletic pants, their shirts tossed to the side, revealing muscular upper bodies covered in sheens of sweat.
As physical states went, they both appeared in tremendous shape, both of them without fat, their muscles clearly delineated, but where Darren possessed a slim build, Marcus was thick. Thick all over from his broad shoulders and his wide chest to his tree-trunk arms.
He caught her watching and smiled, a smile that Darren took advantage of, his fist whapping Marcus, a good blow that only slightly tilted his jaw.
Without turning to look at his boss, Marcus lunged his leg sideways, shot out an arm, and sent Darren tumbling to the mat.
Her new boss sprang to his feet. “Fucker. I thought we were only using our fists.”
“Pay attention,” Marcus rumbled. “Your enemies won’t always play fair.”
“Your bodyguard is right,” Kacy said, moving farther into the room. “You fight as if your opponent will give you time to breathe. That’s not always the case.”
“How much do you know about fighting?” Marcus asked, taking time to grab a white towel hanging off a bar to wipe his face.
“I know enough. Is this your way of asking to see my skills? I’m more than happy to demonstrate.”
“I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
Such a predictable male answer, and one that had Darren chuckling. “Oh, fuck, now you’ve done it, bro. She is going to school your ass.”
Marcus shot a look at his boss and then Kacy. He shook his head. “Even if she had the maddest skills, size will always beat her.”
“Is that so?” Kacy shook her head as she grabbed hold of the large button-down shirt and knotted it so it wouldn’t get in her way.
“You can’t seriously expect me to fight you? I could kill you with one punch.”
“If you managed to land it.”
“I won’t hit a girl.”
“Are you sure? Because I have no problem hitting a guy.” She noted how he watched her hips as she got close, his distraction too obvious. He couldn’t help but look at her as a woman. That had to stop, because every time he did, she couldn’t help but see him as a man.
She stopped within two feet of him, close enough to smell the masculine musk of a man who’d exerted himself. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.
Peering up at him, way up because he was stupidly tall, she met his gaze. “Please don’t cry when I hurt you. I hate it when boys cry.”
“I won’t—”
Whack. Her first blow hit him on the side, the soft spot not protected by a wall of muscle. People often made the mistake of hitting right in the middle. Amateurs. Why go after the most protected organs when the liver was open for blows?
Whap. She hit him again in the same spot before he shifted and blocked her third blow, but that meant he wasn’t watching her feet. She stomped his bare foot and didn’t expect him to hop around screaming like in a cartoon, but it had to hurt. He barely flinched. But he did look warier as she danced away from him.
She talked as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “The most common error people make is underestimating their opponent. In your case, because I’m small and a girl, you think you can beat me.”
“I could sit on you, and the game would be over,” he grumbled, and yet, he kept pace with her, turning to keep her within sight.
“You are heavier, yes, that is your advantage. You’ll have great force behind your blows. No denying it. But…” She moved, lightning quick, ducking under his arms and popping up behind him, her foot landing against his ass, the kick barely causing him to stumble, but she’d proved her point. “Little is oftentimes faster.”
“I’m fast, too.” He whirled around and lunged, his fingers brushing the fabric of her shirt.
Close.
“You missed.” She grinned. “Gonna have to try harder, meathead.”
Again, she rushed him, her feint to the left hiding her true intent. She dropped and rolled to hit him behind the knee. His leg buckled, but he quickly righted himself as she sprang to her feet.
He no longer smiled.
Good. However, she, on the other hand, was a tad impressed. He was a tough bastard and not so slow. He provided more challenge than she’d expected for a guy his size. Most big guys thought bulk alone could make up for skill. Marcus had some skill.
But she had more tricks up her sleeve.
She flipped away from him, a backflip that turned into several, and he watched, pivoting and turning to keep an eye on her. She bounced upright and ran at him, straight at him, and he crouched, ready for her. Instead of running into him full tilt, she leaped, forcing him to catch her.
For a moment, his eyes lit with masculine pleasure as his hands gripped her by the ass and her thighs locked around his upper body.
He thought he’d won.
“Gotcha!” he exclaimed.
“Think again.” She clapped his ears.
He grunted at the pain of it but held on. So she did it again, and his hands loosened their grip. She pushed away from him. He recovered too quickly and held on, but he couldn’t remain standing, not with the force she put into escaping. They went down onto the mat, him turning enough that he took the brunt of the fall.
How can he still be so gentle when I keep hurting him?
She didn’t understand it. Yet being gentle didn’t stop him from trying to gain the advantage.
He quickly rolled with her, trying to trap her under him, but she pulled her legs so that they were bent between their bodies. Then she pushed enough that she could gain some room to turn and squirm.
Their sweat made them slippery, something she counted on, that and the fact that he didn’t want to really hurt her.
Oddly enough, she didn’t want to hurt him too badly either.
He grabbed hold of her shirt as she pulled away. She heard it tearing, and he growled, “Admit it. I’ve got you beat.”
Beat because he held on to her shirt? Did he not know the rules of winning?
Winning had no modesty.
She yanked away, hearing the tearing of fabric, feeling the air of the gym kissing her bare skin. She immediately whirled around and noted Marcus’s eyes on her chest.
Her breasts. Breasts with nipples that peaked into tight buds as he stared, held him mesmerized enough that when she hit him in the gut, he wasn’t expecting it. And when he huffed out his breath and bent over, she scissored his legs and toppled him.
Not wasting time, she pinned him to the mat, held her elbow over his throat, and said, “If this were a real fight, you’d be dead.”
Lying on the ground, huffing, Marcus smiled.
Smiled, goddamn him.
And said, “You’re tougher than you look.”
Meaner, too. But as she vaulted off his big—oh so big and solid—body, she couldn’t bring herself to slam an elbow into his groin. She also thanked God Darren clapped and said bravo, reminding her that they had an audience because she had this crazy urge to pounce on Marcus and kiss him better.
Instead, she shoved those feelings down and aimed her fingers at him pistol style and said, “Next time, don’t underestimate your opponent.”
“Next time, I promise you won’t be on top.”
Now why did those words bring a shudder—of pleasure?
Chapter Nine
She’d won. Won by playing dirty, so dirty, and Darren thought Marc
us was pissed because little pint had laid him out.
Partially correct. The tiny woman had gotten the better of him. She had some mad fighting skills in that tempting body.
Yet the bigger reason for his ire was something a lot more inexplicable. Something he would have never expected and only rarely experienced.
Jealousy.
When Kacy tore away from him, sacrificing her shirt, she’d bared herself, not just to his lusty, admiring gaze, but Darren’s, too.
Darren had gotten an eyeful, and it bothered the hell out of Marcus.
It made no sense. He’d known the girl for like a day. Not even. She annoyed the piss out of him, and yet Marcus couldn’t deny that his first impulse, once he picked his jaw up off the floor, was a desire to beat the hell out of Darren because the man had noted Kacy’s assets. Then Marcus wanted to beat the hell out of him again, for once again loaning little pint his shirt.
I need to get laid. In a bad way because lusting after a girl who’d done nothing but demean him at every turn, who embarrassed him as a man, made no sense. He’d obviously not dipped his wick in a while and thus lusted after anything with two legs and a hole in the middle.
Speaking of hole in the middle, he’d have to remember to get some donuts on the way back from Kacy’s hotel because if he couldn’t have one sweet treat, then he’d placate himself with another.
Given his ignoble—and titillating—defeat, he’d welcomed the escape from the house, especially since he couldn’t stand watching Kacy fake her interest in Darren over the breakfast table. Giggling at his every word, patting his hand, looking, for all intents and purposes, like his paramour.
It didn’t matter that Marcus knew of the fakeness behind the actions; it still bothered him. But why? Marcus understood envy and jealousy. It was what a young boy felt when mothers volunteered at school in the classroom, but his was at home passed out drunk. It was seeing fathers in the stands cheering on their sons while he had no one because it was too hard for his grandfather to get around. It was hearing about big family gatherings with lots of food and cheer, and all they had was frozen dinners on the couch.
Don’t get Marcus wrong. His guardian had loved him, but his granddad didn’t go out much or do much. Most of their family time was spent in that little apartment. According to his grandfather, holidays were a marketing ploy to swindle people out of their hard-earned money.
Was it any wonder the boy sometimes envied the life he could have had if his dad had lived?
What Marcus couldn’t understand was, why now? Why the jealousy with Kacy? Darren had women in his life. A steady parade of them for the most part. Until recently. His ex, Francesca, had really done a number on him. But even when it was a revolving door of females, Marcus had never lusted after any of them. Not even a twitch.
And yet, get one fiery Latina who mocked his skills and intentionally set out to humiliate him, and he craved her something fierce.
Maybe he’d taken one too many shots to the head.
I’ll have to schedule an MRI.
Arriving at the hotel, he parked the car himself in the visitor lot in front of the entrance. He wouldn’t be here long. The keycard she’d given him allowed easy access to her room on the fourth floor.
Upon entering, his nose wrinkled. Did he smell cigarette smoke? Not fresh, more like the lingering scent left behind from someone with an intense nicotine habit.
Yet Kacy didn’t smoke. Perhaps someone from housekeeping?
Looking around the room, he noted no signs of anything out of place. The beds were still made, the drawers all shut. The only mess appeared caused by Kacy herself.
It didn’t take long for him to place the clothing strewn on the bed into the suitcase. The outfits he handled felt crisp and new. None of them carried her scent. Had she bought a new wardrobe for this job?
What did Kacy usually wear?
Unable to stem his curiosity, his hands dug into her luggage and encountered more of the silks and stiff linen, except for at the bottom. His hands touched buttery soft denim. Tugging it free, he noted the worn, smooth texture of the fibers, evidence that this denim had seen better days. An item well worn. Holding the jeans up to his nose, he noticed they smelled clean but were definitely not new.
Was this the real Kacy? Jeans and the T-shirt he found in the bottom, as well?
It would better match her personality thus far. Just like the cotton boy shorts seemed more in character than the lacy thongs.
He needed to quit acting like a weirdo. Sniffing a woman’s garments, getting jealous for no reason. He had to begin thinking of Kacy as one of the guys, a soldier he served with. They had a mission to complete, and that mission didn’t involve ways of getting his dick inside her.
Reminding himself of his idiocy helped him to shake off whatever plagued him as he stuffed the clothes he’d played with back into the suitcase, along with the cosmetics and toiletries from the bathroom. Somehow, though, he couldn’t get it all to fit.
What the fuck? He saw no other bag, so it all should have fit inside. He’d not even touched the boots tucked at the bottom.
He tried again. He folded stuff. He crammed it. Sat on the case. It didn’t work, so grumbling about the evil ways women had to pack, he yanked a few things out of the suitcase—the jeans, some silky stuff that could have been a shirt or a dress and some toiletries—and crammed them into a laundry bag he pulled from the closet.
Exiting the hotel with her suitcase and the bag tucked under his arm, his phone pinged. Darren sending him a text.
Grab some donuts, would you?
Despite the fact that Marcus had already planned to get some, he wrote back, No, your ass is too fat. He tossed the suitcase in the trunk and shut it before he realized he still held the bag. He tossed it in the front seat as Darren replied. Take a look in the mirror.
Marcus chuckled. He’d get the fucking donuts, but he’d eat Darren’s favorite one before he got back.
Just because.
Arriving at the house a while later, he parked out front instead of in the garage and grabbed the box of donuts and the bag sitting on the passenger seat before heading into the house.
He ran into Kacy at the door, wearing her dress from the night before, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She remained barefoot, but he noticed her shoes just inside the door.
He shoved the bag at her. “Here’s some of your shit.”
“Where’s the suitcase?” she asked.
“In the car.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Why is some of it in a bag then?”
“I couldn’t fit all your stuff back in.”
“What do you mean it wouldn’t fit?” She rolled her eyes. “Did you think of maybe trying to fold the stuff?”
“I did almost ten years in the military, little pint. Of course I folded it. And sat on it. Not my fault women have some weird knack for packing that no man can replicate.”
“So you shoved some stuff into a bag? Even my hairspray?” She held up the bag and shook it at him. “Are you a moron? What if it leaked onto my clothes?”
“You know, a simple thank you would have sufficed,” he snapped.
“Thank you for trying to wreck my shit. And thank you for not bringing in my actual suitcase.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’ll grab it in a second. The boss asked for donuts, so I brought donuts.” He held up the box.
“Glad to see where your priorities are.”
“Playing servant to your bossy ass isn’t high on my list, little pint.”
“Wait until I tell Darren that you were mean to me,” she huffed.
For a second, he almost told her to can the girly act, and then he realized that someone watched them. A house servant who’d been around for at least the last few months, but still. They had to maintain appearances.
“I’ll get your bag.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll do it myself.” She went to head out the door, but he body checked her.
“I s
aid, I’ll get it. Why don’t you make yourself useful and hold the donuts.” Handing off the box to her, Marcus headed down the stairs.
“I still don’t get how you didn’t fit it all,” she muttered from behind him.
“Maybe if you hadn’t brought those boots with you.”
“Boots? What boots?”
“The ones tucked in the bottom of your suitcase with your jeans.”
“Are you on drugs? I didn’t bring any—”
Boom!
Chapter Ten
The trunk of the car buckled, but the tough alloy used to build the frame of the vehicle held in the majority of the blast.
I am such a fucking idiot. Kacy could have slapped herself. The mention of boots threw her off, and yet as soon as the explosion happened, she clued in.
Someone had planted a bomb in her stuff.
And someone else didn’t catch it.
Given they were outside, out of hearing range of anyone in the house, she skipped down the steps until she stood by the big guy.
Arms folded, Kacy glared at Marcus. To his credit, he hung his head.
“You didn’t do a bomb check.” Stated not asked.
“How was I supposed to know someone tagged your luggage?”
“How?” she hissed. “Because I told you to check everything.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” She jabbed him in the chest. “If it hadn’t been for you and those stupid donuts, that suitcase would have been in the house. And what do you think would have happened then?”
“You don’t have to berate me. I get it.”
“Do you?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice low in case anyone tried to listen. “I told you this job was serious. You are not dealing with paparazzi or marriage-minded gold diggers anymore. This is deadly.”
“I understand, okay? You think I wanted this to happen? I owe everything to Darren. Everything.”
“Then put your ego aside and start doing something about it.”