Glitter and Greed (Brooklyn Brothers #4)

by Melanie Munton

  When we shifted around the ring, my eyes caught on the wall clock behind Bryce’s left shoulder. Cat’s class would be starting in approximately one minute. Which meant I either needed to drag this sparring match out for another forty-five minutes, or I needed to get the hell out of the building.

  Otherwise, I was likely to turn into a peeping Tom.

  I was so lost in memories of her twisting around that pole the other night at Rumors that I didn’t see his right hook coming. It snapped my head to the side, making me see stars for a few seconds. But I needed that hit to knock my fucking brain loose. I deserved to get my ass kicked for losing focus.

  “Daydreaming about your smoking hot Latina, Rossetti?” he mocked.

  My mouth spread into a wolfish smile. “You’re gonna regret that, Connelly.”

  What I needed to be doing was taking a shower, not creeping on Cat’s class. But thanks to Bryce and all of his annoying questions, I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head for the rest of our match. Like an ass, I was desperate for even a glimpse of her.

  Big. Mistake.

  Cracking open that studio door was an epically stupid thing to do. I’d never get those images out of my mind as long as I lived.

  Is that really such a bad thing?

  This was Cat’s beginners class, and she was currently demonstrating various moves to her students. She hooked her athletic legs around the pole and spun in ways that seemed to defy gravity. She did it with effortless ease and a kind of grace that couldn’t be taught. You were just born with that level of coordination.

  The night she danced for me, she’d obviously chosen the most provocative, most sexual moves. A performance of pure seduction. To my surprise, though, watching her like this wasn’t much different. She was clearly teaching with no intention of seducing anyone, but to me, it didn’t matter.

  The woman could make eating cereal sexual.

  What struck me as I watched her was how athletic the activity truly was. I knew the general mechanics of what happened with her body when she spun around that pole, but I’d never placed it in the same category as I would have other forms of cardio. But hell, Cat’s stunner body was glistening with sweat, strands of hair that had fallen from her ponytail matted to her temples.

  My girl was fucking acrobatic and working it.

  Even after I felt myself hardening inside my shorts, I still couldn’t look away. She was a goddess on that thing and knew she owned it. It didn’t control her—she controlled it. She wore tiny spandex shorts and a sports bra her tits were stuffed into. And she had never looked more gorgeous. No, she wasn’t wearing a stick of makeup or five-inch heels.

  This was better.

  Unlike at the club, she was dancing for herself.

  Not for customers, not for money. Just for her own enjoyment. I recognized the look on her face for what it was. The release of endorphins was giving her an exercise high, and she was loving it.

  That was probably the sexiest thing about her.

  Her passion for movement. Her drive to keep herself active and in shape. Her aversion to being idle.

  She looked over her shoulder right then, caught my gaze, and blushed.

  Have to get the fuck out of here.

  The last thing I needed was the whole damn gym gossiping about how the owner was perving out at the new pole dancing class. I did, however, go straight to the showers and jack off to Cat’s blushing face.

  I came in about ten seconds.

  This woman was seriously fucking with my control.

  And when that happened, bad shit always followed.

  Three hours of sleep.

  That was the best I could hope for after I’d caught Luka peeking in on my class. More specifically, peeking in on me because he certainly hadn’t been looking anywhere else. Once he’d infiltrated my dreams after those three hours, sleep had eluded me no matter how hard my subconscious had searched for it. From experience, I knew the only thing that would lull my mind into a state of slumber was exercise.

  Lucky there’s a gym just downstairs.

  I had yet to utilize The Ring’s facilities, aside from what I used during my classes. Even though he was now paying me as his employee, I still felt like I was taking advantage. Because now he was letting me stay in his apartment for free and paying me wages.

  Slipping into some yoga pants and a tank top, I slid on my sneakers and threw my hair up in a ponytail. Surely, Luka wouldn’t mind if I used some of the machines for a quick workout, right? He’d said I could anytime I wanted. I planned on cleaning the whole place again anyway, so that would partially make up for the free services.

  To my surprise, the lights in the weight room were already on when I exited the apartment stairwell. It was only about four o’clock in the morning, so Deja shouldn’t have been here already. Unease rose inside me as I silently tip-toed further into the room, eyes alert for an intruder. An intruder that turned on the lights as they ransacked the place had to have been the dumbest intruder alive. And what was there to even ransack in a gym, except for the main cash register at reception which was locked up every night like a steel vault?

  I was about to hoist the nearest barbell above my head for a weapon when I heard it. The sound of fists hitting a punching bag. It was a very distinctive whap, whap, whap sound that I’d come to associate with him.

  I turned the corner and there he was.

  Luka was pounding away at the bag in the back of the room, sweat pouring from every inch of his sculpted body. The man exuded virility in his everyday life, but seeing him like this…exerting such force, such power…every muscle bulging in a primitive display of male strength and vigor…

  Captivating was too nice of a word. Enthralling, perhaps.

  And he calls me the tease.

  I was someone who valued physical prowess, particularly in the opposite sex. I was attracted to dominance on a visceral, carnal level. My needs were more demanding than most, and my body had a long battery life. I needed a man who could match—even exceed—my own stamina.

  Luka was all of the above.

  Checked every box.

  I moved toward him in a trance-like state, like I was no longer in control of my body’s functions. I didn’t notice the hand grip strengthener on the floor. When my foot accidentally kicked it, the sound of it skidding over the concrete could be heard from across the room.

  Luka’s head snapped around, eyes wide and alert. They softened when they fell on me. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  Was that why he hadn’t turned on his signature hard rock music? Because he was afraid I would hear it upstairs?

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I might work off some energy down here.”

  “Is everything still okay with the apartment?”

  “Yeah, it’s great. The showerhead leaks a little, but it’s no big deal.”

  I’d had to wash my hair in a sink more times than I wanted to admit throughout my youth. Or an outdoor washtub. In my village, you could never count on your indoor plumbing to be reliable.

  “I can come by and fix it sometime,” Luka said, wiping his brow with a towel. “That won’t be hard.”

  “There’s no rush, really. But listen, I don’t want to interrupt your workout. I’ll just go—”

  “No, it’s fine,” he cut me off, swiping his hand through the air. “It’s not like this place isn’t big enough for the two of us.”

  My lips rolled inward as uncertainty plagued me. “I just thought that’s why you usually work out when no one’s here. So you won’t be disturbed.”

  He grinned. “I work out while the gym is closed so that I don’t get hounded by aspiring fighters begging me to show them all my tricks and regimes.”

  I ran my hand along the ropes of the ring, smiling coyly. “Sure it doesn’t have anything to do with avoiding all the gym mice?”

  He frowned. “Gym mice?”

  I choked on an uncomfortable laugh. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. “You k
now, like gym rats, but mice. It’s what your employees call all the women who only join the gym in hopes of going a few rounds with you.” I waggled my eyebrows. “You know, outside of the ring.”

  Laughter burst from his throat. “Well, as long as they keep paying their membership dues, they can hope all they want.”

  I shot him a skeptical look. “Really? That’s all it is? You never make their day and get them against the ropes?”

  “Hooking up with members gets dicey. I don’t need drama like that in my gym. I can’t stop them from looking, but they don’t get to touch this.”

  When he cocked out a hip and ran his hands over his ass, mimicking what I did for him the other night at Rumors, I burst into laughter.

  He looked over his shoulder at his own ass. “I think my glutes need some work. Maybe I should take one of your classes.”

  I lost it again at the image of his enormous body struggling to wind itself around the skinny little pole. Likely, the pole would collapse under his weight and he’d fall flat on his gorgeously tight ass.

  “I think of the two of us, your skillset is more useful,” I mused. “You should be teaching me how to fight.”

  “Okay.”

  My spine went ramrod straight. “What?”

  “Get in the ring and I’ll show you some moves.”

  I glanced at the ring, my nerve endings twitching in excitement. That actually sounded badass. I’d always wanted to take kickboxing classes. “Really?”

  He smirked as he removed that silver crucifix from around his neck and laid it on a nearby bench. “From the way that guy in your apartment was moaning in pain, I’d say you already have a good head start.”

  When he ducked between the ropes and entered the ring, I did the same. “That was just instinctual. I don’t know any actual self-defense moves.”

  “Which is what we’ll start with.” He rolled his shoulders back, bouncing on his toes. “I used to teach a self-defense class here at the gym that one of my trainers now teaches. We’ll go through some of the stuff covered in that course.”

  He pulled a small remote from his shorts pocket and pressed a button. The familiar hard rock music he favored came over the gym’s speakers—Metallica, if I wasn’t mistaken. I had to force my eyes to remain on his instead of on his washboard abs and tattooed chest. That first spark of arousal I felt when I spotted him punching the crap out of that bag was now a full-blown bonfire.

  Don’t get burned, Cat.

  I noted the layers of tape covering his knuckles. “Do I need tape for this?”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Not unless you’re planning on pummeling my face with those registered weapons you’ve got.”

  I flexed one bicep that was a fraction the size of his. “Oh, you mean these babies? Whoever said they were registered?”

  He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Big talk for someone who barely weighs over a hundred pounds.”

  “Bigger you are, the harder you fall, corazón.”

  He stilled, staring at me. Then he abruptly changed demeanors. “All right, let’s start with a simple heel strike. You can use this move when someone’s coming right up on you and getting in your face. Hand open, palm flat, wrist flexed.”

  He demonstrated with his own hand, which I mimicked.

  “The idea is to aim for either the nose or throat. Either should be effective enough for you to escape.” He waved me forward. “Try it on me.”

  Stepping toward him, I thrust my hand upward, stopping right in front of his nose.

  He nodded. “Good. Use your back leg to give you more power. You hit him hard enough, you should be able to break his nose.”

  I did as instructed and repeated the strike. We went through the same process when he told me to aim for his throat.

  “I think you’ve got that one down.” He stepped back. “Let’s move on to elbow strikes. This is a better move when your attacker is already too close for you to strike out with a full punch. You simply turn your body, leading with your elbow, and aim for your attacker’s face.”

  The technique he demonstrated was similar to how I’d released my neighbor’s hold on me that night in my old apartment, so I was confident I could do damage with this one.

  “Okay, moving on to escaping from what we call a ‘bear hug attack.’” He moved behind me and slid his arms around my middle. “This is when your attacker comes from behind and immobilizes you by getting you in a tight wrap.”

  Oh, mio.

  He was touching me. Majorly touching me.

  His chest was pressed flush to my back. So close I could feel every hard angle of his torso fitting themselves against my softer curves. He paused when he got into position, as if realizing the enormity of what he’d just done. And I was pretty sure I felt something poke me in a very specific place on my ass.

  Something distinctly hard.

  He immediately adjusted his hips to the side and cleared his throat. “So, uh, what you want to do first is shift your weight forward to throw off his balance. I used to tell my students to go boneless for a second. He won’t be prepared for your dead weight, and he’ll automatically drop with you to keep ahold of you.”

  I followed his direction and bent over. When I abruptly went limp, his arms flexed as he struggled to keep me in his grasp.

  “Good. When he does this, throw your elbow back in his face. It should disorient him enough for you to break his grip and turn around quickly. Once you’re facing him, you can use a heel strike to knock him on his ass, but I always suggest a groin kick. It’s an easier move to execute in that position, and there’s a higher probability you’ll cause more damage.”

  As soon as the last word left his mouth, I sprang into action. Pulling my elbow strike, of course, so I didn’t actually nail him in the face, I went through the sequence of moves. When he stumbled back and pretended to be a little shaken, I reacted quickly and drove my foot into his groin area without making physical contact. He continued to act out the scenario and fell to his knees, holding his balls.

  “Son of a nutcracker!” he shouted, grimacing.

  He was the worst actor I’d ever seen.

  I couldn’t stop smiling.

  “He’s going to quote lines from Elf as he’s nursing his balls?”

  Luka peeked one eye open. “Tough audience. This always got a laugh out of my students.”

  “Maybe after you master my pole classes, you should enroll in some acting classes.”

  “She’s got jokes, does she? Okay.” He pushed up to his feet. “Let’s move on to something a little more challenging.”

  Now we’re talking.

  I cracked my knuckles and prepared for more.

  A faster, heart-pounding rock song blasted through the speakers. “Let’s say your attacker gets you from behind and traps your arms.”

  This time, when he moved behind me and wrapped me up, my arms were pinned to my sides. My nipples noticeably puckered beneath his forearms, something we both seemed to register in the same moment. But instead of readjusting their position, he intentionally rubbed his arms right over those peaks, creating friction that stole my breath.

  That was so on purpose.

  The low groan he emitted confirmed it.

  “What’s next?”

  I hadn’t meant for that to come out as a whisper.

  “To prevent him from getting you in a headlock and holding a knife to your throat,” he rasped in a gritty voice, “thrust your hips forward or to the side. This makes his groin vulnerable, and allows you to strike him there with an open-handed back slap.”

  I shifted my hips to one side and swung my arm down in an open-handed strike. Again, I didn’t actually make contact. This, of course, meant that my hand was literally hovering right over his dick.

  That’s when everything got real still.

  “Like that?”

  His exhale blew the strands of my ponytail across my shoulder. “Yeah. Just like that.”

  Gracias de dios he coul
dn’t see when my eyes drifted closed at his erotic tone. Leave it to me to turn a self-defense lesson into something sexual. There was obviously something seriously wrong with me.

  I didn’t mean to wiggle my ass against him when I adjusted my hips again. I was just trying to contain the spread of my arousal. He must have taken it as encouragement.

  His hips punched forward, driving into my backside.

  My eyes rolled back.

  He was the first to snap out of it, speaking in an even deeper voice. “So, after you’ve disoriented him, you’ll spin around and wrap your hands around his wrist. Pull his arm back and twist his wrist with everything you’ve got. He should be incapacitated enough for you to get in some good counterstrikes. I’d go for kicks to his face, chest, or groin again. Anything that will allow you to get away.”

  There was a moment of hesitation where I contemplated the wisdom of continuing this lesson. Then I just went for it. Spinning around, I twisted his arm back and mock-kicked him in the groin. Once he fell to his knees, I drove my knee into his face, at which point he pretended to double over in pain.

  “How was that?” I asked, a little winded. Though it wasn’t from the lesson.

  With his head still lowered, he answered, “Not bad.”

  With lightning-fast movements, he snatched my arm, hauled me forward, and tackled me to the mat. Hands manacling my wrists, he held them beside my head as his body weight fell on top of me.

  “But not all attackers are going to be as weak as your dipshit neighbor,” he panted. “You need to be prepared if he recovers quicker than you expect him to.”

  Ah. So, this was just another position he was demonstrating. He wasn’t actually trying to get me on my back.

  Why did that disappoint me?

  When my tongue unconsciously licked across my lips, his earthy green eyes tracked the movement. “What should I do if he gets me in this position?”

  He had my legs trapped between his, restricting any movement there. I couldn’t knee his balls this time. And he was way too strong for me to break his hold on my wrists.

  His eyelids drooped when I writhed beneath him, testing that strength. “Honestly? It’s a bad position to be in. I’d wait until he gets close enough to your mouth and then bite the shit out of him. You only need a moment of distraction to buck him off of you.”