Page 29

Brody groaned and pushed up to sit. “Don’t worry,” he ground out before looking down to check the damage. “It could happen to anyone.” With a quick shake of his head, he took the bottom of his T-shirt and peeled it off over his head.

I swear my eyeballs nearly popped out and landed on the floor. A million women would pay a fortune to swap places with me. The words “Instagram” and “Live” crossed my mind, but I dismissed them as tacky and exploitative.

His T-shirt was off now, and although I’d seen him shirtless before, the low light of the gym did crazy things to the planes of his chest. A furnace lit in my face, and my mouth hung open. He bundled up his sodden T-shirt in one giant hand and tossed it to the floor.

“A few women have wanted me to lose some clothes in my time, but they just came out and asked, Ro.” He winked, and I swallowed. Hard. Brody stood and stepped back over the bench, pulling up at the weights rack again. “Now that you have me almost naked, let’s work on your biceps.”

There was no awkwardness in his face. No nervous tic in his cheek or clamped jaw. He was just going to carry on, half wet, half naked, and so very close to me. I took a breath, the gentlest hint of mint and lemon mingling in my nose. The scent woke me from my stupor. I hadn’t uttered a word for about thirty seconds. He’d think I was a nitwit or that his superior muscle definitionhad dazzled away all my good sense. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Okay, let’s get to it,” I said with a whole lot of optimism I didn’t feel. With a half-hearted smile, I took the weight Brody offered me.

“Your biceps can carry a heavier load than your triceps,” he said.

How about the burden of guilt? I’d blatantly ogled a man in obvious pain. That sort of behavior wouldn’t get me into heaven.

I held the weight in one hand and brought it to my chest, just like he’d done. Fine, my wrist may have wobbled a little at the top, but when he stepped in behind to assist me, there was no way I’d refuse his help.

His warm fingers gripped the outside of my arm, taking a little of the weight, and our eyes met in the mirror. Mine were wide and feverish, and I tried so hard not to look at his body. Brody’s were cool, calm, and just a little too mischievous for my liking. The heat pulsed off his skin, and it took herculean strength not to lean back into him.

“Keep your elbow at your waist.” His lips were just inches from my ear, and his breath tickled down the side of my neck, sending a scatter of goosebumps down my arm. His hand closed over my arm, guiding my movement in the mirror. “It’s all about having the correct form. The discipline.”

With his enormous chest at my back and his breath on my shoulder, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the correct form. The two of us moved together in the mirror and the tiniest of smirks returned to his lips. I let out a shuddering breath and I swear they curled a little more. I only hoped he’d think the tremble in my arm was because of a lack of exercise. But as our eyes met again, his face clouded, suddenly serious.

“Ro,” he whispered before the rude ring of a cell phone shattered the tension in the air. He didn’t answer it at first, butwhen the shrill tone became impossible to ignore, he rolled his eyes and let go of my arm, stepping away.

Brody dug his hand into his pocket, bringing out his phone. He looked at the screen, a crease fixing on his brow. “I have to take this.”

“Oh, don’t worry, go ahead. I’ll just be over here, pumping iron.” The grin on my face and the cheery pitch of my voice clashed with the stiffness in my body.

With a nod, Brody turned away. He headed over to the boxing ring in the center of the room. Every step, every ripple of muscle under his skin, reflected in the mirror in front of me. He leaned against the ropes, and I wished I’d applied myself more in Girl Scouts. I couldn’t precisely recall there being a badge for lipreading. His mouth moved and thanks to great acoustics, I caught most of his words.

“Alex. What’s up? Did you hear something?” The scowl grew on Brody’s brow. “Okay, sure. Want to meet?”

The clock ticked on the wall. Or was it my heart? I lowered the weight to my thigh, straining to hear while attempting to look as if I was adjusting my discipline, flexion, or something.

“Okay. I’m still in Tuft Swallow.” He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that had my toes curling inside my sneakers. “I know, right? I wouldn’t trust your sat nav. Okay. I’ll see you then. Look forward to it.”

The faintest smile passed over his lips as he hung up the call, and after a long beat, he turned back, strolling over as if he wasn’t half naked and drop-dead devastating. Our eyes met in the mirror, and by the time he made it to my side, mine were as wide as dinner plates.

“I’ll take that.” Brody lifted the weight out of my hand, putting it back on the rack. He narrowed his eyes as if mulling something over. “Can you box?”

I mean, probably. I’d got into a fight once, in grade school, when someone picked on Eve. I’d landed a few skin scratches. Pulled some hair. Did that count? “I think I can handle myself.”

“Okay, then. Let’s spar.”

The mischievous grin on his face made my teeth grind. “Brody, you’re about twice the size of me.”

He moved toward the ring, and I trailed him like a stray puppy. “Don’t think you can take me, Small Fry?”

We reached the ring, and Brody examined a pile of old boxing gloves. They were much bigger than I expected. I’d followed him willingly, but now that the moment had arrived, the thought of being whacked in the face by leather oven gloves had lost its appeal.

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I don’t want to break my nose. I quite like it.”

Brody’s eyebrows shot up. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m really careful. I’ll make sure it’s a clean break.” My mouth dropped open, and he chuckled. “Ro. I’ll be catchingyourpunches, not throwing them.”

He handed me a pair of large red gloves, and I slipped them on, their soft lining a little damp. I tried not to think about who’d last used them. I could always bleach my hands when I got home. He picked up a couple of black catching pads and pulled apart the ropes lining the ring, ushering me inside. Brody sucked in a breath as he climbed up behind me. It was only a small step. Either his leg was acting up, or he had a delayed reaction to me, almost spearing him in the genitals.

In the ring, any notion of becoming Rocky Balboa or Muhammad Ali deserted me. Instead, in the harsh overhead light, I felt ridiculous. I wore a cheerleader’s outfit and had on a pair of oversized mittens. Brody swaggered over to me in the center, lifting his arms and bringing his thick catching pads to eye level. I’d hoped to hide behind the bank of black foam, butbeing taller than me, I could still see the smug curl of his lips over the top.